Muffled response. "Who is it?"

"It's me. Kinsey," I said to the blank door. After a moment, I heard the lock retracted, but she didn't actually let me in.

Instead, she hollered, "Enter!"

Lord, she was tedious. I entered.

The room had been tidied and the bed was made, I'm sure through no effort of hers. She looked as if she'd been crying. Her nose was reddened, her makeup smeared. She was, of course, doing drugs. She had gotten out a mirror and a razor blade and was laying out a couple of lines of coke. There was a half-filled wineglass on the bed table.

"I feel like shit," she said. She had exchanged her gypsy outfit for a raw silk kimono in a lush shade of green with butterflies embroidered on the back and sleeves. Her arms were so thin she looked like a praying mantis, her green eyes aglitter.

"When are you due back at St. Terry's?" I asked.

She paused to blow her nose, not wanting to screw up her high. "Who knows?" she said, glumly. "Tonight, I guess. At least I'll have a chance to pack some of my own clothes to take with me. Shit, I ended up on the psycho ward with nothing."

"Why do you do this stuff Kitty? You're playing right into Kleinert's hands."

"Terrific. I didn't know you came up here to lecture me."

"I came up to search Bobby's room. I'm looking for the little red address book he asked you about last Tuesday. I don't suppose you have any idea where it might be."

"Nope." She bent over, using a rolled-up dollar bill like a straw, her nostril forming a little vacuum cleaner. I watched the coke fly up her nose, like a magic trick.

"Can you think who he might have given it to?"

"Nuh-un." She sat back on the bed, pinching her nose shut. She wet her index finger and cleaned the surface of the mirror, running her fingertip across her gums then, like a remedy for teething pains. She reached for her wineglass and settled back against the bed pillows, lighting a cigarette.

"God, that's great," I said. "You're tagging all the bases today. Do a little coke, knock back some wine, cigarettes. They're going to have to run you through Detox before you hit Three South again." I knew I was baiting her, but she got on my nerves and I was spoiling for a fight, which I suspected would feel better than .grief.

"Fuck you," she said, bored.

"'Mind if I sit down?" I asked.

She gestured permission and I perched on the edge of the bed, looking around with interest.

"What happened to your stash?" I asked.

"What stash?"

"The one you kept in there," I said, indicating the bed table drawer.

She stared. "I never kept a stash in there."

I loved the little note of righteous indignation. "That's funny," I said. "I saw Dr. Kleinert pull a whole Ziploc bag full of pills out of there."