“Competition is fierce,” Marge said. “You said that yourself.”

“Competition among students, not among psychologists. The Baldwins were in a class by themselves. Your assumptions are…you don’t even know that this Moke and that horrible man Holt are the same person.”

“How much do you want to bet?” Marge spoke dryly.

Maryam rolled her eyes. “That’s very juvenile.”

“Wanna know my opinion?” Oliver said.

“I suppose I’m going to hear it whether I like it or not.”

“Dee needed to stay on top of this testing thing because she needed to charge top dollar.” Oliver picked up a stack of papers—credit card bills. “The woman had good but expensive tastes. There are charges from Gucci, Tiffany, Armani, Valentino, Escada, Zegna—that must be for the mister—”

“Not to mention the remodel on their house in Beverly Hills,” Marge added. “And the ten grand a month to rent a beach condo—”

“So where are these mysterious SAT files?” Maryam asked. “You have no evidence!”

“We’ll find them,” Decker muttered. “Maybe not me, but someone will. Even if they had been erased, there are thousands of ways to retrieve it. Well, maybe not thousands—”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Maryam chastised.

“Neither do you,” Decker retorted. “If Dee Baldwin was paying someone to hack into private files, you’ll be lucky if you get out of this without your reputation besmirched. You might want to consider hiring a mouthpiece. You’re part of the practice, Doctor.”

Again, tears pooled up in Maryam’s eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

“Just trying to be helpful—”

“Well, you’re not!” Maryam buried herself in a book, but her shaking leg indicated that she was anything but calm. Finally she put down the novel. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Decker nodded.

In a huff, she left the office. As soon as Marge heard the door slam, she sighed in relief. “Thank God!”

“Don’t bother,” Oliver said. “She’s probably hiding behind the wall, trying to eavesdrop.”

“You think so?”

“Go check it out.”

“Ah.” Marge waved him off. “Let her listen in.” She slid back into the desk chair and rolled backward a couple of feet. “You know, Pete, after hearing George’s story, I kind of feel sorry for Holt.”

“Even if he’s a mass murderer?”

“Yeah, well, maybe not.”

“If it’s even true,” Decker said.

Oliver looked up. “I thought you said the old man seemed honest.”

“He did,” Decker said. “Now I’m just wondering if he’s maybe exaggerating. You know, trying to create sympathy because he knows that Holt’s in deep water.”

“Doesn’t seem like it would be too hard to check out George’s tale,” Oliver said.