“Gavin told his therapist he missed being himself.”
“Pretty eloquent.”
I poured sake for both of us. “Nice lighthearted date, huh?”
She smiled and touched my wrist. “Are we still dating?” Before I could answer, she said, “Why all these questions about the technique, honey? Is his mental status related to his murder?”
“His mental status became an issue because Milo wondered if Gavin could’ve bothered the wrong person. But my guess is that the girl was the target, and Gavin was just unlucky.”
“Unlucky again,” she said.
We ate.
A moment later: “Who’s the therapist?”
“A woman named Mary Lou Koppel. Her stated goal was to open him up emotionally. Doesn’t sound as if it went too well.”
She put her cup down. “Mary Lou.”
“You know her?”
She nodded. “How strange.”
“What is?”
“She’s had a patient murdered before.”
CHAPTER
8
I pushed my food aside.
Allison said, “I’d met Mary Lou a few times before. Conferences, symposia. Once we sat on a panel together. Back when I was foolish enough to sit on panels. What I remember about her most vividly are her red clothes and her smile—she always smiled, even when it didn’t seem appropriate. As if she’d been prepped by a media coach. On the panel, she had lots to say but no data to back it up. Clearly, she hadn’t prepared, was relying on charisma.”
“You’re not a fan.”
“She put me off, Alex. But I wondered if I was just jealous. Because everyone knew how well she was doing professionally. Word had it she was charging fifty percent more than the rest of us and was turning away patients. The murder was over a year ago. I was at the Western Psych Association convention in Vegas and Mary Lou was scheduled to give a talk on psychology and the media that was canceled at the last minute. I hadn’t planned to attend, but one of my friends was registered to hear her—Hal Gottlieb. That night I was having dinner with Hal and some other folks and he joked that he’d lost money at the blackjack tables and that he was going to sue Mary Lou Koppel for it. Because Mary Lou’s canceling her talk had given him free time and he’d ambled over to the casino. Then he told us she’d canceled because one of her patients had been murdered. There was a long silence; finally, someone made a crack about bad publicity, then someone else said for Mary Lou there was no such thing as bad publicity, she’d turn it to her advantage.”
“Popular gal,” I said.
“We mind-healers can be as catty as anyone. If only our patients knew.”
“Do you recall any details about the murder?”
“For some reason I remember it as a woman victim. But I could be making that up, I really can’t be sure, Alex.”
“Over a year ago.”
“Two Aprils ago—after Easter. That would make it fourteen months.”
“Nothing about a murder came up when I ran Mary Lou through the search engines,” I said. “But she started giving interviews about prison reform around that time, so maybe the crime sparked her interest.”
“Could be.”
“On some of the interviews, she was joined by one of her partners, a guy named Albin Larsen. Know him?”
She shook her head, probed her salad with a chopstick. “Two murders in one practice. I guess if the practice is large enough, it’s not that outlandish.”
“And Mary Lou’s was large.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Well,” I said, “at the very least, it’s provocative. I’ll pass it along to Milo. Thanks.”
“Always happy to help.” She pushed a wave of black hair off her face and nibbled her lower lip.
I leaned across the table and kissed her. She took hold of my face with both her hands, pressed my mouth to hers, released me.
I poured more sake.
“This is good,” she said.
“Premium brand,” I said.
“I was referring to being here with you.”
“Oh.” I knuckled my brow.
She laughed and touched a diamond earring. “Despite my penchant for shiny things, I really don’t need much. We’re alive and our brains are working just fine—that’s a good start, wouldn’t you say?”