"Where am I supposed to sit?" he demanded.

"Wherever you feel comfortable," Jason replied.

There was a swiveling leather chair in front of the desk, an armchair beside the desk, an analytic couch next to that. Several other small armchairs were grouped against the wall for those occasions when Jason met with a couple or several members of a family. The obstacle for Maslow's father seemed to be the analytic couch. After some moments of tense deliberation, he sat in the armchair.

Jason sat in his desk chair. "Thank you for coming," he said gently. "This must be very difficult for you."

"Don't misunderstand. I'm not here for comfort. I hate psychiatrists."

Jason gave him a sad smile. "But we can be very helpful at times."

"You think so because you get paid for it. But I don't think so. Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here for help, so don't expect to bill me." Atkins's face was brittle. He was a man who liked to fight.

Jason did not react. He was used to people's being defensive about his specialty. "If you hate psychiatrists so much, your son must be a disappointment to you."

"He was very stubborn," Atkins said tersely.

Again that "was." Jason pressed his lips together and made no reply.

"You have no idea how difficult this is."

But Jason did. Only a second ago he had acknowledged the difficulty. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I want to be clear about this. I don't need a psychiatrist personally. I'm here for my son."

"I appreciate that."

"It's a very complicated situation. I'm concerned about him-what happened to him, I mean." Atkins pulled a snowy handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and dabbed delicately at his top lip, then replaced it.

Jason nodded. "Of course you are. Do you have something to tell me about it?"

"I don't want the police to know about this. I need your word as a doctor and a gentleman that you won't reveal what I'm about to tell you to anyone. Because if you can't guarantee confidentiality, I can't tell you anything."

Jason didn't answer. He was struck with the disturbing idea that Atkins might have harmed his own child.

"It is my firm belief that this has nothing to do with Maslow's disappearance, that's the reason I must insist on confidentiality," Atkins said pompously.

"Mr. Atkins, I can see your point, of course. Uh-huh-huh-huh." Jason reached for the nearly empty cup of cold coffee on his desk to cover a sudden choking cough.

"Good," Atkins said.

Jason raised a hand. "Please let me finish. I certainly respect your wish for confidentiality, but…"

"This is a requirement, not a wish."

"Let me tell you the problem here. Confidentiality does not apply in certain situations. In criminal cases if a person is going to be arrested, I have an obligation to-"

Atkins flushed a deep red and interrupted again. "This is not criminal. It's a family matter."

"I see. Does what you have to tell me regard Maslow's welfare?"

"I just told you I do not believe so."

"I may have to be the judge of that."

"You're a stubborn and arrogant young man. I'm only asking that you keep my private confidences. I'm not asking for the cover-up of any crime.". Jason hadn't been called "young man" in many years. He suppressed a smile. "If you want to tie my hands, I'm not sure what I can do for you."

"I'm not tying your hands," Atkins insisted.

"Then let me ask you again. What have you come to me for? How can I help you?" Jason glanced at his clock. His time was being wasted. He hated that.

Atkins shook his head angrily, then abruptly changed his tone. "You have met my wife," he said softly.

"Yes, she seems like a fine woman," Jason said.

"She and I have nothing in common."

"I see."

"I've had a-friend-for many years. A lovely woman." Atkins looked down at his manicured nails, then couldn't resist adding, "A younger woman, of course, very pretty, not like my wife, not materialistic at all, and very sweet. When the friendship began, I never intended anything personal-" Pause. Nose swipe. Out with the handkerchief. Dab at the lips. Back into the pocket with the handkerchief. Jerome's right eye twitched.

"She was the one who wanted a sexual relationship. I didn't even think of it. But-" He sighed and spread out his hands. "Sometimes things happen. My child was sick. My wife was distraught. She never recovered, of course, you could see that." Atkins glanced at Jason for a doctor's confirmation of that.

"Well, the fact is, Adina has never been the same since Chloe died. We've had no relations since then."

"The loss of a child is a catastrophe," Jason murmured. "Has she been treated for depression?"

Another long pause. Jerome's answer was a sniff. "My friend had a child."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"What is her name?"

"How did you know it was a girl?"

"Your girlfriend's name?"

Atkins swallowed. "Her name is Grace. She has a daughter."

"I see. What is your daughter's name?"

Atkins shook his head, pursed his lips. "Her name is Dylan, Dylan Rodriguez."

"Dylan Rodriguez. How old is Dylan?"

Atkins's eyes filled with tears. "She's twenty."

Jason realized that he had been holding his breath. He exhaled. "You have a twenty-year-old daughter?"

"She's Grace's daughter."

The clock on Jason's desk ticked off thirty seconds while he thought about this. Sometimes thirty seconds can be a very long time. "Does Maslow know he has a sister?" he asked finally.

"Of course not."

Jason scratched his head, astounded. Jerome Atkins was one of those perfectly ordinary-looking men who had a secret family. His son had a sister he didn't know about. "Do Grace and Dylan know about your wife and son?"

"Of course. Grace knew from the beginning that I was married with children. She was the one who wanted a relationship. I had nothing to do with it. It was her idea to have a baby."

Jason quickly did the math. If Maslow was thirty-one and his twin sister died when she was eleven, then Dylan was conceived twenty-one years ago, when Chloe was very ill and about nine months before she died. Twenty-one years ago when the family was in crisis, Jerome was having an affair. Twenty years ago his legitimate daughter died and his illegitimate daughter was born. To Jason, the juxtaposition of those two major events sounded more like calculation than coincidence. Jerome Atkins had a lot to do with the relationship. And the catastrophe to his wife was much greater than the loss of a child. She had lost her husband at the same time. Not only that, Maslow had to have been profoundly influenced. Well before he lost his sister he lost his father, too.

"I didn't abandon them, if that's what you're thinking," Jerome said. "I've always spent time with the Rodriguezes. Grace is a wonderful woman. Dylan is a lovely girl." He gave his nose another little wipe. In body language, that meant he didn't believe what he was saying. The Rodriguezes. He called his second family the Rodriguezes, as if they belonged in another category, another world.

The clocks in the office ticked on like little time bombs, and Jason's heart beat along with them. All of a sudden everything was speeding up. April would want to talk to the Rodriguezes, and so did he. He watched Jerome Atkins's face as the man recovered his poise.

"I don't believe either of them had anything to do with Maslow's disappearance. I told you, Grace is a fine woman. She never thinks of herself." "What are you suggesting?"

"Absolutely nothing. I just wanted you as his supervisor to know the facts of his life, even if he himself did not."

With his confession off his chest, Jerome Atkins reiterated his position on his relationship with Grace Rodriguez. He wanted confidentiality concerning it. Then, white-faced, he gave Jason his second family's address in Long Island City and the phone number. After he left, Jason went over their conversation in his mind. Once again he felt sad and frightened for Maslow. It seemed clear to him that Jerome Atkins's motivation in paying the visit was not so much to help his son, but to start the spin for his wife and the rest of the world if he was unlucky. If his son was dead and the truth about his second family came out.