After teaching his psychiatric residents at the hospital, which was about a half mile north of his Riverside Drive apartment, Jason walked home. Several taxis slowed as they neared him, but for once he didn't flag them down. He needed a few minutes to rethink the situation, and even more, he needed a break outside in the fresh air. As he walked, he was grateful for the caress on his face of the light breeze off the Hudson River and the familiar view of the New Jersey skyline. On this Wednesday in early September the trees on the Palisades were green, and there were still sailboats scooting around on the water. He had the terrible foreboding that big trouble was coming. Without realizing it, he picked up his pace. He was jogging by the time he turned the corner on his block. A large blank-faced doorman he hadn't seen before opened the heavy wrought-iron and glass doors of his prewar building and stood in his path.
"Can I help you?" he asked, indicating the sign that said all visitors had to be announced.
"It's okay. I'm Dr. Frank. I live here."
"Oh, okay. I'm George."
"Hi, George."
Jason didn't have time for more pleasantries. He had twenty minutes before his next patient and a lot to do. He nodded and rushed to the elevator, which was visible in an old-fashioned cage, was over eighty years old, and broke down all the time. Jason could see its bottom all the way at the top of the building. The stairway circled the cage. Jason took it two steps at a time. His stomach rumbled as he ran up the five flights, but he didn't want to think about the comfort of food.
In his office, his phone told him he had nine messages. His answering machine drove him nuts. Many people left extremely long messages about absolutely nothing. Sometimes it took fifteen minutes to get through them. He skipped through this group quickly. His stomach rumbled. There was no message from Maslow, but he hadn't expected one. He punched out the number of Manhattan East, where Maslow worked as a staff psychiatrist thirty hours a week. It took a while to locate Dr. Ira Kiln, who had employed him there.
"Oh, Maslow is turning out very well. He's an excellent doctor," Dr. Kiln assured Jason when he finally got him on the phone.
"Yes, I know-"
"And a wonderful young man-very caring and easy to work with." Dr. Kiln went on at some length, frustrating Jason's effort to inform him that he was not calling for a reference.
"I know he's a first-year psychoanalytic candidate at your Institute. He talks about you often, and-"
"Did you happen to see him last night?"
Dr. Kiln stopped short. "No, Maslow doesn't come in on Tuesdays. What's this about?"
"Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help."
"What's this about?" Dr. Kiln asked again.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just trying to locate him, and I didn't have his schedule."
Jason sighed and called Bernie. Naturally, Bernie's machine picked up. Jason told Bernie's voice mail he needed to talk to him about a matter of extreme urgency, gave his number, and hung up. He checked his watch. He had seven minutes left. He dialed Maslow's parents' home number. A woman answered on the second ring.
"Hello, this is Dr. Jason Frank," Jason began.
"How do you do, Dr. Frank?" The woman had a soft, hesitant voice.
"Is this Mrs. Atkins?" Jason asked.
"Yes."
"I'm one of your son's teachers at the Institute. I'm trying to locate Maslow-"
"My husband isn't here right now. You can reach him in his office some time after noon."
"I'm sure you can help me. Do you know where Maslow is?"
"No idea, he travels a great deal for his company. His secretary will know. She has his schedule."
"We're having a little miscommunication. I'm not talking about your husband. I'm talking about your son, Maslow. Do you know where I might find him!"
"He's very busy, too."
"I know he is. That may be the reason I'm having difficulty locating him. When did you speak to him last?"
"Let's see, what day is it?"
"Wednesday."
"I think we spoke with him last Sunday-or maybe it was the Sunday before…" The soft voice trailed off.
"You didn't talk to him last night or this morning by any chance?"
"Oh no, he never calls when he's traveling."
"Maslow is out of town?" Jason was puzzled.
"Really? Where is he?" Mrs. Atkins asked.
Jason chewed on his lip. The woman was on another planet. He spoke patiently. "As far as I know Maslow is right here in the city, and I'm trying to reach him, not his father."
"Well, his father is more likely to know where he is than I am. No one tells me anything. Do you want his number at the office?"
Jason had Jerome Atkins's number at work but he said, "Yes, thank you," and wrote it down a second time.
The clock on his desk told him he had four minutes left. Jason noticed that the two numbers he had for Jerome Atkins were different. He figured one must be the company number and the other his private line. Jason dialed the one his wife gave him.
"Mr. Atkins's office."
"Yes, this is Dr. Jason Frank calling. I'm a colleague of Mr. Atkins's son, Maslow, and I need to talk to him. Is Mr. Atkins available?" Jason shifted his gaze from the clock on his desk to the six valuable skeleton clocks on his bookcase. He watched their pendulums swing back and forth, ticking off the precious seconds until his next patient was due. He shook his foot with impatience.
"No, Mr. Atkins is out to lunch. Can I give him the message?"
"Yes. Would you tell him Dr. Frank called, and it's a matter of some urgency." Jason gave her the number and hung up.
His phone rang. He grabbed it on the first ring.
"Jason, this is Bernie Zeiss."
"Oh, Bernie, thanks for getting back to me so soon."
"What's up?"
"Look, to make a long story short, Maslow Atkins is missing and I need some information about him."
"Oh, I'm a nonreporting analyst at the Institute. You know I can't tell you anything without talking first with the head of the educational committee-"
"Bernie, just listen for a second. I know it's highly unusual to call an analyst about a patient, but Maslow is a student of the Institute, he's part of our family, and he may be in trouble. We have to-"
"Well, I can put in a call to Ted right away. He'll put the question to the committee, and I'll get back to you tonight after the scientific meeting."
"Bernie, this isn't the program committee where we argue over whether we're going to accept a paper no one will come to hear. A man's life may be at stake here. There's not time to check with Ted Tushy. You understand?"
"What do you have to do with this, Jason?" Bernie asked, suddenly suspicious.
"The police are looking for Maslow. If you don't talk to me, Bernie, you'll have to talk with them." Jason tried to be patient.
"Jason? What has happened?"
"I don't have time to go into it. There are police and tracking dogs searching for Maslow in Central Park. I need information right now."
"Well, what do you need to know?" Bernie said hesitantly.
"Was Maslow involved in anything illegal?"
"What? No, no. Of course not!" Bernie sounded shocked. He recovered quickly. "Maslow was a very fine young man. Obsessional with marked sexual inhibitions. We were making very fine progress."
Jason's stomach growled.
"He spent an excessive amount of time studying and exercising, a good boy. He was terrified of his sexuality.
But we were making good progress. Excellent progress." Bernie clicked his tongue, thinking about it. "You know, last week he had a date, his first in a year. He met a girl in the Institute library, a graduate student at Columbia. A fine girl. It didn't go as well as I'd hoped. Unfortunately, her specialty is the representation of the Virgin Mary in the iconography of the Roman Catholic Church. For Maslow, it was as if she herself were a Madonna. He tended to view women as either asexual idealized madonnas or as whores."
That got Jason's attention. "Was there a whore?"