"She won't book an appointment with a psychiatrist. She has a neurosurgeon in Westwood, Luther Lexington. He did her surgeries and he recommended a psychiatrist last summer. She only went to that doctor once and never went back."

"A mistake."

"You don't understand. She's running one of the highest-profile bureaus in the city. If it gets out she's going to a shrink or having seizures, crashing her car, or whatever, it's going to destroy her career."

"I'm hesitant to make a diagnosis not having seen the patient.

But I will tell you this much. I don't like what I'm hearing. If I were you, I would get her help regardless of the danger to her career."

I looked at my watch again.

"If you have someplace to go, don't let me keep you." Somehow he managed the sentence without sounding snotty.

"I'd have been better off going to McDonald's. At least I would have gotten lunch."

"Then I won't charge you for the hour."

"No. I want to pay. I want… I want to come back next week."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Same time, same place?"

"Okay."

I stood, accidentally hitting the little table with a Kleenex box next to the chair and tipping it over. Another slight smile. I righted the table and replaced the tissue box.

"Well, I guess that does it then," I said.

"That does it," he replied, wheezing it at me through tiny teeth buried in a fleshy smile. His chubby hands were laced across his belly. He had no intention of standing to see me out.

I turned and walked to the door.

"Detective?" I stopped and looked back at him. "People change. Even people who didn't get shot in the head. Change is an inevitable part of life. Sometimes by embracing change, it becomes less frightening and we open ourselves to the good that may be hiding there."