quickly. “And you visited him there.”
“Who told you that?”
“Your sister-in-law.”
Rita repressed her frown. Of course Karen would have mentioned the visits, she should have anticipated he’d know about them. No way of holding out now.
“When was the last time you saw your brother?” Galpert repeated.
“Thursday, in the afternoon. I never went on weekends, that’s when we get busy here—”
“Last Thursday afternoon.” Galpert leaned forward; the terrier had a good grip on his bone now and he wasn’t letting go of it. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Rita stubbed her cigarette. “It was a nice day. We took a walk outside, on the grounds.”
“Just the two of you? No attendant?”
“It wasn’t necessary. He’d been perfectly fine for months—”
“And before that?”
Rita hesitated. “We’d visit indoors, in his room.” She shook her head. “Look, if you’re trying to get me to say he’d been disturbed—”
“Had he?”
“Of course he had, at first. That’s why he was out there to begin with. But he was never violent or irrational like some of the others, not even at the beginning.”
Galpert wasn’t satisfied with the bone; he wanted the marrow, too. “The other patients—you saw them?”
“No, never. Dr. Griswold had a thing about respecting a patient’s right to privacy.”
“Then how do you know the others were violent and irrational?”
“Bruce told me. Not all of them, but a few.”
“Who, for example?”
Rita’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m trying to remember if he ever mentioned anyone by name.”
“Think.”
“Well, there was one he talked about, several months ago. He’d just come in to dry out.”
“Alcoholic?”
“Yes. The reason Bruce mentioned him was because of the way he ran his business. He was in real estate.”
“Here in town?”
“Somewhere in Los Angeles. Culver City, that area.”
“What’s his name?”
“He did tell me, but I can’t recall—”
“What did he say about him?”
“That he had figured out a new way of picking up property cheap. But you don’t want to hear about the real estate business—”
“Go on.”
“Well, suppose you had a house to sell, and you went to him and told him what you wanted for the property. He’d promise you action if you would give him an exclusive listing—and action is what you’d get. In a day or so he’d bring a couple over, nice middle-aged people with a new car, obviously respectable and responsible. They’d go through your house, and the woman would tell you how much she liked it—just the location they’d been looking for, too. But the man would complain. If you didn’t have a pool, he wanted a house with a pool. If you had a pool, he didn’t want one. The garage wouldn’t be big enough, or he needed copper-pipe plumbing, something like that. And by the time he got through all his objections, he’d offer you a price way below what you were asking—a ridiculous figure.
“So you’d say no, and they’d go away, but the real estate man would tell you not to worry, there were plenty of other prospects.
“Sure enough, in a few days he’d bring over another couple. They’d be driving an older model car and would look a little on the seedy side, but neither of them would complain. And the man would tell you this was just the kind of a house they wanted, only there was a little problem about financing—he’d lost his job in the aerospace industry and in order to swing the deal, you’d have to give him a second mortgage at low interest.
“When they left, the real estate man would reassure you again, tell you to be patient. And after a week or so he’d show up with another couple. Chicano, or maybe black, with several small children. And this would put you off—not because of the ethnic thing, but because it would turn out that they weren’t really interested in buying, just in renting on a month-to-month basis.
“Well, by this time you’d be getting a
“Who told you that?”
“Your sister-in-law.”
Rita repressed her frown. Of course Karen would have mentioned the visits, she should have anticipated he’d know about them. No way of holding out now.
“When was the last time you saw your brother?” Galpert repeated.
“Thursday, in the afternoon. I never went on weekends, that’s when we get busy here—”
“Last Thursday afternoon.” Galpert leaned forward; the terrier had a good grip on his bone now and he wasn’t letting go of it. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Rita stubbed her cigarette. “It was a nice day. We took a walk outside, on the grounds.”
“Just the two of you? No attendant?”
“It wasn’t necessary. He’d been perfectly fine for months—”
“And before that?”
Rita hesitated. “We’d visit indoors, in his room.” She shook her head. “Look, if you’re trying to get me to say he’d been disturbed—”
“Had he?”
“Of course he had, at first. That’s why he was out there to begin with. But he was never violent or irrational like some of the others, not even at the beginning.”
Galpert wasn’t satisfied with the bone; he wanted the marrow, too. “The other patients—you saw them?”
“No, never. Dr. Griswold had a thing about respecting a patient’s right to privacy.”
“Then how do you know the others were violent and irrational?”
“Bruce told me. Not all of them, but a few.”
“Who, for example?”
Rita’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m trying to remember if he ever mentioned anyone by name.”
“Think.”
“Well, there was one he talked about, several months ago. He’d just come in to dry out.”
“Alcoholic?”
“Yes. The reason Bruce mentioned him was because of the way he ran his business. He was in real estate.”
“Here in town?”
“Somewhere in Los Angeles. Culver City, that area.”
“What’s his name?”
“He did tell me, but I can’t recall—”
“What did he say about him?”
“That he had figured out a new way of picking up property cheap. But you don’t want to hear about the real estate business—”
“Go on.”
“Well, suppose you had a house to sell, and you went to him and told him what you wanted for the property. He’d promise you action if you would give him an exclusive listing—and action is what you’d get. In a day or so he’d bring a couple over, nice middle-aged people with a new car, obviously respectable and responsible. They’d go through your house, and the woman would tell you how much she liked it—just the location they’d been looking for, too. But the man would complain. If you didn’t have a pool, he wanted a house with a pool. If you had a pool, he didn’t want one. The garage wouldn’t be big enough, or he needed copper-pipe plumbing, something like that. And by the time he got through all his objections, he’d offer you a price way below what you were asking—a ridiculous figure.
“So you’d say no, and they’d go away, but the real estate man would tell you not to worry, there were plenty of other prospects.
“Sure enough, in a few days he’d bring over another couple. They’d be driving an older model car and would look a little on the seedy side, but neither of them would complain. And the man would tell you this was just the kind of a house they wanted, only there was a little problem about financing—he’d lost his job in the aerospace industry and in order to swing the deal, you’d have to give him a second mortgage at low interest.
“When they left, the real estate man would reassure you again, tell you to be patient. And after a week or so he’d show up with another couple. Chicano, or maybe black, with several small children. And this would put you off—not because of the ethnic thing, but because it would turn out that they weren’t really interested in buying, just in renting on a month-to-month basis.
“Well, by this time you’d be getting a
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