Her face darkened. “Who told you that?”

“Tarpin did,” Marge answered. “Tarpin claimed that Holt saw Dr. Baldwin about eight years ago.” She made a face. “He also didn’t specify which one. In either case, Holt doesn’t appear to be a success story.”

Maryam said, “What school did he go to?”

“What school?”

“College. Do you know if Holt attended college?”

“Supposedly, he went to Berkeley. Why do you ask?”

“Because maybe Holt didn’t see Merv for behavioral problems. Maybe Holt saw Dee for college counseling. And if he got into Berkeley, then maybe he was a success story.”

Defending her bosses to the end. Marge said, “I was led to believe Holt was seen for behavioral problems.”

“Well, then, you know more than I do.”

“Why don’t we find out?” Marge suggested. “Why don’t we start by looking up Holt’s file?”

“From your questions, I take it you have grave concerns about Darrell Holt.”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

Now Maryam really looked worried. Her hand went to her throat. Suddenly, she appeared small and vulnerable with her bare arms and painted nails.

Marge said, “Maybe we should look at Holt’s file?”

Maryam nibbled a hangnail. “Follow me.” Taking out a key, she unlocked a door that led into a six-by-eight windowless room illuminated by fluorescent light. It was lined with metal file cabinets. “This is where we keep our former clientele information.”

“Lots of files.”

Maryam didn’t respond. She jerked open the appropriate drawer and started sorting through the multitudes of Pentaflexes. Within minutes, she pulled out a skinny folder, then yanked the papers from the folder, flipping through the pages—three or four of them. Then she went back and started reading in earnest, heaving burdensome sighs as punctuation. Her hands were shaking.

“May I see the notes?” Marge asked.

“There’s nothing much in here, Detective.” Maryam seemed reluctant to let go. Perhaps she was hoping that the notes contained a magic bullet. “These diagnoses…” Another sigh. “They’re interchangeable with those of the thousands of other teenagers that have passed through these portals.” She hit the pages with the back of her hand. “Holt was seen by Mervin. He seemed to be a hostile teenager exhibiting oppositional behavioral problems. He also had an unresolved oedipal conflict with his father, stemming from his mother’s absence. Being as he was of mixed blood, he suffered with identity crises…and he had the nerve to accuse me—”

“May I see the papers, please?”

Maryam looked up; her face was covered in sweat.

Marge took the papers. “Maybe you should sit down, Doctor.”

“Perhaps that would be…” There was a small folding chair in the room. Maryam plunked herself down and dropped her chin to her chest. “I think I’m overreacting. I’m very suggestible.”

“It’s totally understandable,” Marge said. “Give me a moment to look at these papers, all right?”