“And did you? Give them back, I mean?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Because if Orrin is so concerned with those notebooks they might be pertinent to my evaluation.”

“I understand that, Dr. Cole. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. The thing is, the contents are relevant to another case HPD is dealing with. I’m having them transcribed, but it’s a slow process—Orrin’s handwriting isn’t easy to decipher.”

“Can I see the transcripts?”

“That’s what I came here to suggest. But I need to ask a favor of you in return. Until you’ve looked at the whole document, can we keep this matter out of official channels?”

It was an odd request and she hesitated before answering. “I’m not sure what you mean by official channels. Any pertinent observation goes into Orrin’s evaluation. That’s nonnegotiable.”

“You can make any observation you like, as long as you don’t copy or quote directly from the notebooks. Just until we resolve certain issues.”

“Orrin’s under my care for just seven days, Officer Bose. At the end of that time I have to submit a recommendation.” A recommendation that would change Orrin Mather’s life drastically, she did not add.

“I understand, and I’m not trying to interfere. Your evaluation is what I’m interested in. What I’d like to get from you, informally, is your opinion of what Orrin wrote. Specifically the reliability of it.”

At last Sandra began to understand. Something Orrin had written was potential evidence in a pending case, and Bose needed to know how trustworthy it (or its author) was. “If you’re asking me for testimony in a legal proceeding—”

“No, nothing like that. Just a back-channel opinion. Anything you can tell me that doesn’t violate patient confidentiality or any other professional concerns you have.”

“I’m not sure—”

“You might understand a little better once you’ve read the document.”

It was Bose’s earnestness that finally persuaded her to agree, at least tentatively. And she was genuinely curious about the notebooks and Orrin’s attachment to them. If she discovered something clinically relevant she would feel no compunction about disregarding any promise she made to Bose. Her first loyalty was to her patient, and she made sure he understood that.

He accepted her conditions without complaint. Then he stood up. He had left his salad unfinished, a bed of lettuce from which he had systematically extracted all the cherry tomatoes. “Thanks, Dr. Cole. I appreciate your help. I’ll email you the first pages tonight.”

He gave her an HPD card with his phone and an email address and his full name: Jefferson Amrit Bose. She repeated it to herself as she watched him disappear into a throng of white-clad clinicians at the commissary door.

*   *   *

After a day of routine consultations Sandra drove home under the long light of the setting sun.