The Clinic by Jonathan Kellerman

for a gynecologic-behavioral consult than for psychotherapy.”
    Another stroke of the crew cut. “My CPA assures me it’s all on the up-and-up. Now, if that’s all—”
    “Did she work well with the husbands, too?” I said.
    “Why wouldn’t she?”
    “Her opinions about men were controversial.”
    “In what sense?”
    “Her book.”
    “Oh, that. Well, she was never controversial here. Everyone was very satisfied with her work.
    . . . Not that it’s my place to tell you how to do your job, but it seems to me you’re barking up a completely wrong tree. Hope’s murder had nothing to do with her work for me.”
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    “I’m sure you’re right,” said Milo. “Where’d you meet her?”
    “At another health facility.”
    “Where?”
    “A charity clinic in Santa Monica.”
    “Name?”
    “The Women’s Health Center. I’ve been active there for a while. Once a year they throw a fund-raiser. Hope and I sat next to each other on the dais and we began talking.”
    He stood. His tie had ridden up and he pulled it down. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some ladies out there who want to be mommies.”
    “Sure. Thanks, Doctor.” Milo stood, too. Blocking the door. “One more thing. Did Professor Devane keep her patient files here?”
    “She had no files of her own. Made notes in mine. That way we could communicate easily. My files are kept strictly confidential, so it wasn’t a problem.”
    “But she did see patients here.”
    “Yes.”
    “In this room, by any chance?”
    “You know,” said Cruvic, “I believe she may have. I don’t assign rooms, the staff does.”
    “But she stayed in this wing,” said Milo. “The privacy issue.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Nice setup for privacy. Location-wise, I mean. Off the beaten path.”
    Cruvic’s bulky shoulders rose, then fell. “We like it.”
    He tried to sight around Milo.
    Milo seemed to move aside, then his notepad came out. “This Women’s Center, you do fertility work there?”
    Cruvic inhaled, forced a smile. “Fertility is rarely an issue for the poor. At the center I donate my time to general women’s health care.”
    “Does that include abortions?”
    “With all due respect, I don’t see that that’s relevant.”
    Milo smiled. “It probably isn’t.”
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    “I’m sure you know I’m not free to discuss any of my cases. Even poor women have a right to confid—”
    “Sorry, Doc. I wasn’t asking about specific cases, just a general question about what you do there.”
    “Why raise the abortion issue at all? What’s the point, Detective?”
    “Abortion’s legal but it’s still controversial. And some people express their opposition to it violently. So if you do perform abortions and Professor Devane was involved in that, as well, it might give us another angle.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Cruvic. “I support a woman’s right to choose and so did Hope, but if anyone would be targeted it would be the person actually performing the procedure.” He tapped his chest. “And I’m obviously here.”
    “Obviously,” said Milo. “Once again, I have to ask, Doc.”
    “I understand,” said Cruvic, but he didn’t look mollified. “I’m sure my opinion doesn’t mean much but I think Hope was murdered by some psychotic who hates women and chose her because she’d achieved fame. A nut. Not a patient here or at the Women’s Center.”
    “On the contrary, Doctor. Your opinion does matter. That’s exactly what we need. Opinions of people who knew her.”
    Cruvic colored and he touched his tie. “I only knew her professionally. But I think her death represents so much that’s wrong with our society.”
    “How so, sir?”
    “Success and the malignant jealousy it evokes. We adulate talented people, put them on a pedestal, then enjoy knocking them off. Why? Because their success threatens us.”
    The cheeks bright red now.
    He walked around Milo. Stopped at the door and looked back at us.
    “The losers punish