“Since it has already been reported in the press, I can say that she’s having a love affair with an actor. She said he’d called earlier that evening, and she’d hung up on him.”
“Did she seem angry?”
“Not particularly, but Sylvie is a good actress. I always keep that in mind when I treat actors.”
“Was it usual for her to put on an act with as good a friend as you claim to be?”
“We were good friends,” he said calmly. Casually, he crossed his legs, put his elbows on the chair’s armrests, and steepled his fingers. I had a feeling that was one of his favorite contemplative psychiatrist positions. He could probably daydream about buying more big toys doing that, and patients wouldn’t be the wiser. I also had a feeling I’d gotten the last spark of anger out of him that I was going to get. He went on, “When she didn’t want to talk about her problems, she’d hide behind facades. We all do that. Even you, I suspect.”
I gave no reaction. So what if it was true?
“You look familiar,” he said suddenly, and I tried not to react but with more difficulty.
“I’ve seen you somewhere before; I’m sure of it. I thought so the first minute I saw you.”
“Maybe I gave you a speeding ticket.”
“I’d definitely remember being stopped by you, Detective.” His eyes were ravaging my person as he tried to remember. Our mutual friend, Mr. Sexual Awareness, flexed his muscles this way and that, back in our faces big time. “We crossed paths somewhere, trust me. I’ve got a knack for remembering faces.”
I’d had enough of that subject. “You’re mistaken. We’ve never met. Can anybody vouch for the time you arrived home from Ms. Border’s bungalow on the night of the murder?”
Black shook his head. “I never keep my personal staff past five o’clock unless something special is going on. Most of them have families to get home to, and I try to remember that. Do you have a husband and children to get home to, Detective Morgan?”
“Did anyone see you walking home from Sylvie’s bungalow? Another guest, perhaps, or a room service waiter?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Do you know the whereabouts of your black Porsche at this moment?”
For the first time, his surprise registered clearly. It seemed genuine. “I assumed it was still at Sylvie’s place.”
I took advantage of his disconcertment. “How long have you known Ms. Border?”
He hesitated and spoke so carefully that I knew he was hiding something. “I’ve been treating her for a couple of years, but I’ve known her for a long time. Since she was very young.”
I sensed I was on to something at last, so I attached myself to the subject like an octopus sucker. “In what capacity, Doctor Black?”
“She modeled some in New York, before she got her big break on the soaps. My ex-wife introduced us.”
“Your ex-wife is the supermodel known as Jude. Is that correct, Doctor Black?”
“You do your homework. Yes, she is, but we’ve been divorced for years.”
I jotted that down. I’m good at jotting. I came at him from a different angle. “Was Ms. Border in love with you?”
His arresting blue eyes reacted, but not enough for me to get a bead on the reason why. I really, truly hate interviewing psychiatrists. Actually, I hate psychiatrists period. They were trained to take any question or comment without reacting. They were dynamite on the witness stand, and Nicholas Black was better at it than most.
“As I said before, I never become involved with patients. Never. I can’t state it more unequivocally than that.”
“Not even emotionally?”
“Like you, Detective, I’ve trained myself to remain unemotional.” He was studying me again, and I tried not to fidget. “Have you ever lived in New York, Detective?”
Yeah, right, like I was going to start answering his questions. “What kind of person was Ms. Border?”
“Basically, she was a good kid. She had some problems, including a drug habit that got her in trouble, but I was helping her get clean.”
“Any other kinds of problems?”
“Come now, Detective, you know as well as I do that I’m not going to tell you anything discussed in my confidential therapy sessions with Sylvie.”
“Not even if it would help us find her killer?”
“Perhaps, if I thought it could catch the animal who did this to her, and if I had permission from the family. But neither of those things is likely to happen.”
“How did Sylvie seem to you that last night?”
“I told you. She was sad and upset. I think she was depressed about her boyfriend.”
“You mean Gil Serna.”
“You’re very good, Detective. I’m impressed.”
“I try. Was it Gil Serna who called that night and upset her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He thought she was down here to have a fling with me.”
“But that was groundless, of course.”
“Of course.”
“What time did you say you arrived at her bungalow?”
Black smiled, as if well aware I was probing his story for inconsistencies. “Sometime between nine and ten.”
“How long did you stay?”
“Thirty minutes to an hour.”
“Was Sylvie serious about Gil?”
“Enough so that Sylvie was going to buy him a Porsche for his birthday. That’s another reason she wanted to borrow mine. To test-drive it.”
“You didn’t mention that reason a minute ago.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That’s an expensive car. From what you’ve said, the two of them didn’t sound happy enough together for her to spend that kind of money on him.”
“Everyone is different in the way they choose to show their love for another.”
“What is Gil Serna like?”
“He’s insanely jealous. She kept trying to make him feel secure in her love but without much luck.”
“Insanely? Is that your professional opinion? Do you think Gil Serna is capable of murder?”
“You know what they say. Everybody’s capable of murder under the right circumstances. I’m sure you’ve encountered that kind of person yourself, Detective.”
The remark hit too close to home, and I fought back rising memories and the pain they brought with them.
Black noticed that, too. He frowned slightly and narrowed his eyes. “If Serna is the one, Detective Morgan, I hope you can prove it.”
“Rest assured, Doctor,” I said.
“You’re very confident, aren’t you? And now that I’ve met you, somehow I think you will solve this case. You’ve got steel in your eyes. Were you born around here?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I prefer to ask the questions.”
“Fine.”
“Did you say Ms. Border was making progress