The telephone conversation got me angry all over again. She was busy, couldn’t it wait until our regular appointment, why today, and a reluctant okay if I arrived in an hour. I steamed around the house and stormed to the car, then realized it was a helluva lot better feeling angry than awkward or anxious. Anger also helped reduce the fear I had of going anywhere near 290. When I pulled up in front of the building I thought I noticed the same cream Lincoln parked up the block. I couldn’t tell if anyone was inside, and wondered if my cold feet were making something out of nothing. There were plenty of luxury cars in this neighborhood and, frankly, that kid hadn’t looked like he worked for the police.

The drugs were keeping me reasonably loose, so I managed the steps without looking too much like an invalid. If my nocturnal visitors were watching I hoped they thought I had miraculous recovery powers, but I wasn’t going to linger outside to impress. I didn’t bother to look out the lobby window either, but went right to the inside stairway. If I kept moving it would take longer before my body began to tighten.

Dr. James’ waiting room was empty, so I sat down and fell into my client routine. Unfortunately The New York Review of Books was a Chomsky handout, so I put it down. I wasn’t interested in an etymological chronicle of the world’s plight: I had my own to worry about. Too late I heard the door to the inner sanctum open, and found myself caught off-guard as Dr. James called my name.

She sounded like she did every Thursday and, for a moment, my usual weekly nervousness and resentment reappeared. Until I began to walk. Then my body reminded me why I was here.

“Come in, Mr. Jacob.” She closed the door behind us.

“It was Matthew on Thursday.” I walked past the shelves of books that lined the walls. Over the course of visits I had grown familiar with most of the titles; you had to look pretty close to find fiction interspersed with the rows of books on psychology. Though Proust and Mann were hardly easy reading.

“I know,” she said, responding to my unspoken complaint. “Despite my initial reluctance to see you today, I’m rather glad you’re here. I want to talk about Thursday. Why don’t you sit down?” She finished her apology and suddenly saw me. “What happened to your face?” Some of her formality began to slip.

I creaked over the plain gray rug and wedged behind the muted floral couch by the window. I looked down at the street for what happened to my face, but as usual saw nothing. Even the Lincoln had been replaced by a silver Toyota van. I kept my eyes outside, but leaned on the back of the couch toward the center of the room. She seemed to understand that I wasn’t going to sit.

“What happened to you? Why do you keep staring out the window?”

“You talk about Thursday first.” I had trouble keeping the harshness out of my voice.

She walked to the rear of her desk as if to take her seat, changed her mind, and leaned up against the side. She was wearing a pair of white jeans and a bright pink corduroy shirt. It seemed a sharp contrast to her dull office and it was certainly different from what I was used to seeing her wear. I wondered whether she dressed in different styles according to her day’s clients; it bothered me to find her appealing.

She made up for her clothes with the chill in her voice. “Since we last met I’ve done a great deal of thinking and decided I was too impetuous in requesting your services. Especially without talking to Dr. Holmes.”

“And this time when Holmes reassured you, you believed him?”

“Exactly.”

“And now you want me to forget about it and resume our regular work.”

Her face relaxed and, for a moment, a look of genuine relief shone from her eyes. “Yes. That’s right. I know we’ll have to work through my visit to your home, but I’m sure we can do that.”

“Crap.” This time I didn’t try to disguise my tone.

A look of confusion crossed her face and her body yanked upright. “I don’t understand. You didn’t indicate that my visit would end our therapeutic relationship.”

“Right now I don’t care about our therapeutic relationship. I care about the case. You are the second person to warn me off the burglaries.” I stopped and pointed to my face. “Though you are more polite about it.”

She stood with her hand over her mouth. “You mean someone actually hit you?”

I just looked at her.

She started to walk toward me, but stopped. “Have you seen a doctor? Of course I’ll pay for whatever this costs you. I am completely responsible. I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t want your money and you’re not responsible for anything. You didn’t do the beating.”

She looked around the room like she was going to move but couldn’t find a destination worth the effort. “I don’t understand. Eban swore to me that there was nothing to worry about.”

“He might be telling the truth. We’ll find out soon enough.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that. I intend to find out what my beating was about. I don’t know whether your friend Holmes is involved or not, but I do know that the police are fucking with the report and want me out.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“The police did this.”

A look of disbelief crept into her eyes. “Why would the police beat you up?” She shook her head. “Are you certain?”

“I intend to get certain.” I sounded more confident than I felt but then, I wasn’t here to talk about my feelings.

She looked at me, a slight smile beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth. “You know, Mr. Jacob …”

“Matt.”

“Okay, Matthew. The reason I originally asked you for help was the attitude you are displaying today. Now I’m concerned about it. I mean, how much of your stubbornness is self-destructive?”

“I don’t give a damn, Gloria.” I leaned on her first name. “I’m not here to inspect my stubbornness. You can save that shit for my fiftyminute hours.”

She shook her head and walked over to one of the easy chairs and sat down. “This sucks.”

I started to laugh.

“What are you laughing at?”

I felt as if someone had buried a knife inside my ribs. It made it easy to stop laughing. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just that for a moment there you sounded human.”

She looked angry, then she started to laugh. If I hadn’t still been recovering from the first one I would have joined her.

“I feel torn,” she said. “I’ve waited years to see you act like this, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. And I am concerned about your safety. I mean, if they were police, you have no one to get help from.” Another worried look crossed her face. I wondered if it was for me.

“Also, Eban was adamant. He didn’t want anyone nosing around his business.”

“Well, it’s too late for that. You don’t have to worry. I’ll tell him myself.”

Her eyes narrowed and she looked like a lioness protecting a cub. This time I didn’t wonder if the look was for me.

“You can’t just go barging into Dr. Holmes’ life looking for information,” she said. “I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me.” The words hung in the air and I realized how childish they sounded. I walked to the front of the couch and dropped down. The morning’s pills were wearing off and I began to remember how bad I really felt. “Look, this isn’t a fight between us. I can’t let the police, or anyone, stroll into my house and beat the hell out of me, then pretend that nothing happened. I don’t plan to browbeat your friend. You can see for yourself.”

“Meaning what?”

“Get him over here now.”

“Just like that?”

“Why not?” Just like Rockford, I was thinking on my feet.

Dr. James looked uncertain. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t know if he’s in today, much less free.”

“Why don’t we find out?” I moved as though to rise. I hoped she would say something to stop me.

She did. “I’ll call and see what he says.” She stood, walked over to her desk, and knelt down behind it. My first thought was she had a special knock on the floor to contact him. My second was how well she filled the seat of her pants. I tried to shake my head clear. The pain in my body was starting to affect me.

“I had to plug in the phone,” she said as she stood up and read the look on my face. She dialed a number, impulsively hung up the receiver, then dialed again. This time she waited. I could hear the murmuring of her voice but my body hurt enough that I didn’t pay attention. I didn’t know whether I was up to meeting Holmes. The next time I practiced thinking on my feet I’d make sure I was able to stand.

She finished her conversation and turned to me. “He’ll be here in a minute. He seems quite interested in meeting you.” Almost absently she said, “You look really uncomfortable; do you want anything?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Morphine would be fine.”

It got her attention though she didn’t see the humor. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re hurt badly enough for morphine you belong in a hospital.” She looked angry. “With your drug problems morphine would push you into an early grave. It’s something we’re going to have to talk about, you know? You can’t keep hiding your dependency.”

I waved my hand. “Relax, I was only joking.”

“Well, I don’t think your chemical use is as funny as you do.”

“Well, can I have some H20?”