NAKED PEOPLE. THEY WERE everywhere in the fog, two dozen of them, jumping up and down and howling. Easy stood with his back to the raw adobe wall he’d just climbed over. When he had heard the first scream he threw his big right hand up toward his shoulder holster. Now he relaxed, watching the naked people bounding on the wide side lawn of Dr. Ingraham’s sanitarium. There were more nude women than men and they were screaming and yowling with more enthusiasm and abandon. One naked man was rolling on the grass, pounding his fists on the wet lawn. Another was skipping through the mist and fondling anyone he could catch.
“Hagopian would enjoy this,” Easy said to himself. He crossed the patch of dry grass he’d landed in.
He was fifteen feet along a curving white gravel path when a small naked blonde stepped from behind a gnarled cypress tree, smiling. “There’s no need to be timid and standoffish,” she said in her small vaguely southern voice. “Just get down to your skin and start howling.” On tiptoe, she grabbed Easy’s wide ten-dollar necktie and tried to undo it. Her hands were much warmer than the night.
“Wrong direction,” cautioned Easy. “You’re tightening it.”
“I’m not too adept at undressing men yet. This is only my third Howl Therapy session and I don’t think I’ve shaken off every single one of my inhibitions.”
“You’ve made a good start.” Easy took her hands in his, lifted them off his tie. “Is Dr. Ingraham here?”
“He never disrobes,” said the naked girl. “It would spoil his authority as a patriarchal symbol. Besides, he’s already screamed away all his childish hangups and deep-seated traumas. Wouldn’t you like to howl, even if you keep your clothes on?” They were moving closed to the long low sanitarium buildings and one of the colored floodlights planted around the lawn hit the girl and turned the nipple of her uptilted right breast a soft purple.
“I’m here on business,” said Easy. “I don’t think I’ll have to take my clothes off to talk to Dr. Ingraham.”
“We don’t have to do anything,” said the small naked girl. “That’s what you learn from Howl Therapy. Having to do things is a construct imposed on our absolutely free wills by patriarchal and parental reinforcements, which are …”
“Who are you?”
Directly in front of them in the fog was a pretty brunet, fully clothed, down to a white smock, and carrying a clipboard. “My name is John Easy,” Easy told the brunet. “I’d like to talk to Dr. Ingraham.”
The brunet frowned at the small naked blonde. “I think you’d benefit more from this session if you howled on the grass with the others.”
Squeezing Easy’s arm, the small girl retreated, saying, “Let me know if you decide to join.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Easy, Dr. Ingraham couldn’t see you until tomorrow,” said the brunet. “By the way, how did you get in? We always keep the gates locked during night outdoor therapy sessions.”
“Over the wall.”
“Very unorthodox.”
“I seem to be lacking in deep-seated inhibitions,” said Easy, “which may explain it. I want to talk to Dr. Ingraham about a girl named Jill Nordlin. I’m a private investigator from Los Angeles.”
The brunet touched the middle of her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. She tapped her felt-tip pen on the edge of her clipboard. “Who was that?”
“The doctor should know her as Jillian Nordlin, though she’s now Jill Jeffers. She’s a former patient of his.”
“Oh, yes, of course. That was before my time, but everyone is aware of her father around here.” The pen tapped again. “I’m Dr. Marlys Newborn. The doctor is for Ph.D. and not M.D. in this case. What exactly is the problem, Mr. Easy?”
“Jill has disappeared, Dr. Newborn. There’s a possibility she’s in the Carmel area someplace. I’d like to know if Dr. Ingraham has heard from her or can tell me where she might be.”
“Obviously you’ve already talked to her father?”
“Not directly, but I’ve talked with his minions.”
Dr. Newborn smiled faintly. “Come inside and I’ll see if possibly the doctor can talk to you. Though to the best of my knowledge he knows nothing about the Nordlin girl.”
On the foggy lawn a husky black woman knocked the fondling man down and he yelled in protest.
The pretty brunet Dr. Newborn led Easy up a red tile stairway and along a red tile corridor. She put him in a small carpeted library, saying, “I’ll see what I can do.” She left him in the darkwood room.
