“I didn't say we never talk to our people, just that we don't do much insight work. Sometimes we get cramped for space and the workers use the treatment rooms to do their paperwork. Basically, all of us use what's on hand. As to what Becky was doing with him, it could have been anything. Giving him a voucher for an SRO hotel, telling him where to get deloused. Then again, maybe she was trying to get into his head—she was that kind of person.”

“What kind is that?”

“An optimist. Idealistic. Most of us start out that way, don't we?”

I nodded. “Did Hewitt have a history of violence?”

“None that was listed in our files. He'd been arrested just a few weeks before for theft and was due to stand trial—maybe she was counseling him about that. There was nothing on paper that would have warned us. And even if he was violent, there's a good chance the information would never have gotten to us, with all the red tape.”

She put down her pen and looked at me. Flipped her hair. “The truth is, he was exactly like so many others who come in and out of here—there's still no way to know.”

She picked up one of the folders.

“This is his file. The police confiscated it and returned it, so I guess it's not confidential anymore.”

Inside were only two sheets, one clipped to each of the covers. The first was an intake form listing Dorsey Hewitt's age as thirty-one and his address as “none.” Under REASON FOR REFERRAL someone had written “multiple social problems.” Under DIAGNOSIS: “prob. chron. schiz.” The rest of the categories—PROGNOSIS, FAMILY SUPPORT, MEDICAL HISTORY, OTHER PSYCH. TREATMENT—had been left blank. Nothing about “bad love.”

At the bottom of the form were notations of referral for food stamps. The signature read, “R. Basille, SWA.”

The facing page was white and smooth, marked only with the notation, “Will follow as needed, R.B., SWA.” The date was eight weeks prior to the murder. I handed the folder back.

“Not much,” I said.

She gave a sad smile. “Paperwork wasn't Becky's forte.”

“So you have no idea how many times she actually saw him?”

“Guess that doesn't say much for my administrative skills, does it? But I'm not one of those people who believes in riding the staff, checking out every little picayune detail. I try to find the best people I can, motivate them, and give them room to move. Generally it works out. With Becky . . .”

She threw up her hands. “She was a doll, a really sweet person. Not much for rules and regulations, but so what?”