"What's that?"

"Medical-speak for 'the doctor killed the patient.'"

"Why would they say that?"

"To protect Roxy, if you can believe that. The hospital settled with the patient's family to get the mess over with."

"And Roxy?"

"They wanted to make an example out of her for betraying Dr. Niphe." Veronica reached into her pocket and pulled out the cell phone. "You should talk to someone who was there. Roxy's lawyer. I'll text you his number."

"The way she was crucified by her colleagues, this lawyer doesn't seem to have been that good."

"Actually, he's one of the best. Medical malpractice and fighting the state board is his specialty. But even his legal juju wasn't enough." Veronica scrolled through the address book of the cell phone and tapped some keys. "The fight bankrupted her. Dr. Freya Krieger was ruined forever. If she appealed, then what? Who would hire her? Where would she work? After the board suspended her license, she disappeared. Then she resurfaced as Roxy Bronze."

"What's this lawyer's name?"

"Andrew Tonic."

"As in gin and tonic?"

"More like vodka and tonic."

"How do you have his number? Is he the lawyer you dated?"

"Oh no." Veronica laughed, which sounded pleasant. "The men I date must have a soul."

Definite speed bump.

"And he's married," Veronica continued. "I hit Tonic up for a pledge to Barrios Unidos. Tried to pull a sentimental string about Roxy. What a waste of time. Try and imagine a sentimental lawyer."

"What did Tonic tell you about Roxy?"

"Nada," Roxy said. "The records were sealed. Tonic had nothing to gain by telling me anything."

"Why should I talk to him?"

"Because, Felix"-Veronica gave me a sly wink-"I have a suspicion that you can get Tonic to say more than he should."

How much did Veronica know about me? "Why would you say that?"

Veronica's brow wrinkled and she pulled away. "If you're not a hotshot detective, then what are you doing here?"

"Obviously not impressing you."

Veronica smiled. "I'll hit the reset button. You get another chance."

"Thanks. Where was Roxy's family in all this?" I asked. "L.A. was her hometown."

"For that, tenia un candado en la boca." She had a padlock on her mouth. "She didn't open. I wouldn't pry. What I learned about Roxy's past I found on my own. She acted as if Dr. Freya Krieger had never existed."

"Does seem strange," I said. "On the one hand, she buries her past, then throws herself as a porn star into the public eye of her home community. Every one of them would have recognized Roxy Bronze as Freya Krieger. Maybe those were the demons that brought her to Barrios Unidos. To let the world know that she's resurrected herself and to say, look, I'm still here and raising hell."

"Perhaps. Roxy always went forward at maximum speed, como una nave." Like a ship.

"Still, that's quite a fall. From surgeon to porn star. Such a life-changing experience can disturb you." Take my word for it. I'd gone from soldier to vampire in one snafu-filled night.

"We never talked about it. Being a porn star allowed Roxy to get rich. She saw how the truth was perverted to destroy her. So her reputation didn't matter."

No doubt. Fame as the champion mouth of circle-sucks meant you had long since given up any notion of being elected Miss America.

"Felix, I'm glad you're here. It's time someone asked questions about what happened to Roxy. The police never did." Veronica stood. "I hope I was able to help you."

"I still don't see a connection linking the medical community, Project Eleven, and Roxy. Whatever harm the staff at La Brea wanted to inflict upon her, seems they'd done a good job. No reason to follow that up with murder."

Veronica brushed dust and carob leaves from the back of her capris. I would've helped but I was afraid that damn crow would return. She started for the door into Barrios Unidos.

Veronica led me through the building and to the entrance, a polite way of sending me off without saying so. She laid her hand on my shoulder, an act I couldn't decide was friendly or forward.

"Call me," she said. "I want to hear what Andrew Tonic says."

"Over coffee, then."

"No. Over dinner." She pushed away, waved, and turned around.

Provided that nosy crow left me alone, I was going to get lucky. And I didn't even need vampire powers.

My next stop would be La Brea Mercy Hospital. I'd see if I could unseal those records.

I drove south on Van Nuys Boulevard and stopped to get waved through a construction zone near the westbound on-ramp for the Golden State Freeway. A homeless bum on the median solicited donations by shaking a Styrofoam cup.

My fingertips tingled. A warning? Of what? A slight tremor started up my legs. Earthquake?

The tingle in my fingers became a buzz of alarm. At the edge of my left peripheral vision, I saw it. A dump truck charged out of a parking lot, crossed the street, and flattened a line of orange traffic cones. The immense truck rumbled toward me like an avalanche of steel.

In that instant before the dump truck turned my sedan into a heap of crumpled steel and plastic, I undid my safety belt, opened the door, and bolted clear. Even vampires panic, and how fast I had moved surprised even me. Hell, a mongoose would've been impressed.

The cops arrived. A patrol woman asked, "Sure you're okay?"

My kundalini noir settled. "I'm doing better than my car."

Firefighters aimed a hose to wash the fluids leaking from under what was left of my rental sedan. Fragments of shattered glass glittered in the puddles.

The dump truck had struck the left rear door and crunched over the roof. My driver's seat was wadded inside the pile of mangled steel and under the huge tires of this enormous truck.

Four other patrol cars and two motorcycles had arrived. The cops shepherded traffic past the accident scene and through the construction bottleneck.

The homeless bum staggered from the median toward us.

His eyes were wide circles of astonishment on his unwashed, bearded face. He pointed at me with his Styrofoam cup. "I saw that. You… you moved faster than a goddamn bullet."

The female cop looked at him, then at me.

I said, "A regular bullet perhaps but not a goddamn bullet."

The bum stumbled close. He carried a stink like sour milk. He squinted. "Ask him how he done that?" The bum paused for a moment to steady himself. "One second he's in the car, then poof, I seen him standing right there."

The cop waved him back. "I'll get to you in a second, sir." She faced me and shook her head. "Isn't even noon yet and he's beyond shit-faced. Gonna be a long day."

The cop finished taking my statement while her partner interviewed a number of bystanders. No one could verify where the runaway truck had come from. The truck had barreled out of the parking lot, and my vehicle was the only one hit. It had obviously come for me.

The truck had no plate or company markings. The construction crew didn't own it. The female cop guessed the truck was stolen. "Miracle you survived."

Some miracle all right. A stolen truck with no one in the cab just happened to hit only my car.

A black Ford Crown Victoria-all it needed was a banner on the roof that said UNMARKED POLICE CAR-drove over the curb and parked on the sidewalk close to the wreckage. A dark-skinned man got out of the passenger's side. His complexion looked like umber paint right out of the tube. His nappy black Chia Pet head had a reflection highlight at the front of his receding hairline. He wore a shiny gray shirt with the cuffs rolled back, a fashionable tie, and wraparound sunglasses. He slipped an ID tag out of his shirt pocket and let the tag dangle on a cloth neckband. The sun glistened off the police badge clipped to his belt next to a compact pistol.