Before Mary could launch another question, the woman stood.
“I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got time for.”
Mary slowly stood. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. If you ever take on clients with lower budgets, let me know, I might hire you,” Mary said. “I could use some new clients.”
The woman just smiled and Mary let herself out.
Chapter Ten
Mary was on her way to the office when her cell rang. It was Jenni Mulderink.
She had remembered the name of the psychologist who they’d heard on the radio that had caused the reaction from Craig Locher.
The name of the psychologist was Dr. Frank. As in, Dr. Frank Fallon. Mary had heard of him. That was part of his deal, a pun on the word ‘frank.’ As in, Dr. Frank will be blunt and tell you what he thinks.
Dr. Frank had a radio show, and had even done a brief television show, or had it been Internet-only? Mary couldn’t remember. In any case, she seemed to recall that the show had only lasted a few episodes. Maybe it turned out the doctor was better on the radio than in front of the camera.
Mary called a friend who knew everyone there was to know in celebrity Hollywood. The friend called back within minutes with Dr. Frank’s office number.
Mary called, and despite being told that the doctor would not talk about anything specifically regarding a former patient, Mary was able to set up a meeting for the next day.
She went back to her office, spent two hours filing paperwork, billing a client for services rendered, and reading the first of a batch of articles she’d downloaded about Dr. Frank.
There was a knock on the door and Jake came in.
“Hey,” he said, plopping into the chair across from Mary’s desk. She checked the clock. It was just past four o’clock. Close enough to five for her taste.
She went to the small fridge and retrieved two Point beers.
Jake held up a hand, “None for me, thanks,” he said. “My partner just dropped me off here while he does a return.” Mary’s office was next to a row of shops in Venice.
Mary cracked the first beer. “What makes you think one of these was for you?” she said. “You know I’m a two-fister.”
Jake nodded. “How goes the guy-in-the-diaper case?” he asked. He went to fridge and found a Diet Coke, cracked it.
“Nothing just yet. A successful, charismatic guy, who according to his girlfriend had no interest in wearing diapers,” Mary said.
“I’m still going with the kinky sex angle.”
“Of course you are,” Mary said. “It just seems weird that it would be going on in the middle of the street, though.”
“Maybe our victim broke out of his bondage costume, and made a break for it.”
Mary took a pull from her Point beer. She had it shipped all the way from Wisconsin.
“Could be,” she said. “A lot of people don’t tie up their submissives as thoroughly as I do you.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Want me to put another call into the detectives who are handling the case? See if they’ve got anything new to report?”
Mary nodded. “That would be great. What do I owe you?”
He got to his feet.
“Buy me a drink tonight?” he said.
“Working for alcohol,” Mary said, tipping back her bottle of Point. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Chapter Eleven
As Mary expected, Dr. Frank Fallon’s office was in Beverly Hills, in a section known as Couch Row. It was a quiet street filled with some of Hollywood’s most famous and most expensive psychologists. Rumor had it you could bump into at least one celebrity going through rehab issues any time you paid a visit to one of the offices. And, indeed, there were two limousines with tinted windows at each end of the block.
Fallon’s office was a square block of a building with just enough angles and slabs to qualify as a modernist’s architectural statement.
Mary went inside, and rang the doorbell to the main office. After confirming her appointment, the door buzzed and she stepped into an austere yet somehow comfortable waiting room featuring a thick rug, leather armchairs, and abstract paintings.
She took a seat and waited approximately five minutes. There was no one else in the waiting room, and there were three light switches on the far wall, each with a little light above them. All three lights were bright red. Mary assumed the office had three doctors, and all of them were in session. She also figured there was a separate exit so patients didn’t have to parade through the waiting area, their faces covered with tears, hands shaking from emotional upheaval.
Five minutes after when her appointment should have started, Dr. Fallon’s red light went off and moments later, the door opened.
A tall, muscular man with close-cropped salt and pepper hair, dressed casually in khakis and a tight-fitting blue dress shirt that showed off his powerful upper body, smiled at Mary. His teeth were a dazzling white that made them look especially large, like a wolf’s.
“Ms. Cooper?”
Mary recognized him from his brief stint on television.
“Dr. Fallon?” she asked.
He nodded, then gestured toward an office at the end of the hall with an open door.
She walked past him and Mary knew he was following her. She did not like the feeling.
Once inside the office, Fallon closed the door behind them. Mary sat in a large leather club chair, still warm from the patient before her.
“How can I help you, Ms. Cooper?” he said.
He smiled, and Mary was struck again by the perfect white teeth, the expensive designer eyewear frames, the Panerai watch. Business was good for Dr. Frank.
“I wanted to ask you about a patient of yours. As you probably know, Craig Locher was murdered several days ago.”
A flash of irritation crossed the doctor’s face.
“So you’re not a patient. What are you, a reporter?”
“I’m a private investigator,” Mary said.
Fallon bowed his head, as if saying a silent prayer for his deceased patient. But Mary could tell he was pissed.
“Yes, I did hear about Mr. Locher’s death. But you realize that I can say very little. Patient confidentiality still exists even if the patient is no longer living.”
“I understand that, doctor,” Mary said. “I’m just curious to know if you can tell me anything that might help in my investigation.”
“Who hired you?” the doctor said.
Mary smiled. “Client confidentiality, I’m afraid.”
His look told Mary that he wasn’t surprised at her answer.
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to say, Ms. Cooper. Yes, he was my patient, but nothing in our work together would have given me concern that he might be involved in anything dangerous. His issues were quite normal, and very commonplace. If he had been in danger, or if he had been a danger to someone else, then I would have been lawfully required to report it. I did no such thing because I saw no cause for concern. If you have any other questions, I suggest you forward them to my attorney.”
Fallon looked at his big watch. A not-so-subtle hint to Mary that the time he would allow her was drawing to an end.
“No idea who might want to hurt him?”
Fallon shook his head. “I really won’t say anymore. At least, not here.” He gave her another not-very-subtle appraisal, his eyes lingering on her chest area. “Perhaps over a drink you might be able to loosen my tongue.”
Mary felt like groaning. The reference to his tongue was intended. It was probably supposed to turn her on. But it did just the opposite.