I hung up and pulled out the latest American Psychological Association directory. Nothing there, either. Retrieving some older volumes, I finally found Katarina's most recent entry. Five years ago. But the address and number were those of the Santa Barbara school. On the off chance the phone company had messed up, I called.

A woman answered, “Taco Bonanza.” Metallic clatter and shouts nearly drowned her out.

I cut the connection and sat at my desk, stroking the top of the bulldog's head and gazing at the coffee stain on the brochure. Wondering how and when enlightenment had given way to enchiladas.

Harvey Rosenblatt.

Half past one made it four-thirty in New York. I got the number for NYU's med school and asked for the department of psychiatry. After a couple of minutes on hold, I was informed that there was no Dr. Harvey Rosenblatt on either the permanent or the part-time clinical staff.

“We do have a Leonard Rosenblatt,” said the secretary. “His office is out in New Rochelle—and a Shirley Rosenblatt in Manhattan, on East Sixty-fifth Street.”

“Is Shirley an M.D. or a Ph.D.?”

“Um—one second—a Ph.D. She's a clinical psychologist.”

“But no Harvey?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you have any old rosters on hand? Lists of staff members who've retired?”

“There may be something like that somewhere, sir, but I really don't have the time to search. Now if you'll—”

“Could I have Dr. Shirley Rosenblatt's number please?”

“One moment.”

I copied it down, called Manhattan information for a listing on Harvey Rosenblatt, M.D., learned there was none, and dialed Shirley, Ph.D.'s exchange.

A soft, female voice with Brooklyn overtones said, “This is Dr. Shirley Rosenblatt. I'm in session or out of the office, and can't come to the phone. If your call is a true emergency, please press one. If not, please press two, wait for the beep, and leave your message. Thank you and have a lovely day.”

Mozart in the background . . . beep.

“Dr. Rosenblatt, this is Dr. Alex Delaware, from Los Angeles. I'm not sure if you're married to Dr. Harvey Rosenblatt or even know him, but I met him several years ago at a conference out here and wanted to touch base with him on something—for research purposes. If you can help me reach him, I'd appreciate your passing along my number.”

I recited the ten digits and put the phone back in its cradle. The mail came a half hour later. Nothing out of the ordinary, but when I heard it drop into the bin, my hands had clenched.

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER

5

I went down to feed the fish, and when I got back the phone was ringing.

The operator at my service said, “This is Joan, Dr. Delaware, are you free? There's someone on the line about a dog, sounds like a kid.”

“Sure.”

A second later a thin, young voice said, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Dr. Delaware.”