“Oliver, what are you doing?”

He yanked on a drawer. “Locked. Well, I’ve done harder things.” He took out a lock pick.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Instead of scolding me, why don’t you help me out?” Oliver inserted the pick into the cabinet’s weak standard lock. Moments later, it popped. “I’m not bothering with all the files, just one file—Ernesto Golding. C’mon, Margie! We’re under the gun here!”

“You do your B-and-Es by yourself. Besides, I gotta watch the phone for you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He dismissed her. Frantically, he rifled through the files. “God, this man generated paperwork. Gold, Gold, Golden, Goldenberg, Goldenstein, Goldin, Golding. Yes, Ernesto Golding! Voilà! Jeez, it’s not all that big for someone so screwed up.”

“You’re crossing the line.”

“Actually, I’ve crossed it. The kid is dead, Dunn. What difference does it make?”

“Don’t expect me to lie for you.” Absently, Marge yanked on the top desk drawer. To her surprise it opened. The line on the phone machine still glowed red. “However, maybe I’ll take a quick look at his schedule planner since it’s not in a locked drawer—”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Shut up before my sense gets hold of me.” Marge scanned the book. “Isn’t it going to look suspicious, Scott? That Golding’s file is missing?”

“You’re right!” Oliver stuffed a few papers back into the file folder. “I’ll come back for the rest.”

“There are lots of two-hour bookings.” Marge read the pages. “Isn’t the standard therapy time one hour?”

“So the guy had a racket going.”

“I don’t know about that…but there are lots of funny notations after lots of the names.”

“Funny notations? What do you mean?”

“Letters: S, S, S, PS, PS, S, I, S, S, E, I, E, S2, E, G, L, S, S, S2, L, M…What do you think it all means?”

“How should I know?”

“There are more S’s than anything else.”

“So maybe S stands for ‘psycho.’”

“‘Psycho’ is spelled with a P.”

“Yeah, you’re right. So maybe ‘psycho’ is PS,” Oliver stated.

“Somehow, I don’t think so.” Marge’s eyes searched the room. “I wish there was a copier somewhere.”

Oliver said, “It’s a binder notebook, Marge. Just take out a few pages and put it through the fax machine.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She took out a page and ran it through the fax machine. “What happens when the machine prints a report?”

“That’s only a phone report. Keep going.”

She ran another sheet through the machine. It was coming out when the red phone light went off. “Uh-oh. The doctor hung up the phone.” She quickly placed the original pages back in the binder.