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.”
“You don’t believe that.”
Gull shrugged off the question.
I said, “It doesn’t take brain damage to get a guy sexually aggressive.”
Gull exhaled. “This is wearying me.”
“So sorry.”
Wimmer said, “Is there anything more?”
I said, “Did you have much contact with Gavin’s parents?”
“The father only,” said Gull, “and just once. I thought it was unusual, generally it’s the mother. I asked the father about it, he said his wife wasn’t feeling well.”
“What did you learn from Mr. Quick?”
“Not much, I took a quick family intake. He seemed very concerned about his son.”
I said, “Initially, Mary had no time for Gavin, but once Gavin fired you, she took over.”
“I suppose she made time,” said Gull. “As a favor to me.”
“So Gavin wouldn’t make waves.”
Silence.
I said, “What did you give her in return?”
“I agreed to take night call for two months.”
Milo said, “Did that include calling on her at night?”
Gull glared at him.
“The questions stands, Doctor.”
“Mary was a highly sexual person. She had strong needs, and I was able to fill them. We enjoyed each other. I don’t see that as sinful. But in answer to your question: No. Mary and I were perfectly competent at separating our professional and personal lives.”
I said, “Who murdered her?”