Therapy (39 page)

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.”

“Even at low reimbursement rates.”

Gull was silent. Then he said, “Whatever took place, I chose not to participate. I think I deserve some credit for that.”

“We’ll put a gold star on your chart, Doctor.”

I said, “You’re saying Sonny wasn’t involved.”

“I doubt Mary would have included Sonny in anything substantive. He repulsed her. Frankly, Mary was aware of how Sonny felt about her, and she turned it to her advantage. To get a great lease on our suite, to finance her own real estate investments.”

“She borrowed money from Sonny?”

“Not loans, gifts. She’d ask for money, and he’d say yes. She joked about it. Said, ‘I use every part of the pig except the squeal.’ ”

Myrna Wimmer’s nails clacked against the edge of her desk.

Gull said, “I don’t want to paint a negative portrait of Mary. Being married to a man like Sonny couldn’t have been easy. Have you met him?”

“We have,” I said.

“Can you imagine Mary with someone like that?”

“Why? Was Sonny rough on her?”

“No, nothing like that. Just the opposite.” Gull fidgeted.

“What?” I said.

“To be frank, Mary liked things a little . . . she enjoyed being dominated. In a loving way. Once she arrived at a point of trust and intimacy.”

“Bondage?”

“No, there were never ropes involved, just physical pressure.”

“Holding her down.”

“At her request,” said Gull.

“Sonny wouldn’t do that.”

“Sonny
couldn’t
do that. She said back when they’d been married, any demand she placed on him to exhibit dominance turned him instantly impotent. Because
he
needed to be dominated. She saw that as part of his general problem—’flabby psyche, flabby body’ was the way she termed it.”

Gull patted his own midriff. “In my opinion, that’s really why she left him. He wouldn’t assert himself with her.”

“So she used him.”

“She said, ‘Sonny wants to be controlled, I’m doing him a favor by pulling his strings.’ ”

“But she never mentioned Sonny being involved in Sentries?”

“All she mentioned was his owning the buildings.”

“What about Albin Larsen?” I said. “He and Mary ever develop anything physical?”

Gull looked offended. “I’m
certain
they didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Albin’s not Mary’s type.”

“Also not dominant?”

“As far as I can tell, Albin’s asexual.”

Milo said, “Got a monk thing going on?”

“In all the time I’ve known Albin, he’s never expressed any interest in sex or sexual matters. And we’ve worked together for years.”

“Too busy doing good works,” I said.

“People channel their drives in various ways,” said Gull. “I don’t judge. I always have seen Albin as someone who might’ve been comfortable in a monastic setting. He lives very simply.”

“Admirable,” said Milo.

Gull said, “About all those names. Are you saying someone actually claims I treated those men and billed Medi-Cal?”

“The state of California claims.”

“Ridiculous. It never happened.”

“The paperwork says it did, Doctor.”

“Then someone screwed up, or someone’s lying. Check my bank accounts—check the money trail or whatever you call it. You won’t find any three hundred thousand unaccounted for.”

“There are plenty of ways to hide money, Doctor.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know what they are.”

“The paperwork, Doctor—”

“Someone’s lying!” Gull shouted.

Milo smiled. “Now who could that be?”

Gull was silent.

I said, “Any theories?”

Myrna Wimmer said, “Be careful here, Franco.”

Gull inhaled deeply and let his breath out very slowly. “You’re saying Mary and Albin falsified bills in my name and pocketed the money.”

Milo said, “You’re saying it, Doctor.”

Gull swiped at his glassy brow. “I guess I am. And now Mary’s dead.”

“So she is, Doctor.”

Gull sweated profusely and didn’t bother to mop it up. “You can’t be serious.” His voice had changed. Higher register, strained.

I said, “During the same period you ostensibly billed for 340,000 dollars’ worth of felon therapy, Mary billed for 380, and Albin Larsen billed 440.”

Gull said,
“Albin?”

I said, “That’s the question. Now let’s work on the answer.”

CHAPTER

41

A
s we rode the elevator from Wimmer’s high-rise to the ground floor, Milo said, “You squeezed him dry, congrats.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Not pleased?”

