JONATHAN KELLERMAN. THERAPY

“Pretty blatant.”

“I parked, ran up those stairs all the way to her backyard, and there they were in the back room. She’s got this big-screen TV and on it was a porn video and apparently the bitch and the bastard were feeling playful, decided to imitate whatever filth they were watching.”

“Wow,” said Milo.

“Wow, indeed. They didn’t even bother to lock the door, and I just walked in, walked right past them and they were so into what they were doing that they didn’t even hear me. It wasn’t until I switched off the TV that they opened their eyes.”

She closed her own. Remembering.

“That was delicious,” she said. “The expressions on their faces. The way they looked at me.”

“Shock,” said Milo.

“Beyond shock.” Patty Gull smiled. “It was like someone from another planet—another galaxy—had landed a UFO in that room. And I just stood there, let them know with my stare that they were busted scum and there was nothing they could do to change that. Then I walked out and drove back home. Twenty minutes later, Franco showed up, looking like he had cancer. I bolted the door and didn’t let him in and told him if he tried to trespass, I’d call the police. He left, I knew he would, he always leaves. I didn’t see him until the next day. He went to work and was a good little psychologist and came home and tried to talk to me using his psychologist voice. The only reason I let him in was by that time I’d spoken to my friend the lawyer, and she’d slowed me down.”

“She advised you not to file.”

“I was ready to do it, I really was, but she said life would get really complicated faster than I could imagine. So I allowed the bastard to come home, but he’s not allowed to touch me, and I don’t talk to him unless the kids are present.”

Milo said, “That was a month ago. Between then and the night Dr. Koppel was killed, have you driven past her house?”

“All the time.”

“How often?”

“Every other day,” said Patty Gull. “At least. Sometimes every day. It’s on my way to go shopping, whatever, so why not? I figure if I do serve Franco, I might as well pile up the evidence. My friend says even with no-fault divorce, the more you can get, the better.”

“Have you seen his car there, since?”

“No,” she said. “Unfortunately. Maybe they’re doing it in the office. Or at some motel.”

She clenched her eyes shut.

Milo said, “You do think they continued their affair after you discovered them.”

Her eyes flipped open. “That’s what Franco does. Fucks and fucks and fucks. He’s sick.”

“How many other women has he—”

“No,” said Patty Gull. “I don’t want to go there. Some things are private.”

“Were any of them his patients?” said Milo.

“I don’t know about that. Franco’s business was his domain. That was the deal.”

“The deal.”

“The marriage deal. I gave up my career and my entire life for him and had kids, and he went out and provided.”

“He provide pretty well?”

She waved a languid hand around the dark, floral room. “He did okay.”

“Nice place.”

“I conceived it myself. I’m thinking of going back and studying decorating.”

“Mrs. Gull, in terms of the other women—”

“I said I don’t want to go there, okay? What’s the difference? I don’t know if he fucked his patients. I do know he fucked her. But he didn’t kill the bitch. I told you, he wasn’t there that night. And he doesn’t have the guts.”

“Where was he that night?”

“Some hotel, I forget—ask him which one.”

“How do you know he was there?”

“Because he called me and left his room number, and I called him back and he was there—the place on Beverly and Pico, used to be a Ramada, I don’t know what it is now.”

“What’d you guys talk about?”

“Nothing pretty,” she said. “Now please leave. I have things to do.”

“Don’t be offended by this question, ma’am, but where were you—”

“I didn’t kill the bitch either. Guns scare me, I’ve never even touched one. That’s one thing Franco and I have in common. We’re for outlawing guns, just despise what guns have done to our country. Besides, that night Franco wasn’t there with her, so why would I bother paying the bitch a visit?”

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