The agony of so many families.
No one who could be Ovid Chase.
Milo rolled his chair and faced me. Not a wheelie, just the slow scrape of hard rubber on linoleum. “You probably thought of this already but mental illness can be genetic, right? So what about psych hospitals, a pediatric ward?”
“Sure,” I said, dispirited.
“Sorry,” he said. “For that, better you call than me.”
He found me an empty interview room and I phoned Ravenswood’s pediatric service and used my title. Negative. Same result at County and every other public hospital maintaining an inpatient pediatric psych ward.
When I returned to his office and told Milo, he said, “May I suggest that at this point no news is good news? Like maybe he’s living with a picture-perfect adoptive family.”
I said, “In a perfect world... The only other place I can think of would be a private psych ward but no way to gain access to their records.”
“Private costs a fortune, Alex. I don’t see the kid of a homeless woman affording that. Unless he’s in a place that takes government money, but if that was the case his name woulda showed up on some social service list. Same for public school, because they’d register him for assistance. And forget fancy boarding schools, right?”
“Right.”
“So what next?”
I had no answer.
He said, “When you saw her today she wouldn’t talk to you at all about the kid, huh?”
“I mentioned him but didn’t push it. I’m not sure she’s able to talk much. The only thing she got out was something about her mother disappearing. And that got her agitated, so I backed off.”
“Was that crazy stuff or do you think you touched a nerve?”
“I have no idea.”
“Mommy disappearing — hey, seeing as she was an actress, what about one of those where-are-they-now sites?”
“Tried it,” I said. “SubUrban lasted two and a half seasons, episodes are listed and she’s on the cast, but there are no bios.”
“Maybe none of them ever worked again.”
“That gives me an idea, Big Guy. I’ll try to find her cast-mates. Thanks.” I got up. “Can I also have that Echo Park address?”
“Better yet, I’ll come with you.”
“You’ve got time?”
“Anything’s better than this.” Logging off the test, he shrugged into his jacket.
I said, “The great escape.”
“It’s called executive prioritizing, amigo. They teach it to you at seminars.”
Chapter 9
The drive to Echo Park took forty-five minutes, during which I called a few private psych hospitals and rehab outfits in the faint hope someone would bend rules. No luck but doing something was better than wallowing in pessimism as Milo cursed his way through traffic.
The East Hollywood address LAPD had for Zelda matched three stories of flaking stucco zigzagged by hundred-year-old fire escapes. One of the few residential throwbacks in an area steadily ceding to strip malls, mail drops, and Central American restaurants.
No signs marking the place but I didn’t need my doctorate to know what it was. Defeated men idled on the sidewalk. Lots of empty eyes and slack mouths. As Milo’s unmarked pulled up, a shudder coursed through the group. By the time we got out of the car, everyone had returned inside.
Three security locks on the open door. A poster prohibited entry after nine p.m. The lobby was skimpy, painted bright aqua, with a whiteboard on an easel listing rules and regulations for residents of BrightMornings: A Place of Rebirth. A plaque on the wall listed sources of funding: a dozen churches and synagogues.
No residents in sight but footsteps thumped on an upper floor. Ornate carving on a battered wooden reception counter said the place had probably once been a hotel, maybe a decent one. I’d prepared myself for another stonewall but the face behind the counter was familiar.
Maybe this would be different.
Tiny young woman in her twenties, filing cards. A lovely Botticelli face was graced by enormous hazel eyes and a mass of dark ringlets. Her fingers were slender and child-sized. Her focus was intense.
Graduate student at the school where I had a faculty position. She’d been in the audience when I’d lectured on pediatric psych a couple of years ago, had asked bright questions. Industrious note-taker, Judith... something.
Our approach drew her away from the cards. Something to do with meal schedules.
“Dr. Delaware?” Her name tag filled in the blank. J. Meers.
“Hi, Judith. Is this your clinical placement?”
“No, just a part-time job to augment my funding. I had to stop T.A.’ing in order to concentrate on my dissertation.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s going.” She shrugged. Glanced at Milo.
“This is Lieutenant Sturgis from LAPD. Milo, Judith Meers.”
“Hi, Lieutenant. Is one of our guys in trouble?”
I said, “No. We’re trying to find a woman named Zelda Chase who listed this as her address.”
“That must’ve been a while back, Dr. Delaware. The program separated the sexes around a year and a half ago and the women are housed in Santa Monica.”
Milo said, “Putting distance between males and females.”
Judith Meers said, “This is before my time but from what I can gather unisex did cause understandable problems.”
“Do you keep records from before the move?”
“I’m afraid not, Lieutenant. Everything pertaining to the women went with them.”
As she wrote out the address and number of the Santa Monica shelter, a man came down the stairs, gripping the banister, teetering, nearly tumbling.
Emaciated, with haunted eyes that looked nowhere. Flaccid lips moved but produced no sound. He could’ve been forty or a hundred.
He passed by without noting us, trudged through the doorway, and shuffled eastward.
Judith Meers handed me the information and sighed. “At least their basic needs are taken care of.”
I said, “What kinds of patients qualify?”
“We’re not allowed to offer treatment so they’re residents, not patients. Everyone’s classified as seriously mentally ill — not a DSM diagnosis, just an informal judgment. That’s part of what I do but it’s not at all technical.”
Milo said, “You know it when you see it.”
“Basically,” said Judith Meers. “The goal is to provide a warm, hopefully safe place for nonviolent psychotics and a well-equipped kitchen to serve their nutritional needs.”
I said, “Do any of them get treatment elsewhere?”
“Ideally, they obtain their meds and their therapy at various outpatient clinics. When we have drivers available, we take them, but some of the facilities are within walking distance.”
“Compliance isn’t an issue?”
“It’s a huge issue, Dr. Delaware. We try to guide but are careful to avoid power struggles. That’s our funding mandate.”
“You’re privately funded.”
“Totally,” she said. “The religious institutions have been fantastic. Without them there’d be nothing. There used to be some federal money but it dried up. Tight times, from what I’ve been told.”
Less for this, more for Kristin Doyle-Maslow.
Milo said, “The nonviolent part, that work out?”
“Pretty much.”
“Pretty much?”
Judith Meers said, “I’ve never had a problem personally, Lieutenant. The guys are pre-screened for lack of aggression and a lot of them actually look out for me. Or think they’re being protective.”
“Hmm,” he said.