“It needed to be done.”

As we pulled out into traffic, he said, “When I hunt and actually bag something, I get hungry. I’m thinking red meat.”

“Okay.”

“Not up for it?”

“Red meat’s fine.”

“Had a big breakfast?”

“Had nothing.”

“You find playing Grand Inquisitor that repugnant?”

“A little outside my training.”

“Hey,” he said. “Psychological warfare. In Vietnam, the Army woulda had you writing pamphlets.”

“Where’s the red meat?” I said.

“Okay, change the subject . . . Wilshire, near the beach, there’s a new place that dry-ages, but if you find the notion of feasting after breaking down another human being repugnant, I understand. Even though said human being is a self-serving slimeball.”

“Now that you put it that way.”

“Gull may not have been in on the scam or the killings directly, but I don’t buy the complete-innocent act. I think the deal the ADA authorized was a gift.”

Two-year suspension of Gull’s psychology license in return for full cooperation in all criminal and civil matters pertaining to . . .

“More than fair,” I said. “Let’s eat.”

*

The steak house had microbrews on tap and an adjacent dry-aging room whose picture window faced the boulevard. A family of tourists stopped to admire sides of beef hanging from gleaming hooks, and Milo took the time to join them. Two little kids pointed and giggled, and the father said, “Cool.” The mother opined: “I think it’s brutal.”

Inside, seated at a back booth, Milo said, “Controlled decay kicks up the taste. Kind of like real life.”

I said, “Real life is hard to control.”

He clapped my shoulder. “All the more reason to gorge.”

Over two mountains of Steak Delmonico, baked potatoes the size of running shoes, and a bottle of red wine, we reviewed what we’d learned from Gull.

Milo said, “Sonny is coming across as a victim, not a bad guy.”

“No reason for Gull to lie about that. On the contrary. If there was a way to spread the blame, he’d have done it.”

“So maybe Gull doesn’t know the inside dope, or Sonny really is just a poor shmuck, hung up over his ex. Who happened to make a lot of money.”

“And didn’t know how to spend it,” I said.

“And out of the goodness of her heart, Mary helped him.
She
sure liked the green stuff, didn’t she? Nice lucrative practice, extra bucks from the ex, and she still risks it all going for a scam.”

“Maybe it was more than dollar signs,” I said. “Maybe it was the thrill of pulling off something illegal. Like we said, she probably rationalized it as penalizing a corrupt system.”

He gobbled steak, said, “Interesting woman, our Mary. Cultivates an identity as a professional woman and a dispenser of wisdom, but she had no compunction tapping Sonny for an increased allowance. Top of that, she liked being held down.”

“Power’s a strange drug. Sometimes people in authority like being controlled sexually.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Oh.” He sopped up gravy with a wedge of sourdough. “You believe Gull never talked to Mary about Degussa’s fantasies concerning Flora?”

I said, “Even if he didn’t, Mary had to have some idea what was going on. Flora came to her for treatment and sexual unresponsiveness, and Mary knew Degussa from the scam. Knew what kind of person he was. For all we know Degussa
sent
Flora for therapy. To tune her up sexually.”

“Brian Van Dyne said Flora had heard Mary on the radio.”

“There’s a lot Brian Van Dyne wasn’t aware of.”

“Fiancée with a shadow life,” he said. “Flora juggled the two of them?”

“Flora met Degussa while working at the parole office. He put on some of that macho sociopath charm, and she threw Roy Nichols over for someone even tougher. The thrill was forbidden fruit. Then she met Van Dyne and started thinking matrimony, but she didn’t want to give up the game.”

“A nice, respectable teacher to show off for Mom, rough trade on the side.”

“It’s possible Flora’s murder had nothing to do with the scam,” I said. “Her crime scene was a lot bloodier than any of the others, and there was no forced entry. To me it feels like passion and sex gone haywire. When we met Roy Nichols, you wondered about a jealousy motive. Why not apply that to Degussa?”

“Degussa found out about Van Dyne and blew,” he said.

