Milo’s badge flash was followed up by Steven Muhrmann’s photo. “Recognize this fellow?”

“Sorry, no, I’ve only been working here two months.”

“Could we please speak to someone who’s been here awhile—say, two or three years?”

“May I ask what this is about?”

“A serious crime.”

She touched her phone. “How serious?”

“Serious enough to bring us here. Who’s the boss around here?”

“I’m going to page our director, Dr. Manlow.”

“Says on the board she’s in session.”

“If she is, she won’t answer, and we’ll just have to see what to do. I’m still learning the regulations, so bear with me.”

She took care to slide the window back in place softly. A few seconds of muffled conversation preceded her reemergence. Smile of relief. “Dr. Manlow will be down in a moment. If you’d care to take a seat.” Motioning to the hard chairs.

Before our butts lowered, the black door swung open. The woman who marched through was forty or so with thick, wavy chestnut hair, wide aqua eyes, and a longish face of a porcelain hue and consistency that suggested sun phobia. Full lips, thin beakish nose, a smidge too much chin for ideal beauty.

An attractive woman made more so by confident posture.

She wore a cinnamon cashmere sweater, muted brown plaid slacks, bitter-chocolate crocodile pumps. A leather day planner matched the shoes. So did the leather pen case hanging from her waistband, along with a cell phone and two beepers, one topped by a strip of red tape.

Enough gear to give her the cop swagger but she strode forward without an errant twist of hip or leg.

No jewelry. The risk of being snagged?

“I’m Dr. Manlow.” Glassy, girlish voice but authority in her inflection.

“Thanks for seeing us, Doctor. Milo Sturgis, Alex Delaware.” He handed his card over. Most people skim. Double-Doctor Beth E. A. Manlow put on gold-rimmed glasses and read carefully before slipping the card into her day planner.

“Homicide. Who’s been murdered?”

“A woman we’re still trying to identify.” Milo showed her the sketch of Mystery née Princess.

Manlow said, “Sorry, she’s not one of our patients. At least not for the past five years since I’ve been here.”

“You remember all of your patients by sight?”

“I’ve got an eye for details and it’s only been five years. I saw this rendering on the news, it didn’t ring any bells then and that holds for now. Annie said you showed her a picture of a man.”

Milo produced Muhrmann’s photo.

She stared, removed her glasses, shook her head. Resignation, not denial.

“What’s his connection to your case?”

“You know him.”

“Tell me the name you’ve got for him.”

“Steven Muhrmann.”

She nodded.

Milo said, “What can you tell me about him?”

“Why are you interested?”

“He knew the victim.”