Therapy

“Color?”

“Red. Red convertible. But he always kept the top up, and the windows were tinted, so I never saw if anyone was inside.”

I said, “That’s the car he was killed in.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that, that’s unfortunate,” said Gull. “But I had nothing to do with it.”

“He confronted you and threatened to report you.”

“You don’t kill someone for that.”

“What do you kill them for?”

“Nothing. Violence is always wrong.” Gull searched for his hankie. I spotted it, on the floor behind him, but didn’t let on.

He said, “You don’t kill anyone for any reason. I’m a firm believer in nonviolence.”

“Make love, not war.”

“You’re making me sound glib and lecherous. It wasn’t like that. Some women need tenderness.”

Wimmer’s hands clawed.

I said, “So Gavin hung around the building.”

“He damn well did.”

“How often?”

“Don’t know,” said Gull. “I caught him once.”

“When he caught you.”

Silence.

“How did it happen?”

“Are you going to use it against me?”

“Ethical violations are the least of your problems.”

“What do you want?”

“Everything you know about everything I ask.”

“The Grand Inquisitor,” he said. “How can you justify this, professionally?”

“We all make adjustments,” I said.

Milo jangled the handcuffs.

Gull said, “Sure. Fine. Let’s do it.”

“That okay with you?” I asked Wimmer. “Busy schedule and all.”

Wimmer hesitated. Gull whined, “Myr-na?” She looked at her watch, sighed, sat back in her chair. “Sure, make yourselves comfortable. Boys.”

CHAPTER 39

Franco Gull said, “I should’ve followed my instincts, never wanted to treat him.”

“Not your type of patient,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

A few minutes ago, he’d cleared his throat several times, and Milo had suggested to Myrna Wimmer that someone get water for her client. Looking vexed, she phoned for a pitcher and glasses, but when they arrived Gull refused to drink.

Clutching at the smallest choice.

I said, “Why didn’t you want to treat Gavin Quick?”

“I don’t like adolescents,” said Gull. “Too much crisis, too much in flux.”

“Add brain damage to that.”

“That, too. I hate neuropsych. Boring. Uncreative.”

“Brain-damaged adolescent,” I said. “Also, he was male.”

“I see males.”

“Not many.”

“How would you know?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I’m not divulging personal information about my patients,” said Gull. “No matter what pressure you put on me.”

I said, “Ethics and all that.”

Gull was silent.

“Gavin watched the building,” I said. “How did he find out you were sleeping with a patient?”

Gull winced. “Is this necessary?”

“Very.”

“Fine, fine. He was there in the parking lot when we came out.”

“You and the patient.”

“Yes. A lovely person. I walked her out. It was late, dark, she was my last patient, and I was leaving, too.”

“Chivalrous,” I said. “What did Gavin see?”

Gull hesitated.

Milo stretched his legs. Myrna Wimmer polished the dial of her watch with her sleeve.

Gull said, “We kissed. Yes, it was stupid to be that open. But who knew anyone was watching? The kid was parked at the curb, for God’s sake.”

“Nosy,” I said.

“You need to understand: This wasn’t some exploitative thing. It was loving. Mutual and loving. This woman had experienced some severe losses in her life, and she needed comfort.”

“Deep comfort,” said Milo.

“What I did was wrong. In a formal sense- a normative sense. But the specifics of the situation dictated a certain degree of intimacy.”

I said, “Therapeutic kindness.”

“If you must know.”

Myrna Wimmer picked up a legal pad and pretended to read. She looked as if she’d swallowed a cup of sewage.

Gull turned to me, flushed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

I said, “So you did it in the office. On a couch? On the desk?”

“That is vulgar-”

“Your conduct was vulgar.”

“I’ve told you. She was lonely-”

“And had experienced severe losses.”

Myrna Wimmer shook her head.

“All right,” said Gull. “I’m a bastard. Is that what you want to hear?”

I said, “Back to the beginning: You don’t like adolescent males, but you agreed to treat Gavin Quick.”

“As a favor to Mary. The referral came to her but she was booked and I’d just discharged a patient- a very successful case, I might add. So I happened to have an open slot. Which is extremely rare.”

“Why’d Mary ask you to see Gavin and not Albin Larsen?”

“Albin only works part-time.”

“Too busy with good works,” I said.

Gull shrugged.

“Did Mary tell you how the referral came to her?”

“Through her ex-husband. He’s our landlord, in fact- and Gavin’s father was a tenant of his, had mentioned Gavin’s legal problems. The actual referral came through a neurologist I’d never heard of. Gavin was claiming brain damage had caused the stalking.”