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"Intimated?" Angie said.
"Intimated, yes, over the phone that he had information which could-do I have this right, Mr. Kenzie?-pose questions as to potential ethical violations in my handling of Ms. Nichols."
I met her arched eyebrow with two of my own. "I wouldn't say I was quite so-"
"Articulate?"
"Verbose," I said. "But, otherwise, Dr. Bourne, that was the gist, yes."
Dr. Bourne moved the ashtray a bit to her left so that we could see the small tape recorder behind it. "It's my legal duty to inform you that this conversation is being recorded."
"Cool," I said. "Let me ask you-where'd you get that? Sharper Image, right? I've never seen one look so chic." I looked at Angie. "You?"
"I'm still back at 'intimated,'" she said.
I nodded. "That was a good one. I've been accused of a lot of things, but jeez."
Diane Bourne shaved some excess ash off against the Waterford crystal. "You two have a very nice act going."
Angie slugged my shoulder and I swept a hand at the back of her head that she ducked at the last moment. Then we both smiled at Dr. Diane Bourne.
She took another tiny toke off her cigarette. "Sort of a Butch and Sundance thing without the h.o.m.os.e.xual subtext."
"Usually we get the Nick and Nora thing," I said to Angie.
"Or the Chico and Groucho," Angie reminded me.
"With the h.o.m.os.e.xual subtext, though. But that Butch and Sundance thing."
"Quite the compliment," Angie said.
I turned away from Angie and leaned my elbows on Dr. Bourne's desk, looked past the swing of the metronome and into her pale, pale eyes. "Why would one of your patients have your session notes in her possession, Doctor?"
She didn't say anything. She sat very still, her shoulders hunched very slightly, as if preparing for a sudden bite of cold air.
I leaned back in my chair. "Can you tell me that?"
She c.o.c.ked her head to the left. "Would you repeat your question, please?"
Angie did so. I provided sign language.
"I don't quite understand what you're driving at." She shaved off another sliver of ash in the crystal.
Angie said, "Is it common practice for you to take notes during sessions with your patients?"
"Yes. It's common with most-"
"And is it your practice, Doctor, to then mail those notes to the patients they concern?"
"Of course not."
"Then how," Angie said, "did your notes for a session with Karen Nichols, dated April the sixth, 1994, end up in Miss Nichols's possession?"
"I have no idea," Dr. Bourne said with the barely patient air of a matron speaking to a child. "Possibly she took them herself during one of her visits."
"You keep your files locked?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Then how could Karen break into them?"
Her chiseled face slackened along the jawline and her lips parted. "She couldn't," she said eventually.
"Which would suggest," Angie said, "that you or someone from your office gave confidential, potentially damaging information to a conceivably unbalanced client."
Dr. Bourne closed her mouth and her jaw tightened. "Hardly, Ms. Gennaro. I seem to remember that we had a break-in here a few-"
"Excuse me?" Angie leaned forward. "You seem to remember seem to remember a break-in?" a break-in?"
"Yes."
"So there'd be a police report."
"A what?"
"A police report," I said.
"No. Nothing of value seemed to be missing."
"Just confidential files," I said.
"No. I never said-"
Angie said, "Because I would think your other clients would expect to be notified if-"
"Ms. Gennaro, I don't think-"
"-confidential doc.u.ments relating to the most personal aspects of their lives were in the hands of an unknown third party." Angie looked over at me. "Don't you agree?"
"We could let them know," I said. "Purely as a public service."
Dr. Bourne's cigarette had turned to a curled finger of white ash in the crystal tray. As I watched, the finger collapsed.
"Logistically," Angie said, "that would be tough."
"Nah," I said. "We just sit outside in our car. Every time we see someone rich who's approaching the building and looks a little funny in the head, we a.s.sume they're a client of Dr. Bourne's and-"
"You will not."