Rough Weather - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,43

like that,” he said.

“Because?”

“Because we frequently don’t know the answer,” he said. “And we don’t like not knowing.”

“My sympathies,” I said. “Can you guess?”

“We hate to guess, and in our practice we shouldn’t guess, we should allow the patient to reveal his truth.”

“I’m trying to find her,” I said. “Maybe save her. I need any guesses you can give me.”

“I know. I wish I could have worked with her, but her mother came and snatched her away as soon as she could leave the hospital.”

“She needs work?” I said.

“In my judgment, she is a very unstable young woman,” Weiss said.

“Can you amplify that for me?” I said.

“Do you know much about psychotherapy, Mr. Spenser?”

“Not enough,” I said. “But I am the significant other of a shrink in Cambridge.”

“Really. What is the shrink’s name?”

“Nice,” I said. “You framed the question gender-neutral.”

Weiss smiled.

“We don’t like to guess,” he said.

“Susan Silverman,” I said.

“I know her,” Weiss said. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” I said.

“And very smart,” Weiss said. “I’ve heard several of her papers.”

“Yes.”

Weiss seemed to lean back farther in his chair. I felt as if I had passed some sort of initiation.

“I truly don’t know her issues,” Weiss said. “But I’ve been in this line of work for a number of years, and my guesses are at least informed by experience.”

“Never a bad thing,” I said.

“Experience can inform,” he said. “It can also distort.”

“Sure,” I said. “But inexperience is rarely useful.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“Well put,” he said.

“Adelaide Van Meer?” I said.

He nodded.

“I believe she has been sexually molested,” Weiss said.

“She say so?”

“No.”

“More than once?” I said.

“Over a long period of time, I think.”

“By whom?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“What I know about sexual abuse,” I said, “particularly if it’s extended, is that it’s probably someone close, a family member, a neighbor, someone like that.”

“Yes,” Weiss said.

“Have any sense if it was more than one person?”

“Probably one.”

“Are you sure?” I said.

Again, Weiss looked thoughtful.

“About how many molested her? No.”

“But that she was molested?”

“Yes,” he said. “I cannot prove it. I cannot even demonstrate logically why I believe it. But yes, I am at some intuitive level sure.”

I nodded.

“I got no problem with intuitive,” I said. “Most of what I do is not the result of pure reason.”

“That’s true of most people,” Weiss said. “Not all of them know it.”

“Sure,” I said. “Anything else you can tell me about Adelaide?”

“Not really. When her mother took her I urged that she see a competent therapist,” Weiss said. “I told her I could help with a referral, and in any case was always available to her new therapist or to Adelaide. Mrs. Bradshaw declined a referral.”

“Ever hear from anyone?”

“No.”

“You think she got better?”

“Not without a good deal of professional attention,” Weiss said.

47

When Hawk and I got to my office we found a man and a woman waiting in the corridor. I unlocked the door and we went in. Hawk went and sat on Pearl’s couch and put his feet on the coffee table. I went to my desk. The man and woman sat in front of my desk. I introduced myself.

“We’re the Lessards,” the man said.

They were both tall and athletic-looking. About fifty. Probably played a lot of tennis. Probably in a southern clime; they were both tanned. His hair was gray. Hers was blond and firmly in place.

“It was our son who was killed at Tashtego,” the woman said.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said.

They nodded. They were both aware of Hawk behind them.

“May we speak freely?” Mrs. Lessard said.

“Absolutely. I share everything with my associate,” I said.

They both turned to look at him. Hawk smiled reassuringly.

“You were there,” Mr. Lessard said.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have prevented it.”

“We know,” Mrs. Lessard said. “The police have explained everything to us.”

“It was the police who sent us to you,” Lessard said. “A Captain Healy, who is apparently in charge of the investigation.”

“Nobody better,” I said.

“He told us you’ve been investigating,” Mrs. Lessard said.

“I’m trying to find Adelaide,” I said.

“Yes. We gave Heidi some money to meet the ransom demands, but so far Adelaide is still missing.”

“Heidi didn’t have the money?” I said.

“She said it would take her too long to convert it to cash, and was afraid to wait,” Lessard said. “We gave her the money as an advance against Adelaide’s substantial inheritance from . . .” He stopped, and took in some air before he seemed able to say the name. “. . . Maurice.”

“Where did they meet?” I said.

“Maurice and Adelaide? They were friends in college.”

“Which