Obsession by Jonathan Kellerman Page B

your business, but my experience has been that survivors don’t want to give up responsibilities even when they
are
burdensome.”
    “Mine as well,” I said. “In what way was Patty exacting?”
    “She attempted to control every aspect of her hospitalization. Not that I blame her.”
    “Were there compliance issues?”
    “No, because there was no treatment. Her decision.”
    “Did you agree?”
    “It’s always hard to stand back and watch someone die, but, honestly, there was nothing I could do for her. The goal became making her last days as comfortable as possible. Even there, she opted for less.”
    “Resisting the morphine drip, despite the anesthesiologist’s best efforts.”
    “The anesthesiologist is my husband,” she said. “Obviously I’m biased but there’s no one better than Joseph. And yes, Patty resisted him. Still, I’m not judging. This was a relatively young woman who learned suddenly that she was going to die.”
    “Did she ever talk about that?”
    “Infrequently and in a detached manner. As if she was describing a patient. I guess she needed to depersonalize a horrible situation. Is Tanya really doing okay? She seemed mature for her age, but that can be a problem, too.”
    “I’m keeping my eyes open. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
    “About Patty? How about this: Last year my brother ended up in the E.R. Auto accident, pretty nasty. He’s a dentist, was worried about a compression injury of one of his hands. Patty was on the night Gil came in and took care of him. Gil was sufficiently impressed enough to write a letter to Nursing Administration. He told me she was cool under pressure—absolutely unflappable, nothing got past her. When she was referred to me, I remembered her name, felt extremely sad. I wish I could’ve done more for her.”
    “You gave her what she needed,” I said.
    “That’s kind of you to say.” Small, edgy laugh. “Good luck with Tanya.”
     
     
    Petra answered her cell phone. “Detective Connor.”
    I filled her in.
    She said, “Exactly where on Cherokee did this woman live?”
    I gave her the address.
    “I think I know it. Kind of raw sienna on the outside, not exactly posh?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “I’ve made busts pretty close to there but nothing in that building specifically. Back then, Cherokee was a tough hood. According to all the old-timers who delight in telling me The Way It Was. Not the best place to raise a daughter.”
    “Having a daughter wasn’t in her plans.” I explained how Tanya had come to live with Patty.
    “Good Samaritan,” she said. “A nurse, to boot. Doesn’t sound like one of the bad guys.”
    “I doubt she is.”
    “Deathbed confession, huh? We love those. Sorry, Alex, nothing I’ve seen in the cold files matches that. Mostly, what I’ve been doing is compensating for other people’s screwups. You read the murder books, everyone knows who the bad guy is but someone was too lazy or there just wasn’t enough to prove it. But I’ll have another look in the fridge.”
    “Thanks.”
    “A did-it-even-happen, huh? Milo came up with that all by his lonesome?”
    “He’s applying for copyright as we speak.”
    “He darn well should. Take all the credit and none of the blame—that’s one of his, too.”
    “Words he doesn’t live by,” I said. “Is Isaac still working with you?”
    “Isaac? Ah, the database. No, the boy wonder is no longer tagging along. Finished his Ph.D. in BioStatistics, starting med school in August.”
    “Double doctor,” I said. “What is he, ten years old?”
    “Just turned twenty-three, what a slacker. The obvious question is why I don’t have a copy of his CD-ROM. The answer is he offered it to me but with all the static the department’s been getting about privacy violations, he had to submit a formal application to Parker Center first.”
    “They made him apply to donate his own data?”
    “In triplicate. After which the brass showed its gratitude by