The process of mother-child bonding forms the foundation for all intimate relationships, and disruptions in this process plant the seed of psychopathology in later life. Good love—the nurturant, altruistic, psychosocial “suckling” by the mother/parenting figure, contributes to the child's sense of security and, hence, molds his ability to form stable attachments. Bad love—the abuse of parental authority—creates cynicism, alienation, hostility, and, in the worst cases, violent acting-out that is the child's attempt to seek retribution from the breast that has failed him.

Retribution. The abuse of parental authority. Someone had been failed. Someone was seeking revenge.

I checked for articles by Harrison and Rosenblatt. Neither had published a word.

No great surprise, most practitioners never get into print. But it still seemed odd that I couldn't locate any of them.

One therapist to go: the social worker, Mitchell Lerner.

He'd been last counted a member in good standing of the national social work organization six years ago. I made a note of his office address on Laurel Canyon and the accompanying phone number. BA from Cal State Northridge, MSW from Berkeley, clinical training at San Francisco General Hospital, followed by two years as a staff social worker at the Corrective School.

Another disciple. Under specialties he'd listed family therapy and substance abuse.

Not hoping for much, I took the stairs back up to the stacks and pulled out six- and seven-year-old bound volumes of the social work journal.

No obits on him either, but a paragraph headed “Suspensions” just below the death notices in a December issue caught my eye. A list followed. Thirteen clinical social workers dropped by the organization because of ethics violations. Dead center among the names, “Lerner, Mitchell A.”

No details were given about his or any of the others' sins. The State Board of Behavioral Science Examiners was closed for the weekend, so I jotted down the date he'd been expelled and made a note to call first thing Monday morning.

Figuring I'd learned as much as I could from books, I left the library. Back at the house on Benedict, Robin was working and the dog looked bored. He followed me into the house and slavered as I fixed myself a sandwich. I did some paperwork and shared my lunch with him, and he tagged along as I walked outside to the Seville.

“Where to?” said Robin.

“The house. I want to make sure the fish get transferred okay.”

She gave a doubtful look but said nothing.

“There'll be plenty of people around,” I said.

She nodded and looked over at the car. The dog was pawing the front bumper. It made her smile.

“Someone's in a traveling mood. Why don't you take him along?”

“Sure, but pond drainage isn't his thing—the water phobia.”

“Why don't you try some therapy with him?”

“Why not?” I said. “This could be the start of a whole new career.”