I said, “How close was their relationship?”

“Teacher and student close. Harvey admired Andres, though he thought he was a little . . . authoritarian.”

“Authoritarian in what way?”

“Dogmatic—when he was convinced he was right. Harvey thought it ironic, since Andres had fought so hard against the Nazis . . . wrote so passionately for democracy . . . yet his personal style could be so . . .”

“Dictatorial?”

“At times. But Harvey still admired him. For who he was, what he'd done. Saving those French children from the Vichy government, his work on child development. And he was a good teacher. Once in a while I sat in on seminars. Andres holding court—like a don. He could talk for hours and keep you interested . . . lots of jokes. Tying everything in with punchlines. Sometimes he brought children in from the wards. He had a gift—they opened up to him.”

“What about Katarina?” I said. “Harvey told me she sat in, too.”

“She did . . . just a child, herself—a teenager, but she spoke up as if she was a peer. And now she's . . . and those other people—how can this be!”

“Sometimes authoritarianism can go too far,” I said.

Her cheeks shook. Then her mouth turned up in a tiny, disturbing smile. “Yes, I suppose nothing's what it seems, is it? Patients have been telling me that for thirty years and I've been nodding and saying, yes, I know . . . I really didn't know . . .”

“Did you ever go back into Harvey's files? To try to figure which patient had upset him?”

Long stare. Guilty nod.

“He kept tapes,” she said. “He didn't like writing—arthritis—so he taped. I wouldn't let the police listen to them . . . protecting the patients. But later, I began playing them for myself . . . I gave myself an excuse. For their own good—I was responsible for them, until they found another permanent therapist. Had to call them, to notify them . . . so I needed to know them.” Downcast eyes. “Flimsy . . . I listened anyway. Months of sessions, Harvey's voice . . . sometimes I couldn't stand it. But there was nothing that would have disillusioned him. All his patients were like old friends. He hadn't taken on any new ones for two years.”

“None at all?”

She shook her head. “Harvey was an old-fashioned analyst. The couch, free association, long-term, intensive work. The same fifteen people, three to five times a week.”

“Even an old patient might have told him something disillusioning.”

“No,” she said, “there was nothing like that in any of the sessions. And none of his old patients brought him to harm. They all loved him.”

“What did you do with the tapes?”

Rather than answer, she said, “He was gentle, accepting. He helped those people. They were all crushed.”

“Did you pick any of them up as patients?”