My curiosity about Dr. James jumped to more personal territory. “Why me?”

“At the time I thought it simple—you are a detective.”

“I’m a janitor. You know what the detective stuff is about.”

She tight-lipped a smile and shook her head. “I know what you think your license is about, and I know what I think it’s about. Perhaps if I had kept the difference straight I wouldn’t be here.”

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing that I haven’t said before. You are honest and smart and loyal. When you latch on to something you see it through—despite yourself. Your therapy is a good example. Also, you’re not very talkative.”

“Sounds like you got your client list confused.”

She looked exasperated. “My mind has been so full of Eban since the break-in that I began to think like him. I don’t know how many times he has talked about ‘clinical distance interfering with honest intuition and real human interaction.’ ” She shook her head. “When the offices were burgled I thought of you.” Her sarcasm wasn’t heavily disguised. It seemed like Holmes’ theories were dissipating in the face of reality. I was off the hook. All I had to do was sit there.

“Dr. James, are you and Eban Holmes lovers? Is he married? Is that why he’s so vulnerable to blackmail? Is that why you are so upset?”

Her head snapped back. I wanted to choke myself. Her eyes flashed and she began to speak, then jammed the words back down her throat, and pulled herself to her feet. “This was a lousy idea”—she pointed to the dope on the table—“for many reasons.” As she leaned over to pick up her purse from the floor, I watched the rear of her black skirt ride up her calves.

I knew enough to keep quiet, but I had to take my mind off her body. “Look, don’t steam out of here angry. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I’m sorry if I insulted you but I just asked the obvious.” I told myself to shut up, but I wouldn’t listen. “What is it you actually want me to do?”

“Right now I don’t want you to do anything. It will be difficult enough to continue our therapy.”

“Dr. James, right now continuing our therapy is impossible. I doubt if I’ll be able to help, but I can’t see you go without knowing what the hell you’re worried about.”

She moved back toward the chair and sat on its edge. I fought a battle to take my eyes off her legs. I wondered if I was losing all selfcontrol: I’d just urged her to tell a story I didn’t want to hear, held out a hint of help I didn’t want to give, and felt myself grow heated toward a lady I thought of as a friendly teacher. Like the one I had in grammar school—the one who liked me mostly out of pity.

It was too late to stop. “What about the cops? What are they saying?”

“The police are calling it a simple case of someone breaking and entering random offices.”

“Offices?”

“Yes. There were two other offices that were broken into.”

“If the police aren’t attaching anything significant to the robbery, why is Dr. Holmes? Also, why didn’t he at least come here with you?”

“Dr. Holmes isn’t attaching any significance to it, I am. He doesn’t know that I’m here.” She smiled ruefully. “While he would not approve of my coming, he would applaud my attempted spontaneity.” A frown crossed her face. “Certainly more than I do. Anyway, the building houses medical doctors and none of their offices were disturbed. If you were a thief wouldn’t you at least check for drugs?”

Did Dashiell Hammett drink? “What did the cops say about that?”

“They told me not to worry. That’s one of the things I had hoped you might find out.”

“But somehow you don’t think the police are doing a good job?”

“No, I don’t. Their attitude seems totally laissez-faire.”

“Well, I don’t feel very active myself.”

“You never do; but it doesn’t keep you from getting things accomplished. Look, Mr. Jacob . . . I’m sorry, Matthew. I think this was one of those ‘good ideas at the time.’ It’s best to forget it and work through the feelings, don’t you think?”

Unfortunately, no, I didn’t think. And if she had she wouldn’t have been here. But she hadn’t thought and now it was too late. I couldn’t just forget she came, even if I did talk about the feelings.

“I’ll look into it.” I held up my hand as she started to talk. “Don’t say anything. I won’t be able to learn more than you already have, but I’ll try.”

A look of relief crossed her face despite her ambivalence. Part of me felt pleased and another part of me got more angry.

I questioned her about the nature of Holmes’ vulnerability but I didn’t get very far. He was married, but she wasn’t worried about her relationship with him. She wasn’t as self-assured when I asked her about his clinical practice. I dropped it when it became clear that she didn’t wish to speculate. All she would say was she wanted no harm to befall Eban Holmes. I wasn’t surprised by her closemouthedness. It was one thing to ask me to nose around, another to take me into her confidence. Throughout the course of our relationship, while Dr. James had seemed personally involved, she always gently but firmly declined to offer information about herself despite my sporadic interest. Although I now felt able to ask whatever I liked, I really didn’t want many answers.

