JONATHAN KELLERMAN. THERAPY

“You never told your family, but they found out.”

“My sister told them. She lives in Tucson and I confided in her and made her promise not to tell.” She smiled. “Of course, she didn’t listen to me. Which I understand, I’m not mad. We’re close, she had my best interests at heart.”

“Anyone else tell you to file charges?”

“What do you mean?”

Milo looked at her ring.

Beth Gallegos said, “He wasn’t my fiancé, then. Actually, we started dating right before I filed charges.”

Milo tried to put warmth in his smile. “What’s the lucky young man’s name?”

“Anson Conniff.”

“When’s the big day?”

“Fall.” Gallegos’s dark eyes picked up some wattage. “Lieutenant, why all these questions about me and my family?”

“I need to tie up loose ends.”

“Loose ends? Lieutenant, please don’t get me involved. I really can’t go through it again—please.”

Raising her voice. The coffee shop was nearly empty, but the few patrons present turned to stare. Milo glared at them until they turned away.

“Go through what, ma’am?”

Gallegos whimpered and wiped her eyes. “Legal stuff, the courts—I never want to see an affidavit again. Please keep me out of it.”

“I’m not out to cause you grief, Ms. Gallegos, but I do need to talk to anyone Gavin had conflict with.”

Gallegos shook her head. “There was no conflict. I never yelled at Gavin, never complained. It’s just that the problem got out of hand. He needed to deal with it.”

“Did he stop?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Completely?”

“Completely.”

Her eyes danced to one side. I said, “You never heard from him again?”

She picked at her napkin, shredded the corners, created a small pile of confetti that she collected and placed on her saucer.

“It was basically over,” she said. “It was over.” Her voice shook.

Milo said, “Beth, you’re obviously a good person. That means you’re also a very poor liar.”

Gallegos glanced at the coffee shop door, as if plotting her escape.

Milo said, “What happened?”

“It was just once,” she said. “A month ago. Not really a problem call, a nothing call, that’s why I never told anyone.”

“Where’d he find you?”

“Here. At the office. I was between patients, and the secretary handed me the phone. He told her he was a friend. She has no idea about my . . . history with Gavin. When I heard his voice I . . . it made my heart pound, and I broke into a sweat. But he was . . . okay. Nothing weird. He said he was sorry for what he’d done, wanted to apologize. Then he told me he’d met someone and was getting his life together, and he hoped I’d forgive him. I said I already had, and that was that.”

“You figure he was telling the truth?” said Milo. “About meeting someone.”

“He sounded sincere,” she said. “I told him congratulations, I was happy for him.” She exhaled. “He sounded more . . . mature. Settled.”

“Did he tell you about the person he’d met?”

“No. He sounded happy.”

“He’s happy, he doesn’t bug you.”

“That, too,” she said, “but at the time what I thought was, ‘Gavin’s finally getting it together.’ ” She touched the handle of her teacup, swirled the bag. “I never disliked him, Lieutenant. All I ever felt for him was pity. And fear, when things got really intense. But I was happy things were working out for him.”

I said, “Anson’s probably happy, too.”

“I didn’t tell Anson about the call.”

“Too upsetting.”

“He’s been through enough with me,” she said. “We just started dating when the stalking began. It’s not a great way to start a relationship.”

Milo said, “Anson must’ve been pretty upset.”

“Wouldn’t anyone be?” Gallegos’s eyes got clearer. “You’re not going to talk to him, are you?”

“We are, Beth.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, anyone who had conflict with Gavin.”

“Anson didn’t have conflict—please, don’t go there—don’t draw Anson into this. He’d never hurt Gavin, or anyone else. He’s not like that.”

“Easygoing?” said Milo.

“Mature. Disciplined. Anson knows how to control himself.”

“What kind of work does he do?”

“Work?” said Gallegos.

“His job.”