Chapter Two: The Usual Suspect
Kutner thought to himself, as he approached the old woman (who surprisingly, wasn't really that old – she seemed to be only in her forties) who he was about to interview, that there was a good reason why he had never wanted to become a cop.
He liked cop shows, and always had – that was true. In fact, in his apartment right now, in front of his TV, was a stack of DVDs of the entire series of HillStreetBlues, waiting to be rewatched when he finally got a chance. He would even venture to say that he'd always liked HillStreetBlues better than St.Elsewhere, even though he had once lost a date because of admitting it. But he had never wanted to be a cop.
The reason why Kutner has never wanted to be a cop is that he was convinced that he could never be good at the shell games involved in interrogations. He couldn't imagine himself as a detective without immediately imagining himself walking in and simply asking the person if they did it or not. And if it were that easy, every Law&Orderfan would have become a detective.
"Why do you think your daughter poisoned her… daughter?" Kutner inquired.
Well, there's nothing wrong with a direct approach.
"Because that child has been nothing but trouble since the second she was born."
"The baby?" Kutner asked, his eyes widening.
"No, you idiot – Celia! My daughter. Ever since the second she was born she has been a problem child. Got knocked up at age eighteen and has been even more of a train-wreck ever since." Kutner had thought it was a movie cliché, but the woman then proceeded to actually shake her umbrella in the air.
"But how does that translate to… poisoning?" Kutner pressed. "A lot of people are 'problem children', but not all of them poison their own… children."
"We used to have dogs when Celia and her brother were kids. They never lasted more than a couple years. All died mysteriously. We were blind for a long time." Kutner sighed; that did make the daughter sound a little psycho, but being a little psycho doesn't necessarily make something medically relevant or right.
"Is there anything else you can tell me?" Kutner asked. "Anything at all? Any allergies little…"
"Cola. Short for Nicola," the mother replied.
"Might have?"
"Not that I know of," she admitted.
"Any recent hospitalizations?"
"None," she replied, but Kutner sensed just that bit of hesitation. Maybe one could call it a Spidey sense of source – maybe he wouldn't make such a bad cop if he had decided to become one after all.
"Are you sure?" All he had to do was raise an eyebrow, and she hesitated again.
"There was one," she told him. "She fell down the stairs."
"Well, that's normal for a three year old," Kutner pointed out, "They are always falling down things. When was this?"
"It was when she was visiting us," the woman – I should really get her name, Kutner reminded himself – "It was like she just lost coordination and tumbled down. It wasn't like she tripped."
"What could cause loss of coordination?" House inquired, tapping the whiteboard impatiently. "Come on, come on – we're in the middle of a detective novel! Who doesn't find this exciting?" No one answered. "You're all a bunch of killjoys."
"Well, the poisoning diagnosis is still on the table," Thirteen offered at last. "Then again, what if the grandparents poisoned her, to make it look like the daughter did it?"
"Someone's been watching BreakingBad," House replied, as Thirteen rolled her eyes.
"Wouldn't that make sense?" Thirteen continued. "And no, I didn't get it off a TV show."
"Except we don't care at the moment who is poisoning little Billy…" House began.
"Cola," Kutner corrected.
"Pepsi," House replied. "What we care is what they're using. That way we can… I don't know… save them?"
"But don't you think we also should know who NOT to let around the kid?" Taub said, his first input in a while. "If the mother or grandmother is poisoning her, she might try and continue it to cover her tracks."
"Good idea, Taub. You've been assigned to toddler duty." Taub scowled.
"I really have better things to do than guard the patient's room all day, House. That's why we have hospital security."
"First of all, no, you don't have better things to do, unless you're back to cheating on the lovely Mrs. Taub." Taub opened his mouth to reply, but House continued, "And second, I got shot in this hospital, and we had a hostage situation not TOO, too long ago… so why trust hospital security when I can put one of my trusty sidekicks in charge?"
"We haven't talked to the actual mother of the kid yet," Kutner pointed out. "Maybe we ought to interview her before we jump to all of these conclusions."
"That's right!" House exclaimed loudly. "Don't jump to conclusions – 'if it happens again, I'll jump to YOUR conclusion!'" Everyone looked at him blankly. "Has no one else but me seen Showgirls? Really?"
"House? Is Showgirls really relevant?" Taub asked sarcastically.
"Maybe it is," House replied with a smirk. "Has anyone checked out the clubs the mother partied at? Maybe she brought in a toxin that didn't affect her but… a youngin with a less developed immune system…"
"Or," Thirteen cut in, "We COULD just talk to the mother."
"I'll call Amber," House announced. Everyone looked at him with various forms of frustrated glances.
"To do what? I'll bite," Thirteen said finally.
"To go to the club with you."
"You cannot be serious," she started.
"I'll go to the club," Taub volunteered.
"No, Taub, that's like giving an alcoholic an assignment at the bar."
"Or a Vicodin addict a job at a hospital," Taub snapped back.
"Okay, WELL, while I go cry in the corner… Thirteen, go pick out something sexy. You are going dancing."
Thirteen knew better than to argue with House by now.
