“I'm demeaning it, Loo. Haven't learned squat.”

“Some cases are like that.” Sturgis jammed the cigar back in his mouth, picked up a file, flipped through it, shook his head. “Like this one. So cold I could use it to ice my knee. Sayonara, lad.”

Moe said, “One more thing. Book was admitted to Cedars. Your… partner is in charge of the E.R. there, right?”

Sturgis shut the file. “Moses, there's something called doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“I know, sir. I was just wondering if perhaps he could direct me to… some kind of source.”

“Go ask him. Richard Silverman, M.D. He's listed in the Cedars registry.”

“That's okay with you?”

“I'm not his parent, Moses. I'm his”-unfathomable smile- “partner.”

During Moe's brief absence, Aaron had called a third time. Moe's fist closed around the slip with sudden, crushing force that surprised him. Rather than go for the easy layup, he aimed at a can fifteen feet across the room.

Swish. Three points.

Perversely self-satisfied, he got Dr. Richard Silverman's number and called. Silverman sounded busy-harried, even-and Moe dropped the Loo's name before introducing himself.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” Kind of frosty; no Oh, yeah, he's mentioned you.

No reason for Sturgis to mention him.

He asked if the doc could direct him to someone with information about Mason Book's hospitalization.

Silverman said, “I assume you don't mean our official spokespeo-ple.”

“That's correct, Doctor.”

“Book wasn't my patient, but I still can't talk to you. Not that I would, if I could. Apart from legal issues, there are general ethical principles.”

“I understand that, Doctor, but-”

“You were hoping that because of Milo, I might relax my standards.”

Moe didn't answer.

Silverman said, “I'm not trying to give you a hard time. It's simply something I can't do.”

“I understand, Doctor. It's just that this is a murder investigation and a really tough one.” He summarized Caitlin's disappearance, making her out to be a saint, pumping more pathos by describing her father as a withering, tragic figure.

Silverman said, “Poor girl.”

“Her mom died when she was young, she was all her father had,” said Moe.

“And Mason Book's relevant to this because…”

“Honestly, Doc, he might not be, but I need to follow up on any lead I get. Turns out Caitlin's ex-boyfriend works for Book, which in and of itself doesn't mean much. But then I learned that Book's suicide attempt happened one week after Caitlin disappeared and I felt I had no choice but to-”

“A week?” said Silverman. “I'm not getting the point.”

“It'll probably turn out to be nothing, Doc, but what if the boyfriend did collude with Book on some terrible deed and Book felt guilty and that's why he cut his wrists?”

“Do you suspect the boyfriend?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Then I still don't understand.”

“Sorry for bothering you, Doc.”

Silverman said, “Book never went through the E.R., got sent straight to Special Imp. You could try someone there but I doubt you'll be successful.”

“What's Special Imp?”

“As in ‘important.’ VIP inpatient ward. If you like living dangerously, ask Milo. I got him placed there last year. When he got shot.”

“What's dangerous about asking him?” said Moe.

“He's not into all that share-the-feelings stuff.”

“So you got the Loo VIP'd-”

“But that doesn't mean I have a pipeline to anyone at Special Imp. Good luck, Detective Reed.”

The unspoken line: You ll need it.

One hour into a more detailed computer search for articles about Mason Book's suicide attempt, Moe's phone rang. “Homicide, Detective Reed.”

“ Three hundred North Corsair Lane, Detective Reed's proud mother.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“How are you, darling?”

“Fine.”

“You don't sound fine, darling.”

“I don't?”

“You've got that pressure thing in your voice-constriction of the larynx due to stress. You've been affected that way since you were teeny.”

“Affected,” said Moe.

“Your voice, darling,” said Maddy. “It's like a peek into your emotional state.”

“Gee, I learn something new every day.”

“I miss you, Mosey. When's the last time we had brunch?”

“Hmm,” said Moe. “I guess it was…”

“I don't guess, I know. Eight weeks ago, as of last Sunday. You and enchanting Elizabeth-you are still together.”

“We are, Mom.”

“Phew,” said Maddy. “No faux pas. She's so good for you, Mosey.”

“Too good for me,” Moe blurted. His face went hot.

“Now, why in the world would you say that, sweetheart?”

Moe didn't answer.

Maddy said, “I'll wait for the blush to fade. Then I'll tell you no one's too good for you, my precious baby boy.”

“What makes you think I'm blushing?”

“Am I wrong?”

Silence.

“Just say, ‘Thanks for the emotional support, Mom.’”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, Mosey, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just teasing. Though the truth is, if you don't want to be teased, you need to learn not to be so reactive, darling. So anyway, I'd really love to see you. Eight weeks is way too long not to see my baby boy's Adonis face. I've been painting up a storm and I crave your judgment.”

“I'm sure it's great, Mom.”

“I'm sure it's not, Mosey.”

“All of a sudden someone's got a self-esteem problem?” said Moe.

Maddy laughed-that deep, almost mannish burst of glee so at odds with her appearance. Moe had seen people thrown by it. Sometimes, he was still thrown by it.

“Self-esteem issues?” she said. “Not me, darling. I'm just a factual appraiser and I'm well aware of the fact that I have absolutely no talent. Zero. A great, yawning void of no talent. Heck, Mosey, my easel shudders as I approach. But that's the strength of my character: I don't give a fig. I paint because I love it and anyone who disapproves can go straight to Pasadena. In that sense, we're diametrical opposites, Mosey. You have tremendous talent for what you do, but are so displeased with yourself.”

“Mom, I'm not displeased-”

“So I'm wrong again,” said Maddy. “No problem, I'm totally comfortable being in error because I'm aware of my infinitesimal place in the cosmos. So when are you coming? How about tonight? I'll cook my famous lentil soup-don't worry, I've stocked up on Beano.”

“Mom!”

From across the room, a D- 2 named Gil Southfork looked up from his desk and Moe knew his voice had risen. Cupping his hand over the phone, he whispered, “Let me call you later, Mom.”

“Don't bother,” said Maddy. “Just come see me. Tonight.”

“What's the urgen-”

“I miss you, darling. Eight weeks.”

“Let me see how my day goes and-”

“Six p.m., I'll make those sausages you like-chicken-cilantro, turkey-apple. You'll be off by six, darling?”

“That's the point, Mom, it's hard to pin down a time,” said Moe. “I'm on a case and there's no way-”

“Bring Elizabeth if she's free-why aren't you seeing her tonight? You need a social life to balance out your work life.”

“She's busy, too, Mom.” A semi-lie; Liz would be free by eight, the two of them had left the evening open.

“Too bad, I really like that girl,” said Maddy. “See you at six.”