Jonathan Kellerman - Therapy

“Lieutenant, from where I’m sitting, my client has proved most cooperative. Do you have any other questions I’d deem acceptable?”

Milo nodded at me, and I showed Gull Bennett Hacker’s DMV photo. “What about this man? Ever seen him?”

“I’ve seen him with Albin a couple of times.”

“Where?”

“Over at Roxbury Park, having lunch with Albin. The same spot where you found us. Albin goes there frequently, said it reminds him of parks in Sweden.”

“Albin ever introduce you to this man?”

“No. I assumed he was a therapist, as well.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, really… perhaps his demeanor.”

“Which was?”

“Quiet, pleasant.”

“What about Sonny Koppel?” I said. “What was his role in Sentries for Justice?”

“Sonny? None that I know of.”

“Mary never mentioned his being involved?” said Milo.

“The only thing Mary told me was that Sonny owned some properties that she’d convinced him to use as halfway houses, and that’s where she and Albin were going to get their patients. She said it made everything easy.”

“Ready supply of patients.”

“I don’t believe her intentions were anything but noble. She felt she could do some good and make money.”

“Even at low reimbursement rates.”

Gull was silent. Then he said, “Whatever took place, I chose not to participate. I think I deserve some credit for that.”

“We’ll put a gold star on your chart, Doctor.”

I said, “You’re saying Sonny wasn’t involved.”

“I doubt Mary would have included Sonny in anything substantive. He repulsed her. Frankly, Mary was aware of how Sonny felt about her, and she turned it to her advantage. To get a great lease on our suite, to finance her own real estate investments.”

“She borrowed money from Sonny?”

“Not loans, gifts. She’d ask for money, and he’d say yes. She joked about it. Said, ‘I use every part of the pig except the squeal.’ ”

Myrna Wimmer’s nails clacked against the edge of her desk.

Gull said, “I don’t want to paint a negative portrait of Mary. Being married to a man like Sonny couldn’t have been easy. Have you met him?”

“We have,” I said.

“Can you imagine Mary with someone like that?”

“Why? Was Sonny rough on her?”

“No, nothing like that. Just the opposite.” Gull fidgeted.

“What?” I said.

“To be frank, Mary liked things a little… she enjoyed being dominated. In a loving way. Once she arrived at a point of trust and intimacy.”

“Bondage?”

“No, there were never ropes involved, just physical pressure.”

“Holding her down.”

“At her request,” said Gull.

“Sonny wouldn’t do that.”

“Sonny couldn’t do that. She said back when they’d been married, any demand she placed on him to exhibit dominance turned him instantly impotent. Because he needed to be dominated. She saw that as part of his general problem-’flabby psyche, flabby body’ was the way she termed it.”

Gull patted his own midriff. “In my opinion, that’s really why she left him. He wouldn’t assert himself with her.”

“So she used him.”

“She said, ‘Sonny wants to be controlled, I’m doing him a favor by pulling his strings.’ ”

“But she never mentioned Sonny being involved in Sentries?”

“All she mentioned was his owning the buildings.”

“What about Albin Larsen?” I said. “He and Mary ever develop anything physical?”

Gull looked offended. “I’m certain they didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Albin’s not Mary’s type.”

“Also not dominant?”

“As far as I can tell, Albin’s asexual.”

Milo said, “Got a monk thing going on?”

“In all the time I’ve known Albin, he’s never expressed any interest in sex or sexual matters. And we’ve worked together for years.”

“Too busy doing good works,” I said.

“People channel their drives in various ways,” said Gull. “I don’t judge. I always have seen Albin as someone who might’ve been comfortable in a monastic setting. He lives very simply.”

“Admirable,” said Milo.

Gull said, “About all those names. Are you saying someone actually claims I treated those men and billed Medi-Cal?”

“The state of California claims.”

“Ridiculous. It never happened.”

“The paperwork says it did, Doctor.”

“Then someone screwed up, or someone’s lying. Check my bank accounts- check the money trail or whatever you call it. You won’t find any three hundred thousand unaccounted for.”

“There are plenty of ways to hide money, Doctor.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know what they are.”

“The paperwork, Doctor-”

“Someone’s lying!” Gull shouted.

Milo smiled. “Now who could that be?”

Gull was silent.

I said, “Any theories?”

Myrna Wimmer said, “Be careful here, Franco.”

Gull inhaled deeply and let his breath out very slowly. “You’re saying Mary and Albin falsified bills in my name and pocketed the money.”

Milo said, “You’re saying it, Doctor.”

Gull swiped at his glassy brow. “I guess I am. And now Mary’s dead.”

“So she is, Doctor.”

Gull sweated profusely and didn’t bother to mop it up. “You can’t be serious.” His voice had changed. Higher register, strained.

I said, “During the same period you ostensibly billed for 340,000 dollars’ worth of felon therapy, Mary billed for 380, and Albin Larsen billed 440.”

Gull said, “Albin?”

I said, “That’s the question. Now let’s work on the answer.”

As we rode the elevator from Wimmer’s high-rise to the ground floor, Milo said, “You squeezed him dry, congrats.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Not pleased?”

“It needed to be done.”

As we pulled out into traffic, he said, “When I hunt and actually bag something, I get hungry. I’m thinking red meat.”

“Okay.”

“Not up for it?”

“Red meat’s fine.”

“Had a big breakfast?”

“Had nothing.”

“You find playing Grand Inquisitor that repugnant?”

“A little outside my training.”

“Hey,” he said. “Psychological warfare. In Vietnam, the Army woulda had you writing pamphlets.”

“Where’s the red meat?” I said.

“Okay, change the subject… Wilshire, near the beach, there’s a new place that dry-ages, but if you find the notion of feasting after breaking down another human being repugnant, I understand. Even though said human being is a self-serving slimeball.”

“Now that you put it that way.”

“Gull may not have been in on the scam or the killings directly, but I don’t buy the complete-innocent act. I think the deal the ADA authorized was a gift.”

Two-year suspension of Gull’s psychology license in return for full cooperation in all criminal and civil matters pertaining to…

“More than fair,” I said. “Let’s eat.”

The steak house had microbrews on tap and an adjacent dry-aging room whose picture window faced the boulevard. A family of tourists stopped to admire sides of beef hanging from gleaming hooks, and Milo took the time to join them. Two little kids pointed and giggled, and the father said, “Cool.” The mother opined: “I think it’s brutal.”

Inside, seated at a back booth, Milo said, “Controlled decay kicks up the taste. Kind of like real life.”

I said, “Real life is hard to control.”

He clapped my shoulder. “All the more reason to gorge.”

Over two mountains of Steak Delmonico, baked potatoes the size of running shoes, and a bottle of red wine, we reviewed what we’d learned from Gull.