“I have no idea. From these questions, you obviously think it had something to do with Gavin Quick.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t think anything.”
“A therapist and her patient murdered within days of each other. You’ve never wondered about it?”
“I wonder,” said Gull. “I just don’t have answers.”
“Any guesses?”
He shook his head.
“The girl murdered alongside Gavin,” I said. “Had you ever seen her before?”
“I told you the first time you showed me that picture. No.”
“The picture was in yesterday’s paper. Bring back any memories?”
“I didn’t read yesterday’s paper.”
“No interest in world affairs.”
“Not much,” said Gull. “I’m not a political person.”
“Unlike Albin Larsen.”
“You keep bringing him up.”
“So I do.” I looked over at Milo. He appeared serene.
Myrna Wimmer moved forward, perching on the edge of her desk chair. Her mouth was set, and her shoulders were tight.
Gull said, “Gavin Quick, now Albin. You’re losing me.”
I said, “Why did Albin just inform Sonny Koppel that your group had no further interest in leasing the ground floor?”
“No further interest? Why would we need the bottom floor? It’s already leased, isn’t it? Some sort of charitable foundation.”
“Charitable Planning.”
He nodded.
“What are they about?” I said.
“Don’t know.”
“You’ve been neighbors for a while.”
“I never see anyone go in there except Sonny Koppel. And that’s not very often.”
“How often?”
“Once, twice a month. Maybe it’s one of his businesses. He owns several.”
“Tycoon?”
“Apparently.”
“How do you know that?”
“From Mary. She got us the suite through him. Handled all the paperwork on our lease.”
“Take-charge gal,” I said.
“Mary was a mover. Albin and I are more . . . cerebral. She got us a great deal on the lease because Sonny was still fond of her.”
“She told you that?”
“She told me and laughed about it,” said Gull.
“Making fun of Sonny.”
“To be frank, she didn’t think much of him. Mary could be . . . cutting. It wasn’t typical of her, but she could get that way.”
“And Sonny brought out Mary’s cutting side.”
“You know exes.”
“What exactly did Mary tell you about Sonny?”
“That soon after she’d married him he’d turned into a fat slob. That she’d never found him attractive in the first place but had deluded herself he might be workable. She liked the fact that he was a law student. Then he flunked his bar exam, and she started viewing him as the quintessential loser. Her phrase.”
“A loser who became a tycoon.”
“That surprised her. She said being rich was wasted on Sonny, he didn’t know how to spend money, didn’t know how to enjoy life.”
“Sounds like the fondness ran one way,” I said.
“You think he killed her?”
“Why would we think that?”
“Ex-husband,” he said. “Unrequited love. Maybe he found out how Mary really felt about him. Maybe it came to a head.”
“Did Mary ever give you any indication that things got hostile between her and Sonny?”
“No, but she wouldn’t have mentioned it to me.”
“Despite you being friends—despite all that intimacy.”
Gull said, “All I can tell you is what happened.”
“Do you like Sonny Koppel as a suspect?”
“I’m saying given the situation, I’d look into it.”
“Instead of looking into you,” said Milo.
Gull ground his teeth. “I haven’t killed anyone.”
I said, “How many patients are you carrying, currently?”
The change of subject threw Gull. He sat up, ran his fingers through his hair, shook his head. “I told you, I can’t talk about patients.”
“I’m not asking for names, just your approximate patient load.”
Gull glanced over at Myrna Wimmer. She ignored him.
Milo said, “You fuck them but won’t talk about them. Spare me.”
“Now wait one—”
“No, you wait, Doctor.” Milo’s voice had taken on that bear growl. “Forthcoming means no more bullshit. The question was how many patients are you seeing, not their quirks or their bra sizes.”
Gull’s face lost color. “Okay, okay, let me see . . . I work . . . thirty-eight hours a week with regular patients, have another . . . maybe twenty-five who pop in for occasional sessions.”