“No peds, no ob-gyn,” I said. “Besides abortions, what brought in the profit?”

“My guess would be the same kinds of things that bring it in now. Procedures—radiology, short-term surgery.”

“Were the attending physicians from any particular part of town?”

She stared at me. “I appreciate your persistence, darling, but you’re pressing me for data I simply don’t have. But if we’re still in a betting mood, I’d wager against Watts or Boyle Heights.” She took hold of the fork, speared the abandoned Jell-O. Savored. “How have things been going for you, my dear? Doing anything interesting other than police work?”

“Some court work,” I said.

“Custody?”

“Custody and injury. One more question, Sal: Did your friend ever mention a doctor who drove a Duesenberg?”

She blinked. “That’s a car.”

I said, “It’s a very expensive car, made in the thirties and forties.”

“I’ve never been much for automobiles, Alex. A fact that greatly distressed my boys when they wanted fancy-shmancy wheels and I insisted on no-frills functionality.” She looked at her watch. “Oops, need to get going.”

Standing on tiptoes, she pecked my cheek hard, marched away, stiff-shouldered, stethoscope swinging.

I called her name but she never broke step.

CHAPTER
9

Milo said, “Abortion mill. Plenty of those, back then.”

I said, “This one served wealthy families.”

“Good business model.” He speared a massive forkful of curried lamb, studied the outsized portion as if daring himself. Engulfed, chewed slowly.

We were at Café Moghul, a storefront Indian restaurant on Santa Monica near the station. The bespectacled woman who runs the place believes Milo is a one-man strategic defense system and treats him like a god in need of gastric tribute.

Today, the sacrificial array was crab and chicken and the lamb, enough vegetables to fill a truck garden. The woman came over, smiling as always, and refilled our chai. Her sari was hot pink printed with gold swirls and loops. I’d seen it before. More than once. Over the years, I’ve seen her entire wardrobe but I have no idea what her name is. I’m not sure Milo does, either.

“More of anything, Lieutenant?”

“Fine for the time being.” He snarfed more lamb to prove it, reached for a crab claw.

When the woman left, he said, “Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

“I go with Dr. Greiner’s logic. No reason for a baby to be linked to a place like that. Same for Ellie Green, seeing as she worked with kids. Anyone with access to medical equipment coulda gotten hold of that box.”

I said nothing.

He put the claw down hard enough for it to rattle. “What?”

“When I asked Salome if she recalled a doctor who drove a Duesenberg, she tensed up and terminated the conversation and walked out on me.”