“So go get one.”

“You see her as a suspect, Corporal?”

“Yes, I do.” He spit on the ground. “Used to be that the worst things that girls did was smoking dope or kiting checks. Now they’re just as bad as the boys. There’s progress for you.”

18

Getting a search warrant on criminals with probable cause was one thing. Getting a warrant on patient files when one of the doctors was still alive was proving to be more difficult. As the hours dragged on, Decker decided to send a team over to the Baldwins’ Beverly Hills office to see if they could talk their way into information. Since Martinez was hunting down Malibu condos for Dee, and Tom and Wanda were still tied up at the scene, Decker gave the daunting task of being charming to Scott Oliver and Marge Dunn.

Neither sounded overjoyed at the assignment.

Riding on the freeway over the hump, Oliver sat in the passenger’s seat of the unmarked and tried not to dump on Marge. He was cranky because he hated officious people, and those who practiced in Beverly Hills tended to be full of themselves—or maybe the correct word was successful. Scott figured that Deck had given him the detail on purpose, that the loo was still upset over Oliver’s all-too-brief relationship with Deck’s daughter Cindy. Never mind that the woman had dumped him and was on her way to being a rising star in the LAPD. Never mind that he was on the dark side of forty and had reached the pinnacle of his career ten years ago. No, forget all that crap. Oliver decided that Decker’s animosity came from the fact that he was better looking, and could get tons of women any time he wanted just because—

Marge interrupted his fantasies with business. “I talked to one of their psychology associates. Her name is Maryam Estes.” She picked a speck of dirt off of her navy linen/polyester blend slacks. They were supposed to wrinkle a little but still look presentable. The garment definitely had the wrinkle part down pat; presentable was another matter. Still, the deep tone looked good with her pale complexion, her brown eyes, and her dishwater, thin hair. Along with the pants, she wore an oxford weave shirt and a matching blue jacket. Sensible navy shoes with rubber soles, but stylish—a Tod’s knockoff. She always felt lucky when she found decent shoes in size ten wide. Her feet were proportional to her height and weight, but the fact didn’t make it easier to find things in the stores. “She didn’t sound very cooperative over the phone.”

“Did she sound pretty?”

“By pretty do you mean young?”

“Yeah, young is definitely okay.”

“She sounded young.” Marge got off at Sunset and turned left, heading toward Beverly Hills. “Young and very nervous.”

“She doesn’t have the best job security right now.”