She tugged at one of her earrings and sipped from her straw noisily, as though there were actually still some liquid in her glass.

I felt I was close to something, and I wanted to keep the pressure on. My voice as soft as I could make it, I said, “Madison?”

Incongruously, the warm smile I’d seen earlier again graced her face and she slid off the stool in one graceful motion. A young man in black jeans and a too-tight T-shirt appeared next to her and placed a long arm around her waist.

He was the kind of boy I was envious of in high school and college. He was as comfortable around pretty girls as Wynton Marsalis is around a horn. The fact that I was sitting with Madison didn’t interfere with his advance for a second.

I said, “Hello, I’m Alan Gregory.” I offered my hand.

His was firmly around Madison and he left it there. He said, “Brad.”

Madison said, “Listen, lunch is over and I have a class now. I have to go. Thanks for the coffee. Say hi to Merritt for me. Bye.”

She and Brad made for the door without looking back.

I watched them exit. Her smile dissolved into anger the second they were out the door. I watched her fumble for a cigarette and fail twice to get it lit with a little plastic lighter.

Finally, she got the thing ignited and started walking, inhaling, and scolding Brad simultaneously.

He seemed amused.

I guessed that Brad’s arrival at Starbucks had been choreographed by Madison in advance.

And that he had been late.

I called Sam Purdy at the police department when I returned to my office to see my next patient. He answered, it seemed to me, before the phone even rang.

“I met with Merritt’s friend Madison.”

“Anything?”

“She’s a clever kid, Sam. You know the type. Slippery.”

“Does she know anything?”

“Maybe. She didn’t tell me anything, but I got the feeling that she knows something. But just when I got some pressure going, she had some guy come in and rescue her. Maybe you’ll get more than I did.”

“I should probably keep my distance from witnesses. Officially speaking, anyway. I’ll talk to Luce.” Detective Lucy Tanner was Sam’s partner in criminal investigation, and occasionally in crime.

“After she hears that Merritt’s under investigation, I think she’ll clam up and get real stupid, Sam.”

“Happens all the time. You moved Merritt to Denver all right?”

“Signed, sealed, and delivered. Will she be arrested today?”

“Barring a confession by somebody else, probably. Blood on her clothing types like Dead Ed’s. Gun is definitely Dead Ed’s. Two rounds are missing. Get your arguments ready about why she needs to stay at Children’s and not get moved to the Fort. You’ll need them.”

“Okay.”

I hesitated now. I wanted to cover one additional piece of territory with Sam. And then again, I didn’t. I finally said, “Sam, I think I’ve come up with a motive.”

He was tapping something, the rhythm relentless. “Yes, I know. Me too.”

“Chaney?”

“Chaney.”

“DA has probably figured it out, too.”

“I imagine. Mitchell Crest isn’t stupid.”

“You know, it’s a good motive, but it doesn’t make perfect sense.”

“I know.”

“What about what we talked about last night, Sam? The suicide note? On the little computer? Could Merritt have done that? Right now, they have to be assuming that she wrote that or forced him to write it.”

“That’s a problem. But they’ll manage it, finesse it some way. Watch for something on the five o’clock news. Nobody in the department wants to take the flack they took for the JonBenet case. If they have something good that won’t compromise the investigation, the public’s going to know it.”

Sixteen

Diane Estevez walked, no, strutted, into my office when I left my door open between patients early that afternoon. Her hands were on her hips, and her chin had that mild outward thrust that always made Raoul, her husband, so anxious. Instantly, I guessed what was coming. The story wasn’t in the newspaper yet, so I didn’t know how she could have found out about Merritt’s latest troubles, but I would have given good odds right then that she had. I figured we were about to have an unpleasant conversation about why she didn’t hear about it from me first.

She said, “Well, is it true?”

I nodded.

“This complicates things, you know that?”

Damn right it complicated things. “What do you mean?”

“You know who Edward Robilio is-was-don’t you?”

I was about to impress her with my wisdom. “Yes, Diane, he was the founder and chairman of MedExcel.” MedExcel, I thought, being the in-surance provider who was not bending its own rules to permit cute, adorable little Chaney Trent to receive a potentially lifesaving, albeit highly experimental, and highly expensive, medical protocol.

Her eyes said, “So what?” Her mouth said, “And?”

“And what?”

“You know who his wife is?”

I hadn’t had anywhere near enough sleep. I said, “Mrs. Robilio?”

She took her hands off her hips and took a stride toward me, and I felt that I might be in some physical danger. “Don’t be cute.”

“I’m not being cute. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Diane.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“The custody case that John Trent is doing? With my patient who has a connected wife? Remember? Two kids; the husband’s above average, the wife drinks? I told you about it at lunch at Jax?”

I was totally befuddled now. “Yes, I remember.”

“I told you that his wife’s sister was married to a gazillionaire?”

“Yes.” I recalled the conversation. She had even said “gazillionaire.”

“Well, now, it turns out, thanks to your patient, my patient’s wife’s sister has just been widowed from her gazillionaire.”

“This is too confusing. Give me a name. Your patient is?”

“Call him Andrew. The wife he’s divorcing is Abby.”

“And Abby’s sister is Mrs. Robilio?”

“Yes, Abby’s sister is Mrs. Robilio. And now, if what I’m hearing is true, the daughter of the primary custody evaluator is charged with murdering the husband of the sister of one of the principals.”

It took me about three silent repetitions of everyone’s roles to completely comprehend the connections Diane was sketching. When I did I said, “So I guess that means you win.”

“What do you mean, I win?”

“There’s no way John Trent’s custody recommendation will be accepted by the court now, given his daughter’s involvement in Robilio’s death. The dual relationship problem will eliminate him. You’ll get a fresh eval. You win.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Then what were you thinking about?”

“The connection. I was thinking it supported my theory that someone had gotten to John Trent about his recommendations in the custody case.”

“What do you mean?”

“What else could it be?”

“Diane, MedExcel-Robilio’s company-is the insurance carrier that’s refusing to grant permission for Chaney Trent to have that procedure she needs. I’m afraid that gave my patient-remember her, my patient?-Chaney’s sister, a plausible motive to kill Dead Ed.”

“Dead Ed?”

“Dr. Robilio.”

She looked at me as though we were discussing a nickname I’d devised for a potted plant. “You call Dr. Edward Robilio ‘Dead Ed’?”

“It’s kind of tacky, I admit. I picked it up from Sam Purdy. It’s a cop thing.”

She shook her head. “Figures. So, if I’m following you correctly, you say that your patient was thinking, like, okay, what if she killed the guy, then for sure his company would suddenly be more compassionate about investing a few hundred thousand dollars in helping her sister stay alive? Huh? I’m supposed to believe this makes sense? Is your patient retarded, or is she merely suffering some intermittent severe thought disorder?”