“She was a very troubled girl. We got her to the hospital and the school doctor arranged for her to see a local pediatrician. With the help of members of our board, we managed to allow the world to think it was an accident.”

“But it wasn’t,” I said.

“No,” Ms. Baxter said. “She tried to kill herself.”

“Do you know why?” I said.

“I do not. Her mother came out to get her and brought her home, despite, I’m told, Dr. Weiss’s objections. She never returned to school. Perhaps if you talked with Dr. Weiss.”

“School doctor?” I said.

“No. Pediatrician. The school doctor, Dr. Feldman, never treated her, really. Just had her admitted to the hospital and arranged for Dr. Weiss to see her.”

“Is he here in town?” I said.

“He is.”

Ms. Baxter took a small piece of lavender-colored notepaper and wrote an address and handed me the paper.

“I’ll be happy to call him for you,” she said, “if you wish.”

“Might be helpful,” I said.

She nodded and stood, and went to her office door.

“ Doris,” she said to a secretary, “get Dr. Weiss for me, please.”

Then she came back to her desk.

“After successfully covering up the attempted suicide,” I said, “why did you decide to tell me now.”

“The poor girl,” Ms. Baxter said. “Now she’s been kidnapped, you are trying to find her. I had no right to withhold anything.”

Her phone rang.

“Yes,” she said, “thank you, Doris, put him on.”

She spoke briefly on the phone to Dr. Weiss, made a note on her lavender notepaper.

“Three o’clock this afternoon,” she said. “He will see you. Do you need directions to his office?”

“How many streets in this town?” I said.

“I believe five,” Ms. Baxter said.

“I’ll find him,” I said. “I am, after all, a detective.”

She smiled. I stood.

“I pray that you’ll find her,” Ms. Baxter said, and rose to walk me out. “And I hope you won’t have to use your gat.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Have you ever used it?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I have.”

“Oh, dear,” she said.

“Think how I feel,” I said.

46

Hawk pulled his Jag up in front of the big white house where Dr. Weiss did business.

“You going to join me?” I said.

Hawk shook his head. I nodded and got out of the car.

“Y’all take yo’ time, Miss Daisy,” Hawk said. “I be waiting right here.”

“Cute,” I said, and walked up the flagstone path to the side of the house, where a self-effacing little sign said Office.

Weiss was a tall, thin guy with a gray crew cut and a jittery manner.

“At the behest of Dr. Feldman,” Weiss said, “I spoke with Miss Van Meer several times during her stay in the hospital.”

“What can you tell me?” I said.

“Well, of course, this was some years ago.”

“Five,” I said.

Weiss nodded.

“She denied attempting suicide,” he said. “Claimed it was an accidental overdose.”

“You think?” I said.

“She accidentally took twenty sleeping pills?” Weiss said.

“Okay, so she tried to kill herself. Was she serious?”

“I don’t know. She took all the pills she had,” Weiss said.

“So maybe she was serious.”

“Maybe,” Weiss said.

“She was attempting to kill herself, or attempting to call attention to her circumstances,” I said. “Either way, something’s wrong.”

“Yes,” Weiss said.

“Do you know what?” I said.

Weiss leaned back a little in his chair.

“Shrinks hate questions like that,” he said.

“Because?”

“Because we frequently don’t know the answer,” he said. “And we don’t like not knowing.”

“My sympathies,” I said. “Can you guess?”

“We hate to guess, and in our practice we shouldn’t guess, we should allow the patient to reveal his truth.”

“I’m trying to find her,” I said. “Maybe save her. I need any guesses you can give me.”

“I know. I wish I could have worked with her, but her mother came and snatched her away as soon as she could leave the hospital.”

“She needs work?” I said.

“In my judgment, she is a very unstable young woman,” Weiss said.

“Can you amplify that for me?” I said.

“Do you know much about psychotherapy, Mr. Spenser?”

“Not enough,” I said. “But I am the significant other of a shrink in Cambridge.”

“Really. What is the shrink’s name?”

“Nice,” I said. “You framed the question gender-neutral.”

Weiss smiled.

“We don’t like to guess,” he said.

“Susan Silverman,” I said.

“I know her,” Weiss said. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” I said.

“And very smart,” Weiss said. “I’ve heard several of her papers.”

“Yes.”

Weiss seemed to lean back farther in his chair. I felt as if I had passed some sort of initiation.

“I truly don’t know her issues,” Weiss said. “But I’ve been in this line of work for a number of years, and my guesses are at least informed by experience.”

“Never a bad thing,” I said.

“Experience can inform,” he said. “It can also distort.”

“Sure,” I said. “But inexperience is rarely useful.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“Well put,” he said.

“ Adelaide Van Meer?” I said.

He nodded.

“I believe she has been sexually molested,” Weiss said.

“She say so?”

“No.”

“More than once?” I said.

“Over a long period of time, I think.”

“By whom?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“What I know about sexual abuse,” I said, “particularly if it’s extended, is that it’s probably someone close, a family member, a neighbor, someone like that.”

“Yes,” Weiss said.

“Have any sense if it was more than one person?”

“Probably one.”

“Are you sure?” I said.

Again, Weiss looked thoughtful.

“About how many molested her? No.”

“But that she was molested?”

“Yes,” he said. “I cannot prove it. I cannot even demonstrate logically why I believe it. But yes, I am at some intuitive level sure.”

I nodded.

“I got no problem with intuitive,” I said. “Most of what I do is not the result of pure reason.”

“That’s true of most people,” Weiss said. “Not all of them know it.”

“Sure,” I said. “Anything else you can tell me about Adelaide?”

“Not really. When her mother took her I urged that she see a competent therapist,” Weiss said. “I told her I could help with a referral, and in any case was always available to her new therapist or to Adelaide. Mrs. Bradshaw declined a referral.”

“Ever hear from anyone?”

“No.”

“You think she got better?”

“Not without a good deal of professional attention,” Weiss said.

47

When Hawk and I got to my office we found a man and a woman waiting in the corridor. I unlocked the door and we went in. Hawk went and sat on Pearl ’s couch and put his feet on the coffee table. I went to my desk. The man and woman sat in front of my desk. I introduced myself.

“We’re the Lessards,” the man said.

They were both tall and athletic-looking. About fifty. Probably played a lot of tennis. Probably in a southern clime; they were both tanned. His hair was gray. Hers was blond and firmly in place.

“It was our son who was killed at Tashtego,” the woman said.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said.

They nodded. They were both aware of Hawk behind them.

“May we speak freely?” Mrs. Lessard said.

“Absolutely. I share everything with my associate,” I said.

They both turned to look at him. Hawk smiled reassuringly.

“You were there,” Mr. Lessard said.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have prevented it.”

“We know,” Mrs. Lessard said. “The police have explained everything to us.”

“It was the police who sent us to you,” Lessard said. “A Captain Healy, who is apparently in charge of the investigation.”