The Clinic

would walk so that Big Micky could apply his own brand of justice… God help me.

She slumped and began sobbing again.

Emerson let her go on for a while, gave her a tissue, stepped back.

Her pain was reflected in his eyes but he could tolerate it.

At the least, I might have found someone to refer to.

Finally she stopped and said, “He killed her because of me.”

“Definitely not,” I said. “It had nothing to do with you. It was between him and Professor Devane.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“When the facts come out you will.”

“Robbie,” she said.

“You protected Robbie,” I said. “At your expense.”

She didn't answer.

“Did Professor Devane know about the threat?”

Headshake. “I couldn't- I didn't want- she understood me but I didn't want her… didn't want anyone in my mess.”

“But you did tell her he'd tied you up.”

Long silence. Long, slow nod.

Then she shocked me with a sudden, bright smile. Emerson was caught off-guard, too. He began twisting beard hairs.

“What, Tessa?” he said.

“So I'm a martyr,” she said. “Finally.”

I drove through quiet streets, picturing the way it had happened.

Muscadine charming her, treating her well- courtly, even, til they got to his place.

Then turning.

Overpowering her.

Tying her up.

She'd told Hope.

Hope had listened- the expert listener- cool, supportive.

But the story had meant so much more to her than just another outrage.

Hating Muscadine. Thinking about him- big, strong.

Healthy.

Nice, big kidney, more than adequate for filtering garbage from the shrunken body of a man who considered her family.

Sweet.

Perfect.

Being tied down.

She knew what that felt like.

Though she'd never tell Tessa.

Empathy had its limits.

40

Ronald Oster was too young to be that cynical.

Maybe twenty-eight, with kinky flame-red hair and rampant freckles, he was soft around the middle and wore a vested blue suit one size too small.

I met him outside the county jail, off to one side, near the long line of women that forms every morning, waiting to visit prisoners. Some of the women looked at us but Oster paid them no notice as he gave me a long, hard look and kept smoking his British Oval.

“So why'd you change your mind?” he said.

“My own lawyer said you could force me. As long as I'm going to waste my time, I might as well get paid.”

He kept staring at me.

“Speaking of which,” I said, “my fee's three hundred seventy-five dollars per hour, portal-to-portal. I'll send you the bill and expect you to get it paid within thirty days. I also expect a contract from you to that effect within three days.”

I handed him my business card.

“So it's the money,” he said, thumbing his vest pocket.

“I'd rather not do it at all but if I have to, it sure isn't for the love of your client.”

He pressed the flat cigarette between his fingers. “Let's get one thing clear, Doctor. From this point on if you work for anyone on this case, it's for my client. Anything he says to you as well as anything I say to you about him falls under the purview of therapeutic confidentiality. Including this conversation.”

“Once we have an agreement.”

“We do. Though in terms of payment, I'm a civil servant. All I can do is go through channels.”

“Do your best- and one other exception. If your client threatens me in any way, it'll fall under Tarasoff and I'll report it immediately.”

That threw him, but he smiled. “Tarasoff applies to threats against third parties.”

“No one says it can't apply to the therapist.”

“I sense hostility, Doctor.”

“Self-preservation.”

“Why would my client threaten you?”

“They say he's murdered several times. I'm just talking theoretically, to make sure we're clear about the rules.”

“Do you get this clear with every attorney you work for?”

“I don't work much for attorneys.”

“I've heard you do lots of child-custody work.”

“When I do, I work for the court.”

“I see… so you're afraid of Mr. Muscadine. Why?”

“I have no specific fear of him but I'm careful. Let's say I don't come to the conclusions he wants me to. If he has murdered all those people, it's an indication he doesn't take well to disappointment.”

“Disappointment?” He flicked away the cigarette. “That's a mild way to describe loss of a vital organ.”

I looked at my watch.

He said, “Essentially, the man was raped, Dr. Delaware.”

“How does he claim it happened?”

“I'll let him tell you that. If I let him talk to you at all. Even if I don't, you'll get the contract and a check for your time today.”

“Meaning I already belong to you and can't cooperate voluntarily with the police.”

He smiled.

“Fine,” I said, looking at my watch again. “Far as I'm concerned, the less I have to do with any of this the better.”

He hooked a thumb in his vest. The line of waiting women inched past us.

“This,” he said, “may not work out.”

“Up to you.”