“With closed-head, anything goes—may I call you Alex?”
“Sure.”
She showed me gorgeous teeth. Switched back to serious. “This was a prefrontal-lobe assault, Alex. You’re aware of the role of the prefrontals in terms of emotional reactivity. For all we know, when Gavin’s head hit the back of the seat, he received the equivalent of a minor lobotomy.”
“It had been ten months,” I said, “and he hadn’t recovered fully.”
“Yes . . . I found that worrisome. Then again, the human brain—especially the young human brain—can be wonderfully plastic. I was hopeful.”
“For full recovery?”
She shrugged.
“Plasticity,” I said. “You do neuropsych.”
She studied me for half a second. “I keep up with the journals. There was no need for neuropsych because the organic end was being handled by a neurologist. He and I agreed there was nothing further to be gained by subjecting Gavin to yet more tests. What the patient needed was emotional support, and my job was to provide it.”
I pulled out my notepad. “Dr. Singh.”
“Very good man.”
“Did he refer Gavin?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Gavin’s been in treatment for about three months.”
“Seven months after the accident.”
“It took a while for things to settle.”
I pretended to read the pad. “He was referred to your group, not to you directly.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve been told that Gavin began with one of your partners but switched to you.”
She crossed her legs. The black marble pedestal blocked most of the movement, but I could see the tip of one red shoe. “Now that you jog my memory, that’s exactly what happened. Singh referred Gavin to the group and Franco—Dr. Gull—was on call. Franco saw Gavin a couple of times, then I took over.”
“Problems between Gavin and Dr. Gull?”
“I wouldn’t term them problems,” she said. “Back then—immediately after the accident—Gavin was extremely irritable. Once again, par for the course. You know how it can be with therapists and patients. Sometimes you mesh, sometimes you don’t. And Franco’s patient load was already heavy.”
The black eyes found mine. “Like with you and Teresa Wetmore. I’m sure most of your patients adore you and trust you. But others . . . are you with the police full-time or do you still see patients?”
“I do short-term private consults.”
“No therapy?”
“Not usually.”
“Private practice can be tough,” she said. “The HMOs with their nonsense, the thin referral stream when money gets tight. I suppose working for the police can be helpful providing a nice steady income.”
“I’m not employed by the police. I do short-term consults for them, too.”
“Ah . . .” She smiled. “Anyway, Gavin did become my patient, and I felt we were making progress.” Her legs uncrossed, and she shifted forward in her chair. “Alex, I can’t think of anything I could tell you that would help a police investigation.”
“What about Gavin’s obsessiveness?” I said.
“I wouldn’t call it that. Nothing on the level of a full-blown OCD. Gavin could be a bit persistent, that’s all.”
“Getting an idea in his head and not letting go?”
She smiled. “You’re making it sound more pathological than it was. He could be a bit . . . enthusiastic.”
“His parents said he’d switched career goals. From business to journalism.”
That seemed to surprise her, and I wondered how well she’d known her patient.
“People change their minds,” she said. “Young people especially. Sometimes tragedies get people to focus on what they really want to do.”
“Is that what happened to Gavin?”
Noncommittal nod.
“Did he have any plans to return to college?”
“It was hard for him to stay motivated, Alex. One of my goals was helping restore a sense of meaning to his life. But it had to be gradual. Gavin was still wrestling with the changes.”
“So he’d slowed down cognitively.”
“Yes, but it was subtle. And, I believe, exacerbated by emotional stress. I’m curious, Alex. Why are you so interested in his personality?”
“I’m interested in his obsessiveness because the police are wondering if it could’ve gotten him into trouble.”
“How so?”
“Angering the wrong person.”
“The wrong person.”
“Anyone who’d react violently.”
She touched a finger to her lip. “I’d be surprised at that—Gavin consorting with violent people. He was a nice boy, a conventional boy. He certainly never mentioned anything like that to me.”