"Popular on both coasts," I said.
"No doubt, deservedly," Ito said. "How can I help you?
"Do you have a record of Angela Richard being here?"
"Yes," Ito said. "I had it pulled when I knew you were coming. She was in fact here in 1985."
"Drugs or alcohol?" I said.
"Alcohol," Ito said, "which is not to say that alcohol isn't a drug."
"Sure," I said. "So is caffeine. How long she stay?"
"Three months."
"She sober when she left?"
"She saw a social worker every day, attended all her meetings, and when she left us, yes, she was sober."
"May I see the file?" I said.
"No," Ito said.
"The social worker still here?"
"No. Mrs. Eaton was married to an Air Force officer, a bomber pilot, I think, over at March Field. He got transferred to Germany in 1990 and she went with him."
"You have an address for her when she was admitted?"
"Yes. I'll write it out for you, it's in Venice."
He wrote on a prescription pad, tore off the top sheet and handed it to me. I put the address in my shirt pocket.
"Did you know her?" I said.
"No. I didn't come here until 1987."
"Anyone that might have known her?"
"I doubt it. There is rapid staff turnover. And even those who have remained with us have no reason to remember her. We get a great many people through here."
"How many employees you have on staff?"
"One hundred and fifty-three," Ito said. "Three shifts."
"You got a company newsletter?"
Ito nodded. "Yes," he said. "I could put a notice in there asking if anyone remembered her. Do you have a card?"
I gave him the dignified one, where it says Investigations under my name and address. The one where I'm pictured shirtless with a knuckle knife in my teeth I save for the hoodlums. Ito put the card in his desk drawer and riffled through the file again.
"She would be what, about thirty-one now?" he said.
"Yes. She appears to have turned her life around before she disappeared."
"Social worker's report indicates that she was eager, Mrs. Eaton says `desperate,' to improve herself. Might she have simply left her husband as a means of continuing her self-improvement?"
"Husband's a pretty good man," I said. "But yes, it's possible. On the other hand, he was shot and badly wounded a few days after she disappeared."
"Which you assume is not coincidence."
"It's a useful assumption," I said. "It gives me a theory to work on."
"Yes," Ito said. He paused as he riffled the file and looked at one entry for a moment.
"Here's something," he said, "that may help you. Miss Richard was seen by a Beverly Hills psychiatrist named Madeleine St. Claire."
"St. Claire?" I said.
"Yes. She's quite a prominent doctor in Los Angeles, and once a week she comes down here and works with our patients. Pro bono."
"It's the name Lisa took when she came east."
"As you say, coincidences are not useful-."
"You have her address?"
"Yes."
He wrote on his prescription pad again.
"And I'll call her if you wish, and tell her you're coming."
He handed me the address. I folded it and put it beside the other one in my pocket.
"You have my card," I said. "Anybody remembers anything about Angela Richard, you'll get in touch."
"Certainly," Ito said.
We stood. He shook hands with me.
I said, "Thank you, Doctor."
"Will her husband recover?" Dr. Ito said.
"From being shot, they think so."
"It is possible," Ito said, "that she is drinking again, and it is related to her disappearance. That sort of thing happens."
"I know it does," I said. "And I hope it's not the explanation."
"What explanation do you hope for?" Ito said.
"I'm goddamned if I know, Doctor."
"Yes," he said. "That makes it difficult."
Chapter 19
The Venice address was now a motorcycle repair shop, and probably not even that for long. The building smelled of decay and dampness. The paint had weathered off, and the framing around the doors and windows was sagging badly.
She was drinking far too much and living self-destructively. But she was not addicted to alcohol. She was able to control her drinking."
"So she could have a drink, when you knew her, without having six more."
"When she left me she was able to use alcohol in moderation," Dr. St. Claire said.
"Given your knowledge of her, Doctor, is she likely to have shot her husband?"
"From ambush, you say?"
"Yes."
"No. I do not believe she would have shot him from ambush."
"But she could have shot him under other circumstances?"
"I don't know could or couldn't. I will say that Angela lived a very harsh life, in very difficult circumstances. She had fewer restraint mechanisms perhaps than some women might have, and she harbored a lot of rage."
"At whom?"
"At her father, at her boyfriend, at men in general."
"Lot of whores hate men," I said.
"And have reason to," Dr. St. Claire said with a smile.
The waiter arrived. Dr. St. Claire ordered the Cobb salad. I did not.
"Would she have left her husband without a word?" I said.
"I don't know. She is not the same woman she was when she was with me. She became almost totally caught up in her own rehabilitation. She never missed an appointment with me. She read every book she could about self-destructive behavior, alcohol dependency, sexual relationships. She was fairly indiscriminate about it, and I used to urge her to be selective. I'm not sure all that reading helped her."