On the nightstand was an old-fashioned glass in which two ice cubes melted, a minibar-sized bottle of Chivas in the wastebasket. There was also a large-format magazine- American Lutherie.

Another music wannabe? Lamar waited for Baker’s reaction. Baker was impassive.

Lamar had a closer look at the mini-bottle. Empty. Doctor mellowing out from insomnia with a drink and a read? Or calming himself down?

He and Baker pulled up chairs and Dr. Alexander Delaware perched on the bed. They gave him the bad news straight out and he placed a palm to his cheek. “My God! That’s horrible. I’m…” His voice trailed off.

Baker said, “How about filling us in?”

“About what?”

“For starters, how about why Mr. Jeffries travels with a doctor.”

A deep sigh. “This is…you’ve got to give me a few minutes.”

Delaware went to the minibar and took out a can of orange juice. He drank it quickly. “I’m a psychologist, not a medical doctor. After a helicopter mishap several years ago, Jack developed a phobia of flying. I was treating him for it. Nashville was his first actual flight after the near crash and he asked me to accompany him.”

“Leave all your other patients and go with him,” said Baker.

“I’m semi-retired,” said Delaware.

“Semi-retired?” Baker said. “That would mean you work sometimes?”

“Mostly police work for LAPD. I’ve been consulting on and off for several years.”

“Profiling?” said Lamar.

“And other things.” Delaware smiled enigmatically. “Once in a while, I’m useful. How did Jack die?”

“That’s your whole practice?” said Baker. “Consulting for LAPD?”

“I also do court consults.”

Baker said, “You don’t see patients but you were treating Jack Jeffries.”

“I don’t see many long-term patients. Jack came to me through my girlfriend. She’s a luthier, has worked on Jack’s instruments for years. Awhile back, he mentioned to her that he’d been invited to sing at the Songbird Café for the First Amendment gathering, and was frustrated that his anxiety prevented him from going. He was open to treatment and my girlfriend asked me if I would see him. I was between projects, so I agreed.”

Lamar uncrossed and crossed his legs. “What do you do for that kinda thing?”

“There are lots of approaches. I used a combination of hypnosis, deep muscle relaxation and imagery- teaching Jack to retrain his thoughts and emotional responses to flying.”

“That include drugs?” said Baker.

Delaware shook his head. “Jack had engaged in decades of self-medication. My approach was to see how far we could get without medication, get him a backup prescription for Valium, if he needed it during the flight. He didn’t. He was really doing well.” He ran a hand through his curls. Tugged and let go. “I can’t believe- this is…grotesque!”

A solemn headshake, then he strode to the minibar and retrieved another can of orange juice. This time he spiked it with a bottle of Tanqueray. “Time for me to self-medicate. I know enough not to offer you any booze, but how about soft drinks?”

Both detectives declined.

Baker said, “So you were his hypnotist.”

“I used hypnosis along with other techniques. Jack invested serious money in a Jet Card as a way of encouraging himself to keep practicing. If the flights to and from Nashville went smoothly, the plan was for him to try another trip alone. The success he’d achieved so far- mastering his fear- was good for him. He told me he hadn’t accomplished much for years, so it felt especially good.”

“Sounds like he was depressed,” said Lamar.

“Not clinically,” said Delaware. “But yes, he’d reached an age, was looking inward.” He drank. “What else can I help you with?”

“How about an accounting of his- and your- movements from the time you arrived in Nashville?” said Baker.

Again, the pretty boy raked his curls and threw them a look with those pale, pale eyes. “Let’s see…we got in around eleven in the morning. We flew privately, which was a first for me. A limo was waiting for us- I believe the company was CSL- we got to the hotel around noon. I checked in for Jack because he wanted to smoke a cigarette and was concerned about being conspicuous.”

“Conspicuous, how?”

“The whole celebrity thing,” said Delaware. “Being mobbed in the lobby.”

“Did that happen?”

“A few people seemed to recognize him but it never got beyond looks and whispers.”

“Anyone scary-looking?” said Lamar.

“Not to my eye, but I wasn’t looking for suspicious characters. I was his doctor, not his bodyguard. All I remember were tourists.”

“How about the few people who recognized him?”

“Middle-aged tourists.” Delaware shrugged. “It’s been a long time since he was a household name.”

“That bother him?”

“Who knows? When he told me he didn’t want to be noticed, my first thought was he really did and wanted to reassure himself he was still famous. I think attending the concert was all part of that…the desire to get out there and be someone. But not because of anything he said. This was just my perception.”

“You checked in, what next?” said Baker.

“I walked Jack up to his suite and he said he’d call me if he needed anything. I went down to my room, intending to take a twenty-minute catnap. Usually I wake up, right on the dot. This time I didn’t, and when I did get up, I felt logy. I went to the hotel gym, worked out for an hour, took a swim.” A strong exhalation. “Let’s see. I showered, I made a couple of calls, did a little reading, played a little.” Indicating the guitar case and the magazine.

“Who’d you call?” Baker asked.

“My service, my girlfriend.”

“The luthier,” Baker said. “What’s her name?”

“Robin Castagna.”

Lamar furrowed his eyebrows. “She got a write-up in Acoustic Guitar last year, right?” When Delaware looked surprised, he said, “You’re in Nashville, Doctor. It’s the town’s business.” He pointed to the guitar case. “That one of hers?”

“It is.” The psychologist unlatched the guitar case and took out a pretty little abalone-trimmed flattop. Like a 000-size Martin, but no decal on the headstock and the fretboard inlays were different. Delaware fingerpicked a few arpeggios, then ran some diminished chords down the board before frowning and returning the instrument to the case.

“Nothing sounds too good this morning,” he said.

Nimble, Baker thought, the guy could play.

Lamar said, “You planning on doing some performance while you’re here?”

“Hardly.” Delaware ’s smile was wan. “Jack had his psychologist, the guitar is my therapy.”

Baker said, “So you picked a little, read a little…then what?”

“Let’s see…must’ve been six thirty, seven, by then I was hungry. The concierge recommended the Capitol Grille, right here in the hotel. But after I looked at it, I decided I didn’t want to dine alone in a place that fancy. Then Jack called and said he wanted to go out and ‘score some grub,’ could use company.”

“How’d he sound mood-wise?”

“Rested, relaxed,” said Delaware. “He told me the songs had been going well, no trouble remembering lyrics- which had been one of his main concerns. He made a lot of jokes about old age and hard living causing brain damage. He also told me that he was thinking of writing a new song for the benefit. Something called ‘The Censorship Rag.’ ”

“But now he was hungry.”

“For ribs, specifically. We ended up at a place on Broadway- Jack’s. He picked it out of the restaurant guide, thought it was funny- the name, some kind of karma.”

“How’d you get there?”

“We took a cab over.”

“It’s walking distance,” said Baker.

“We didn’t know that at the time.”

“When did you get there?” said Baker.

“Maybe a little before nine.”

“Anyone recognize him at Jack’s?”

Delaware shook his head. “We had a nice quiet meal. Jack ate lots of pork shoulder.”