She sent me down the hall to Mrs. Frizell’s cramped cubicle. The death mask of the old woman’s face was more pronounced than before, the hollows under her cheeks sunk so deep that her face looked like gray putty lightly patted over a skull. A thin stream of drool ran along the right side of her mouth. She snorted heavily as she breathed and kept tossing restlessly on the bed.

My stomach gave a convulsive twist. I was glad I hadn’t eaten since my toasted cheese sandwich six hours ago. I forced myself to kneel next to her and take her hand. Her fingers felt like a collection of brittle twigs.

“Mrs. Frizell!” I called loudly. “It’s Vic. Your neighbor, Vic. I have a dog, remember?”

Her agitated movements seemed to slow a bit. I thought she might be trying to focus on my voice. I repeated my message, placing special emphasis on “dog.” At that her eyelids did flutter slightly and she muttered, “Bruce?”

“Yes, Bruce is a wonderful dog, Mrs. Frizell. I know Bruce.”

Her parched lips curved infinitesimally upward. “Bruce,” she repeated.

I massaged her frail fingers gently between my own. It seemed a hopeless prospect, to move her from Bruce to banking, but I tried anyway. Hating myself for lying I suggested that Bruce needed to eat, and that for that he would need money. But she couldn’t respond enough to talk about something as complicated as her decision to change banks last spring.

She did finally say, “Feed Bruce.” That was hopeful in terms of her mental state—it showed she was connecting what I was saying to the right synapses—but it didn’t help me investigate her finances. I patted her fingers one last time and stood up. To my surprise Carol Alvarado was standing behind me.

We exclaimed at each other in unison. I asked what she was doing on the orthopedic floor.

She grinned a little. “Probably the same thing you are, Vic. Since I helped find her I feel responsible for her. I come over every now and then to check on her.”

“But in uniform?” I asked. “Did you come straight from Lotty’s?”

“Actually, I took a job in the night trauma unit.” She laughed self-consciously. “I was spending all this time over on the AIDS ward with Guillermo, and of course exchanging shop talk with the nurses on duty. They’re always short-handed here and it just sounded like a great opportunity. When Guillermo goes home I can still look after him during the day.”

“And when do you sleep?” I demanded. “Isn’t this going from the frying pan to the fire?”