“Mary was the bursar.”
“So to speak. Yes.”
Milo removed several sheets of paper from his attache case and passed them to me. I showed Franco Gull a mug shot of Raymond Degussa.
He said, “Yes, that’s him. Ray.”
“Mr. Dominance.”
He nodded. “Did he murder Mary?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because he impressed me as someone clearly capable of violence. The way he carried himself, the way he sat, walked- like a barely tethered animal.” He studied the picture. “Look at those eyes. He made me uncomfortable. I told Mary that. She laughed it off, said there was nothing to worry about.”
“The girlfriend he talked about,” I said. “Did he mention her name?”
“No, but I saw her. At least I assume it was her.”
“You assume?”
“Shortly after Ray had stopped coming to see me, I spotted him with a woman. His arm was around her. He seemed… proprietary.”
“Where’d you see them?” I said.
“I happened to step out into the waiting room to get my patient, and the two of them were also sitting there. At first I thought there’d been some kind of scheduling problem, that Ray expected a session. But before I could say anything, Mary came out and the woman went back with her.”
“The girlfriend was a patient of Mary’s.”
“Apparently.”
I showed him a shot of Flora Newsome, alive and smiling.
“Yes,” he said. “Good Lord, what’s this all about?”
“Did you see this woman with Ray Degussa any other times?”
“Once more,” said Gull, “as I arrived at the building and they were walking out to the parking lot. It surprised me- the way she looked. Putting a face to the person he’d talked about. A man like that, I’d have expected someone a bit more… obvious.”
“A bimbo,” said Milo.
“This woman was… she looked like a bank clerk.”
“She was a teacher,” I said.
“Was,” said Gull. “You’re saying… God, how far does this go?”
“Knowing Degussa was a thug, did you tell Mary his fantasies about her patient?”
“No, I couldn’t. Confidentiality. That was one thing we were adamant about. All three of us. Once our doors closed, that was it. No cross-office chitchat about patients.”
“You didn’t see Degussa as a threat to Flora Newsome?”
“Flora,” said Gull. “So that’s her name… good God.” He bounded up, snatched another tissue. “There was nothing to warn anyone about. Nothing that even approached a Tarasoff level. He never said he wanted to hurt her, just that he wanted to make her come.”
“Make her scream for mercy,” I said.
“I took that as a metaphor.”
Milo said, “Him being a poetic type.”
“He killed her?” said Gull. “You’re saying he actually killed her?”
“Someone did.”
“Oh God. This is my worst nightmare.”
Milo said, “Hers was worse.”
No one spoke for a while, then Gull said, “Did he assault her sexually?”
Milo said, “We’ll ask the questions.”
“Fine, fine- God, this is draining me, I’m drying up.” Gull stood again, poured two glasses of water, and finished both. His face was glossy. Fluid in, fluid out. A man of little substance.
I said, “Who else was involved in Sentries for Justice?”
“Just Mary and Albin.”
“What about Ray Degussa?”
“Him? You’re saying he was- you know, now that you mention it, he did seem to be near the office a lot. After he stopped coming for therapy.”
“Where’d he hang out?”
“I’d see him walking up the block, and he’d nod and smile and give a thumbs-up. As if we were friends. I assumed he worked nearby.”
“You ever talk to him?”
“Just hi and good-bye.”
“A thug nearby, that didn’t bother you?”
“Mary and Albin were treating criminals.”
“But you assumed Degussa worked nearby.”
Gull shrugged. “I really didn’t pay much attention to any of it.”
“When did the Sentries sessions take place?”
“I assume after hours.”
“So as not to upset the regular clientele.”
Gull nodded.
“You and Mary and Albin Larsen never discussed specifics?”
“Frankly,” said Gull, “I didn’t want to know.”
“Why not?”
“Criminals. I find them unsavory. I wanted to keep my distance from any…”
“Any what?” said Milo.
“Any unpleasantness.”
“So you suspected there might be something illegal going on.”
Myrna Wimmer said, “Don’t answer that. It could be self-incriminating.”
Gull said, “But I didn’t do anything criminal.”
Wimmer glared at him, and he shut his mouth.
Milo said, “Counselor, your client’s got an interesting way of blocking out things he doesn’t want to deal with. Isn’t the point of therapy breaking through all that denial?”
“Lieutenant, from where I’m sitting, my client has proved most cooperative. Do you have any other questions I’d deem acceptable?”
Milo nodded at me, and I showed Gull Bennett Hacker’s DMV photo. “What about this man? Ever seen him?”
“I’ve seen him with Albin a couple of times.”
“Where?”
“Over at Roxbury Park, having lunch with Albin. The same spot where you found us. Albin goes there frequently, said it reminds him of parks in Sweden.”
“Albin ever introduce you to this man?”
“No. I assumed he was a therapist, as well.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know, really… perhaps his demeanor.”
“Which was?”
“Quiet, pleasant.”
“What about Sonny Koppel?” I said. “What was his role in Sentries for Justice?”
“Sonny? None that I know of.”
“Mary never mentioned his being involved?” said Milo.
“The only thing Mary told me was that Sonny owned some properties that she’d convinced him to use as halfway houses, and that’s where she and Albin were going to get their patients. She said it made everything easy.”
“Ready supply of patients.”
“I don’t believe her intentions were anything but noble. She felt she could do some good and make money.”
“Even at low reimbursement rates.”
Gull was silent. Then he said, “Whatever took place, I chose not to participate. I think I deserve some credit for that.”
“We’ll put a gold star on your chart, Doctor.”
I said, “You’re saying Sonny wasn’t involved.”
“I doubt Mary would have included Sonny in anything substantive. He repulsed her. Frankly, Mary was aware of how Sonny felt about her, and she turned it to her advantage. To get a great lease on our suite, to finance her own real estate investments.”
“She borrowed money from Sonny?”
“Not loans, gifts. She’d ask for money, and he’d say yes. She joked about it. Said, ‘I use every part of the pig except the squeal.’ ”
Myrna Wimmer’s nails clacked against the edge of her desk.
Gull said, “I don’t want to paint a negative portrait of Mary. Being married to a man like Sonny couldn’t have been easy. Have you met him?”
“We have,” I said.
“Can you imagine Mary with someone like that?”
“Why? Was Sonny rough on her?”
“No, nothing like that. Just the opposite.” Gull fidgeted.
“What?” I said.
“To be frank, Mary liked things a little… she enjoyed being dominated. In a loving way. Once she arrived at a point of trust and intimacy.”
“Bondage?”
“No, there were never ropes involved, just physical pressure.”
“Holding her down.”
“At her request,” said Gull.
“Sonny wouldn’t do that.”
“Sonny couldn’t do that. She said back when they’d been married, any demand she placed on him to exhibit dominance turned him instantly impotent. Because he needed to be dominated. She saw that as part of his general problem-’flabby psyche, flabby body’ was the way she termed it.”