“How about this, Counselor. Ask Dr. Allemande about Dr. Delaware. If she has bad things to say, he won’t be here.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Sturgis, this whole thing is bizarre. You wanting to rake it up again.”
“Just seeking the truth,” said Milo.
“Sure you are, just like the first time,” said Bettina Bel Geddes.“Well, let’s hope you’ve got a better grip on the concept. I’ll conduct my due diligence and inform you of my decision.”
The moment the connection was broken, he said, “Forget pie, I could use Prilosec. So you like this Allemande.”
I said, “Smart, ethical, and a former student.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Supervised her when she was a fourth-year grad student.”
His turn to grin. “Small world when it comes to shrinks. You buy that crap about safeguarding Heck’s mental health?”
“Not a chance,” I said.
“What then?”
“My bet is Bel Geddes is working up a civil suit for wrongful arrest and wants to document Heck’s reactions to further police contact.”
“Building up a case for PTSD.”
“And having her own expert there to document it.”
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll be gentle as a cuddly lamb on tranqs. If I can have my expert there. Meaning it’s probably not gonna happen.”
But it did.
Chapter
9
Milo gave me the details that night at nine.
“As she charmingly put it, tomorrow at two, take it or leave it.”
“Her office.”
“Surprisingly no, a private room at Chelsea Club. Ever been there?”
“Couple of years ago.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Can’t say.”
“Got it, some hoohah-patient. Some life you lead. Rick was offered a membership but turned it down. Anyway, are you free at two?”
“I am.”
“Great. Don’t need to give you the address.”
—
The West Hollywood branch of the Chelsea Club chain sits on top of a twenty-story building on Sunset just past the point where the lick-the-sidewalk cleanliness of Beverly Hills gives way to the civic neglect of the Strip.