“I have very mixed feelings about this, Matthew.”

“So do I, Dr. James.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook.

“No, no, Doctor. I wouldn’t know how to go about charging for this and I certainly don’t want money from you.”

“That’s out of the question. I expect to pay for the work I ask someone to do.”

I shook my head, “Look, you came here for a favor. Let me check around and we’ll talk money when I see you next week.”

At the mention of our appointment another look of relief crossed her face. She stood. “It pleases me that you feel all right about continuing therapy.”

I didn’t think I said that but I didn’t want to start another conversation. I got up and both of us stood awkwardly for a moment before she shook her head ruefully, smiled, and walked toward the door. She turned back to me, “Thank you, Matthew.”

I shrugged. She turned her back and I could make out the faint ridge of her underwear beneath her skirt. I was relieved when she finally left.

It wouldn’t take a weatherman to know which way the wind was going to blow. I went into the bedroom and pulled the stash out of my drug drawer. I felt angry, anxious, and depressed. Dr. James’ visit had seriously disrupted my morning routine. I swallowed a Valium and lit the offending roach. I went back into the kitchen, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and when the pot began to perk I walked into the alley for the newspaper. Since the delivery service expects no tip, finding the paper usually doubled as my morning exercise. When I returned I relit the joint, poured the coffee, and struggled to decide between the sports and TV sections.

I started with sports but when I felt the drugs come on I switched. Despite its hectic start I still had a chance to massage the edge off the day. But reading wasn’t going to get Dr. James out of my head. I gathered the roach, cigarettes, and coffee and headed toward the living room when Mrs. Sullivan’s light flashed.

When Lou first bought the building I decided to become a responsible caretaker, and installed intercoms from all the apartments to mine. As time passed and I got sick of hearing the damn things go off I removed them, but changed Mrs. Sullivan’s to a flashing light. She really was too old to leave unattended. Although she talked about having a son somewhere in the Midwest, I’d never met him, and for all I knew he had forgotten she existed. It made me angry and guilty. It also made for more work.

I called to get the sentence and it wasn’t bad. A leaky faucet. I promised to get the plumber upstairs before the end of the day; she always liked my little jokes.

I finally made it to the couch. I lit a cigarette, leaned my head back, and watched the plumes of smoke. I rc’d the TV and spun the dial. It seemed only proper to celebrate my new job by watching Harry O. A boring dead man resurrected as a detective, and I enjoyed the joke until I remembered the phone.

To turn on or not to turn on? I chuckled out loud as a touch of drug hubris coursed through my veins. I walked over and turned the damn thing on, and I was surprised that punishment was as swift as it was. The fucker began to ring.

“Well, would you believe this, Mr. Alienation is up for air,” Simon’s voice growled into the earpiece. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to contact you for two long days.”

I felt lightheaded. “Good things come to those that wait, my friend.”

“Yeah, well, this is important, Matt.”

“What isn’t important to a big shot like yourself?”

“I’m not joking around. Why don’t you at least buy an answering machine so people wouldn’t have to wonder whether you’re lying in that basement being eaten by rats?”

“Don’t insult my housekeeping. If I had a machine I’d have to return calls.”

“You don’t get enough calls to make that a worry.” Simon’s tone changed to business. “We need to meet right away.”

“What’s the matter, wheeling and dealing not leaving you much free time?”

“Stop the jokes. I have a problem that I want you to look into.”

“ ‘Why is this night different’ and so on. Just send me the material and I’ll do the research. My schedule isn’t exactly bursting at the seams.”

An unfamiliar tension crept into Simon’s voice. “It’s not a regular job. Look, I don’t want to talk over the phone. Do you remember the El Rancho, the place under the highway where we used to go for quahogs?”

I felt a touch of alarm at the mention of El Rancho. “Jesus, isn’t that a little out of the way?”

“That’s why I’m suggesting it. How soon can you be there?”

“Are you okay?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “No.”

“I’ll be there in a half-hour.”

I heard a muffled thanks before the line went dead. Simon never thanked me for anything. I shook my head, stuffed a cigarette into my mouth and wandered around the apartment organizing myself to venture out. It wasn’t something that came easy, but today nothing had. I guess it was my day for strange.