The howls from the lawn seemed much farther away than they were. The windows were of thick rippled glass, leaded, and covered with rich red draperies. The chairs and sofa were low and of black synthetic leather. The yellow light came from two parchment-shaded floor lamps and fell mostly on the authentic-looking Persian rug. The only magazines on the little table next to the black chair Easy chose to sit in were an automobile club publication called Motorland and some two-year-old issues of The Lancet.
Easy skimmed an article about obesity in the young, then got up and watched the fog press in tight against the thick windows. Once he thought he heard a scream from somewhere inside the sanitarium.
“What is it, what is it?”
A fifty-year-old man had rushed into the room. He was five feet tall, with a small round head. His hair was thin and spidery and acne spots glowed on his cheeks and forehead.
“Dr. Ingraham?”
“Of course, of course,” said the little ugly man. He put his cigarette back in his mouth, biting down hard. “Now what’s all this about that goofy Nordlin girl?”
Easy walked closer. “Jill has disappeared. She’s been missing since last Friday.”
Dr. Ingraham spit out cigarette smoke. “So what, so what? She’s a very high-strung girl, a spoiled brat from a very tense home. Her father’s goofy, too. A nasty man with a vast and onrushing ego.” The ugly little doctor bit into his cigarette again. “You’re a professional man, Easy. I’ll tell you something I don’t tell those galloping yahoos out there.” He spit smoke in the direction of the draped windows. “A goofy father produces a goofy daughter. A spoiled brat grows up to be a spoiled bitch. You can’t get away from taints like that.”
“Has Jill been here?” put in Easy, looking down into the doctor’s small red-streaked eyes.
“No.”
“She called a friend and told her she was in Carmel Saturday.”
“A goofy girl is liable to tell anybody anything.” Dr. Ingraham turned to the magazine table and straightened the pile. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Do you know where Jill might be?”
“No.”
Easy watched the little ugly doctor. “Why did you agree to talk with me?”
Ingraham laughed and smoke came out of his mouth and nose. “Look up psychiatrists in the Yellow Pages sometime, Easy. You’ll find, in most parts of our great golden state at any rate, a substantial listing. I’m where I am because I have distinguished myself from the pack of them. One of the ways you do that, as I shouldn’t have to tell you, is to take special pains. Kissing ass is how some of my younger patients put it. I always try to find time for influential people, or for people such as yourself who work for influential people. It’s called public relations.”
“Oh,” said Easy, “is that what this has been?”
“Your humor is as elephantine as you are,” the little doctor told him. He suddenly slapped his watch crystal with his hand. “That’s all the time I can give you.”
“I was hoping you’d have a moment to inscribe my copy of Scream Yourself Sane.”
“Good night, Easy.” Dr. Ingraham went to the open doorway. “As a matter of fact, I wish you well in your quest for Jill. With all her faults, she’s a rather lovely girl. Rather lovely.” He spun around and walked out.
Dr. Newborn didn’t return to guide him and after a moment Easy left the library. Outside the fog was rolling and spinning. The howl group was breaking up, trudging across the wet grass to retrieve their clothes from a lighted wing of the private hospital. The fondling man was on his feet again, making a few final efforts as the group scattered.
Easy took a short running start, got himself boosted, to the top of the six-foot wall. He hesitated an instant, then dropped over on the road side.
The valley side of the road was silent and no cars were moving on it. Easy walked toward his Volkswagen, which he’d left off the road and under three dark oaks.
The driver’s door opened before he touched it, the overhead light went on. One of Cullen Montez’s large sidekicks was sitting behind the wheel. He had a long-barreled .38 revolver pointed at Easy. “My,” he said, “you don’t keep your promises very well, do you?”
“No, I’d better give you the money back.” Easy started to reach inside his coat.
“Whimsical, very whimsical.”
The other large man grabbed Easy from behind, with an elbow around his throat.
His partner came out of the car, jabbing a fist into Easy’s groin.
Easy doubled, trying to throw the one large man over into the other one. It didn’t work.