The Murder Book

A you-have-reached-the-office tape answered, but when I mentioned my name, a soft-around-the-edges female voice broke in.

"This is Allison. It's fu

"Those articles are ancient history."

"Not really," she said. "People and their pain don't change that much, most of what you said still holds true. Anyway, Larry says you want to know about Achievement House. It's been a long time- nearly twenty years- since I had anything to do with that place."

"That's exactly the time period I'm interested in."

"What do you need to know?"

I gave her the same anonymous description of Caroline Cossack.

"I see," she said. "Larry assures me you'll be discreet."

"Absolutely."

"That's essential, Dr. Delaware. Look, I can't talk now, have a patient in two minutes and after that I'm ru

"I'll be there," I said. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," she said. "I hope."

I endured the afternoon by ru

"I guess I should've left a message," said the nasal girl on the other end, "but the owner likes us to make personal contact. So do you think Robin might be interested? According to our records, she bought a bunch of cool stuff last year."

"When I talk to her, I'll ask her."

"Oh, okay… you could come in yourself, you know. Do like a gift thing? If she doesn't like it, we'll give her full store credit on return. Women love to be surprised."

"Do they?"

"Oh, sure. Totally."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"You really should. Women love when guys like surprise them."

"Like a trip to Paris," I said.

"Paris?" She laughed. "You can surprise me with that- don't tell Robin I said that, okay?"

At 4 P.M., I stepped out the kitchen door to the rear patio, crossed the garden to Robin's studio, unlocked the cool vaulted room, and walked around smelling wood dust and lacquer and Chanel No. 19 and listening to the echos of my footsteps. She'd swept the floor clean, packed her tools, put everything in its place.

Afternoon sun streamed through the windows. Beautiful space in perfect order. It felt like a crypt.

I returned to the house and skimmed the morning paper. The world hadn't changed much; why did I feel so altered? At four-thirty, I showered, got dressed in a blue blazer, white shirt, clean blue jeans, brown suede loafers. At ten after five, I walked into Café Maurice.

The restaurant was compact and dark, with a copper-topped bar and a half dozen tables set with white linen. The walls were raised walnut panels, the ceiling repousse tin. Inoffensive music on low volume competed with low conversation among three white-aproned waiters old enough to be my father. I couldn't help but think of the Left Bank bistro where Robin had told me of her plans.

I buttoned my jacket and allowed my eyes to acclimate. The sole patron was a dark-haired woman at a center table peering into a glass of burgundy. She wore a form-fitted, whiskey-colored tweed jacket over a cream silk blouse, a long, oatmeal-colored skirt with a slit up the side, beige calfskin boots with substantial heels. A big leather bag sat on the chair next to her. She looked up as I approached and gave a tentative smile.

"Dr. Gwy

"Allison." She placed her bag on the floor and held out a slender white hand. We shook, and I sat.

She was a long-stemmed beauty out of John Singer Sargent. Ivory face, soft but assertive cheekbones highlighted with blush, a wide strong mouth shaded coral. Huge, judiciously lined deep blue eyes under strong, arching brows studied me. Warm scrutiny, no intrusiveness; her patients would appreciate that. Her hair was a sheet of true black that hung midway down her back. Circling one wrist was a diamond te

Her hand returned to her wineglass. Good manicure, French-tipped nails left just long enough to avoid frivolousness. I knew she was thirty-six or -seven but despite the tailored clothes, the baubles, the cosmetics, she looked ten years younger.

"Thanks for your time," I said.

"I wasn't sure if you were a punctual person," she said, "so I ordered for myself. I only have an hour till class." Same gentle voice as over the phone. She waved, and one of the ancient waiters tore himself away from the staff confab, brought a menu, and hovered.

"What do you recommend?" I asked.

"The entrecôte is great. I like it rare and bloody, but they've got a pretty good selection of more virtuous stuff if you're not into red meat."

The waiter tapped his foot. "What're you drinking, sir? We've got a good selection of microbrews." I'd expected a Gallic accent, but his drawl was pure California- surfer boy grown old- and I found myself musing about a future where grandmothers would be named Amber and Heather and Tawny and Misty.

"Grolsch," I said. "And I'll have the entrecôte, medium rare."

He left and Allison Gwy

"What kind of work do you do at St. Agnes?" I said.

"You know the place."

"I know of it."

"Just some volunteer work," she said. "Mostly helping the staff cope. Do you still work in oncology?"

"No, not for a while."

She nodded. "It can be tough." She drank some wine.

"Where do you teach?" I said.

"The U., adult extension. This quarter I'm doing Personality Theory and Human Relations."

"All that and a practice. Sounds like a busy schedule," I said.

"I'm a workaholic," she said, with sudden cheer. "Hyperactivity cha

My beer arrived. We both drank. I was about to get down to substance, when she said, "The girl you described. Would that be Caroline Cossack?"

I put down my mug. "You knew Caroline?"

"So it was her."

"How did you know?"

"From your description."

"She stood out?"

"Oh, yes."

"What can you tell me about her?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. She stood out because of how they labeled her. There was a pink tab on her chart, the only one I'd seen. And I'd seen most of the charts, was a gofer that summer, ru

"So Caroline was high risk for violence."

"Someone thought so, back then."

"What specifically were they worried about?" I said.

"I don't know. She never did anything wrong during the month I was there."

"But she was the only one labeled like that."

"Yes," she said. "There weren't a lot of kids, period. Maybe thirty. Back then Achievement House was exactly what it is today: a repository for rich kids who fail to perform to their parents' expectations. Chronically truant, drug-abusing, noncompliant, children of the dream."