Seated on the apex of a hill, Los Angeles County Medical Center peered down upon the industrial sink of downtown L.A., the most prominent of its buildings a tiered wedding cake of faded yellow concrete, fronted by an asphalt parking lot. He entered the complex through Marengo Drive, drove past the psychiatric and pediatric units, and followed the inclined road to the top. This area of the center had patches of lawn and shade, looking more like a college campus than a hospital. In a sense, County General was a campus—USC Medical School trained its docs here. The day was turning hot, grass wilting as the minutes ticked on. Only the eucalyptus seemed unaffected. Easygoing trees, taking L.A.’s summer heat and smog in stride, always large and leafy, emitting the tangy smell of menthol. Decker glanced across the roadway and he saw a shaded pathway leading to Women’s Hospital. Parking was around the corner.

He drove past the first group of structures, went around the block, passed the County Coroner’s Office and parked in a pay lot. Across the street was an orange and blue Howard Johnson’s resting in a deserted, weed-choked field.

Myra Steele had been placed in a semiprivate on the fourth floor. She and her roommate were sleeping, Myra closer to the door. The walls were institutional beige, the flooring new white tile. The room smelled of antiseptic spray and hummed with air-conditioning. A wooden file-holder was nailed onto the outside of the door, and in it was Myra’s chart. Decker looked over his shoulder, then lifted the chart and quickly peered through the medical findings. Most of the jargon he didn’t understand—technical terms for what had happened to her. He skimmed the pages for anything relevant.

Patient cooperates with procedures, meds, but refuses counseling at this time. Patient appears to be coping well, though still uncommunicative about the incident. Benefits of rape counseling explained several times to both patient and mother, but patient still refuses any psych treatment at this time. Mother may be an impediment.

Decker heard padded feet approaching and placed the chart in the holder before the nurse noticed him. He entered the room, found a chair, placed it next to Myra’s bed, and pulled the privacy curtain around the bed and himself. The noise of the metal rings dragging across the rod woke her up. She jumped up, startled, but fell back on her bed a moment later.

“Great,” she said. “Open my eyes and what do I see? Another cop. Leave me alone. I already sayed what I want to say.”