“Not hardly. Faking it- the typical antisocial charm. If you’ve had any experience with sociopaths, you’d know what I mean.”

“Pretentious,” I said.

“Exactly, prototypical antisocial pretentiousness.” His body loosened. Pretending we were colleagues having a clinical chat. “Flowery use of language, overly solicitous. Playing at being civilized and thinking he was putting one over on me. But his fantasies.” He exhaled.

“Sadistic?”

“Dominance, bondage and, yes, I’d say a touch of sadism. He talked incessantly about tying this woman up and making love to her aggressively for as long as it took to force orgasms out of her body. He didn’t use the term ‘making love.’ ”

“Sexual tough guy,” I said.

“His fantasies involved multiple penetration, bondage, foreign objects. I tried to get him to address this woman’s needs, suggested that perhaps she needed some tenderness, some intimacy, but he laughed that off. His plan was to quote-unquote ‘stick her every which way until she screamed for mercy.’ ”

He smiled with practiced weariness. Any reticence about discussing patients had vanished. “I, for one, couldn’t see what any of that had to do with reducing recidivism, and when he stopped showing up, I told Mary I’d had enough of the program and the people it brought in.”

He placed the eyeglasses back in his pocket, laced his hands, and sat forward. “You need to understand: I’d never do anything to hurt Mary. Never.”

I said, “So you saw only three Sentries for Justice patients. For how many sessions, total?”

“I believe twelve- certainly not much more than that. I remember thinking that apart from being unpleasant and unproductive, the project was a financial loser. I think the total billable charges didn’t even amount to five hundred dollars. That’s why your three hundred thousand figure is absurd. And the money didn’t come to Marina del Rey, it came to Mary at the office, she cashed the state check and distributed the money to me. You really do need to check your facts, gentlemen.”

“Mary was the bursar.”

“So to speak. Yes.”

Milo removed several sheets of paper from his attache case and passed them to me. I showed Franco Gull a mug shot of Raymond Degussa.

He said, “Yes, that’s him. Ray.”

“Mr. Dominance.”

He nodded. “Did he murder Mary?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because he impressed me as someone clearly capable of violence. The way he carried himself, the way he sat, walked- like a barely tethered animal.” He studied the picture. “Look at those eyes. He made me uncomfortable. I told Mary that. She laughed it off, said there was nothing to worry about.”

“The girlfriend he talked about,” I said. “Did he mention her name?”

“No, but I saw her. At least I assume it was her.”

“You assume?”

“Shortly after Ray had stopped coming to see me, I spotted him with a woman. His arm was around her. He seemed… proprietary.”

“Where’d you see them?” I said.

“I happened to step out into the waiting room to get my patient, and the two of them were also sitting there. At first I thought there’d been some kind of scheduling problem, that Ray expected a session. But before I could say anything, Mary came out and the woman went back with her.”

“The girlfriend was a patient of Mary’s.”

“Apparently.”

I showed him a shot of Flora Newsome, alive and smiling.

“Yes,” he said. “Good Lord, what’s this all about?”

“Did you see this woman with Ray Degussa any other times?”

“Once more,” said Gull, “as I arrived at the building and they were walking out to the parking lot. It surprised me- the way she looked. Putting a face to the person he’d talked about. A man like that, I’d have expected someone a bit more… obvious.”

“A bimbo,” said Milo.

“This woman was… she looked like a bank clerk.”

“She was a teacher,” I said.

“Was,” said Gull. “You’re saying… God, how far does this go?”

“Knowing Degussa was a thug, did you tell Mary his fantasies about her patient?”

“No, I couldn’t. Confidentiality. That was one thing we were adamant about. All three of us. Once our doors closed, that was it. No cross-office chitchat about patients.”

“You didn’t see Degussa as a threat to Flora Newsome?”

“Flora,” said Gull. “So that’s her name… good God.” He bounded up, snatched another tissue. “There was nothing to warn anyone about. Nothing that even approached a Tarasoff level. He never said he wanted to hurt her, just that he wanted to make her come.”

“Make her scream for mercy,” I said.

“I took that as a metaphor.”

Milo said, “Him being a poetic type.”

“He killed her?” said Gull. “You’re saying he actually killed her?”

“Someone did.”

“Oh God. This is my worst nightmare.”

Milo said, “Hers was worse.”

No one spoke for a while, then Gull said, “Did he assault her sexually?”

Milo said, “We’ll ask the questions.”

“Fine, fine- God, this is draining me, I’m drying up.” Gull stood again, poured two glasses of water, and finished both. His face was glossy. Fluid in, fluid out. A man of little substance.

I said, “Who else was involved in Sentries for Justice?”

“Just Mary and Albin.”

“What about Ray Degussa?”

“Him? You’re saying he was- you know, now that you mention it, he did seem to be near the office a lot. After he stopped coming for therapy.”

“Where’d he hang out?”

“I’d see him walking up the block, and he’d nod and smile and give a thumbs-up. As if we were friends. I assumed he worked nearby.”

“You ever talk to him?”

“Just hi and good-bye.”

“A thug nearby, that didn’t bother you?”

“Mary and Albin were treating criminals.”

“But you assumed Degussa worked nearby.”

Gull shrugged. “I really didn’t pay much attention to any of it.”

“When did the Sentries sessions take place?”

“I assume after hours.”

“So as not to upset the regular clientele.”

Gull nodded.

“You and Mary and Albin Larsen never discussed specifics?”

“Frankly,” said Gull, “I didn’t want to know.”

“Why not?”

“Criminals. I find them unsavory. I wanted to keep my distance from any…”

“Any what?” said Milo.

“Any unpleasantness.”

“So you suspected there might be something illegal going on.”

Myrna Wimmer said, “Don’t answer that. It could be self-incriminating.”

Gull said, “But I didn’t do anything criminal.”

Wimmer glared at him, and he shut his mouth.

Milo said, “Counselor, your client’s got an interesting way of blocking out things he doesn’t want to deal with. Isn’t the point of therapy breaking through all that denial?”

“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.”