“The wrong guy to betray. Toss in Flora’s inability to climax, and you’re talking rage fodder. A guy like Ray Degussa would take sexual unresponsiveness as a personal insult.”

“Sticking her every which way. That’s a goddamn blueprint for what he ended up doing to her. And Mary Koppel never warned her.”

“Confidentiality,” I said. “She was big on that.”

He sawed at his steak, stopped. “So I should take Flora off the scamster list?”

“No evidence she was involved.”

“And,” he said, “her mom’s a nice old lady.”

“That, too.”

“Confidentiality . . . Mary didn’t want to jeopardize the cash flow. Three hundred fifty plus of her own inflated billing, and she and Larsen split another three hundred that came in under Gull’s name. That’s over half a million each, in addition to what they were earning legitimately. And Mary had an allowance.”

“Mary had contempt for Sonny because he didn’t know how to live.”

“She lived, all right. Until she didn’t. The key is finding all that money. Zevonsky’s getting the ball rolling on financial subpoenas.”

“Knowing about Larsen’s African connections might help.”

“Here’s hoping.” He saluted, finishing off a mammoth chunk of steak, chewed slowly, swallowed. “How do you see Mary’s murder going down? She makes noise to Larsen, gets threatening, and he dispatches Degussa to finish her off.”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

I refilled my wineglass and took a long swallow. Nice cabernet. The latest from the health mavens was that booze was good for you, if you didn’t overdo it.

That was the key: knowing the boundaries.

He said, “It all fits but I’m still short on proof. Can’t even get a home address on Degussa. The club he works for pays him cash under the table.”

“Try the Marina,” I said. “Flora took Van Dyne there for brunch. Maybe because she’d been there with Degussa.”

“Bobby J’s—yeah, I like that, if she was gaming that would be fun for her. I’ll drop by again, flash Degussa’s mug.”

He hitched his trousers, and we left the steakhouse. He must’ve left a huge tip—cop’s tip—because the waiter followed us out to the sidewalk, thanked him, and shook his hand.

Milo told him, “Enjoy,” and we returned to the unmarked.

“With what we know now,” he said, “I should also be able to get some extra personnel for serious surveillance. This is good, Alex. Not anywhere near a slam dunk, but good.”

“Nice to see you happy.”

“Me? I’m always a ray of sunshine.” As if illustrating, he spread his lips in something that might have been a smile and switched on the police radio as he drove. Humming along, atonally, with the dispatcher’s droll recital of outrage and misery.

Midway back to the station, he said, “There’s still the matter of how Jerry Quick fits into the scam.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” I said. “Gull knew him only as Gavin’s father, and maybe that’s the point. Jerry started following
Gavin
around. Because Gavin had been acting strange. Gavin didn’t know that and spotted his dad and copied down his license plate. In Gavin’s damaged mind, everyone was part of the conspiracy.”

“Gavin was paranoid?”

“Prefrontal damage can do that.”

“A concerned father would be helping us, Alex, not destroying evidence and hiding out. Quick’s been gone, what—five days. What the hell is
that
all about?”

“Good point,” I said.

“Just because Gull wasn’t aware of Quick’s involvement doesn’t mean Quick’s a virgin. We’ve got a guy who hires a stripper as a phony secretary, uses prepaid phone cards, leaves condoms in his luggage to rub salt in wifey’s wounds, hits on his sister-in-law, doesn’t pay his bills on time. To me that’s precisely the kind of tainted citizen who’d love something like Sentries for Justice. I’ll buy the concerned dad bit up to a point—the point where Quick supplied Gavin with Christi Marsh. Which got
her
killed, too. Quick knows if it all comes out, he’s in big trouble with his family, not to mention the law. So he cuts out and leaves Sheila to fend for herself. This is
not
Ward Cleaver.”

“I wonder how Sheila’s doing,” I said.

“Ever the shrink. Feel free to drop by and do some therapy. God knows she needs it. Meanwhile, I’m gonna earn the salary the city pays me.”

A block later: “Did I thank you for all your help?”

“More than once,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Got to be civilized.”