JONATHAN KELLERMAN. THE CLINIC

The article said just the opposite. I turned to the Discussion section at the back. Hope and Locking hedged their results by stating that their sample was too small.

As Milo opened drawers and read the spines of shelved books, I inspected the rest of the room. Loose journals and books covered half the floorspace. A red wool throw was tossed carelessly over a box. Just like the carton Locking had carried out, the same neat black lettering.

Five sealed cartons from Hope Devane’s publisher stamped WOLVES AND SHEEP, COMP. COPIES were shoved into a corner. Unopened reams of computer paper.

The lettered box contained more of Hope’s published papers, Locking the coauthor on two of them. No authorship for the other student, Mary Ann Gonsalvez.

Teacher’s pet?

Judging from the conduct-committee transcripts, Locking had been a kindred spirit.

More than that?

He was young, bright, good-looking if you like the brooding underwear-ad type.

Younger man, older woman.

First I’d wondered about Locking and Seacrest, now I was speculating about a heterosexual affair.

Sin on the brain, Delaware?

But the wound pattern connoted sin—someone’s idea of transgression made good.

Heart, vagina. Stabbing in the back.

The heat of passion buttressed by cold planning.

Seacrest seemed the bloodless type.

Had he shed blood?

Milo fished some more, then said, “Anything?”

I told him about the discrepancy between the self-control article and the book.

“Like you said, she fudged.” He looked through the office door, across the landing, and cocked his head. I followed him out to Seacrest’s office.

Also book-lined and furnished with aesthetic apathy, but pin-neat.

Next, Seacrest’s bedroom. Now that he had it all to himself, the historian kept his sleeping space tidy. Queen-sized brass bed, floral coverlet tucked so tight it looked painted on the mattress.

We went downstairs. Seacrest was nowhere in sight.

Milo said, “Professor?” and Seacrest came into the dining room from the kitchen, mug in hand. The tag and string of a tea bag dangled over the side. University mascot on the mug.

“Anything else you’d like to see?”

“Where are Dr. Devane’s professional records—patient files, things like that?”

“Anything not here would be in her campus office.”

“I’ve been through that and there are no patient files.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Did she have a private office?”

“No.”

“Did she see patients here?”

“No.”

“Did she see patients at all?”

“She never discussed her work.”

“I’m not talking specifics, Professor Seacrest. Just if she saw any patients.”

“If she did she never mentioned it. We didn’t talk about our jobs. Only . . . scholarly issues.”

Seacrest touched his tattoo.

“Navy?” said Milo.

“Coast Guard.” Seacrest smiled. “A moment of poor judgment.”

“Where’d you serve?”

“Off Catalina Island. More of a vacation, I’m forced to admit.”

“So you’re from California.”

“Grew up right here. In this house. Campus brat. My father was a chemistry professor.”

“And Hope’s?”

“Hope’s parents are both deceased. As are mine. Neither of us had siblings. I suppose I’m all that’s left of both families.”

I knew what Milo was thinking: sole heir.

“What did her father do?” he said.

“He was a sailor. Merchant marine. He died when Hope was very young. She didn’t talk much about him.”

“And her mother?”

“Her mother worked in a restaurant.” Seacrest headed for the door. “As I told the first detectives, she’s also deceased and Hope had no other family.”

Milo said, “Quite a skill.”

“What is?”

“Keeping your professional lives separate. Keeping things separate, in general.”

Seacrest licked his lips. “Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“It was easy?”

“Certainly. Because we respected each other.” Opening the door, he extended an arm outside.

“Warm night,” he said. “The night it happened was much cooler.”

Milo drove Wilshire Boulevard through the corridor of high-rise condos that made up L.A.’s nod to Park Avenue.

“Diagnosis?” he said.

“He’s not Mr. Warmth but he’s got reason to be depressed. He could be hiding something or really not know much. Bottom line: nothing earth-shattering.”

“And Mr. Locking?”

“The skull ring was cute. First I found myself wondering about a relationship between him and Seacrest, then between him and Hope.”

“Him and Seacrest? Why?”

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *