B) R/O DYSTHYMIA.

C) R/O MAJOR DEPRESSION, RECURRENT, UNSPECIFIED.

AXIS II:.

A) HISTRIONIC PERSONALITY FEATURES.

B) R/O BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER.

AXIS III:.

A) SUICIDE ATTEMPT.

B) ASTHMA.

AXIS IV:.

SEVERE (JOBLESS, BROKE UP WITH FIANCe).

AXIS V:.

GAF CURRENT = 55; PAST YEAR = 45a65.

Back in my office, I used my own copy of the DSM- the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders- to decode the shorthand. The suicide attempt was the "presenting problem." The clinical picture was mostly guesses: "R/O" means "rule out"- a possibility they wanted to consider once they got her into treatment.

But that never happened.

They put down getting fired and breaking up with her boyfriend as "psychoasocial stressors," writing it like they happened at the same time. Probably the way she told it.

And the GAF was "Global Assessment of Functioning." The score was her highest level in the last year. A 55 meant "severe symptoms; significant interference in functioning." Good guess.

The whole file was nothing but outline sketches. Except for one handwritten note: "Patient states she has attempted suicide at least twice before. Expressed regret only in her lack of success...'I even failed at this.' No insight exhibited during interview."

If Jennifer Dalton knew why she tried to take herself off the count, she wasn't telling.

Not them. And not then.

"Doc," you remember that guy you told me about, Bruce Perry? The one working on the brainatrauma stuff?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, waiting for the punch line. "You got a good memory, hoss."

"I got a case. A legit case," I assured him quickly. "And I think he's the man for me to talk to. Can you set it up?"

"I'm listening," Doc said, his wrestler's upper body shifting behind the cluttered desk, eyes homing in the way they did years ago when we first started talking. When I was inside the Walls. Telling me there better be more.

"I've been doing a lot of that myself- listening," I told him. "A girl says something happened. A long time ago. It happened, but she didn't know it. Or didn't remember it, anyway. Until now."

"Recovered memory?"

"That's what she says."

"And you say...?"

"I don't know what to say. That's the job- for me to say."

He leaned back in his chair, eyes still on mine behind the wirearimmed glasses he always wears. "We go back a long way, Burke. You've spent more time studying child abuse than any Ph.D. I know. Your gut's as good as anyone's. What do you need Perry for?"

"He's a science guy, right? Hard science, not the blahadeablah stuff."

"Like I do?" Doc asked. Not challenging me, just getting at it, the way he always did.

"What you do...it's only as good as the guy doing it, right?"

"Sure. Same as building a house. Or fixing teeth. Or playing the piano."

"But there's a truth somewhere, Doc. A true truth. Like the way they test for gold- you drop the chemicals on the metal and you see the truth."

"You think Perry's stuff is like that?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm not sure yet, hoss. Could be. Tell you what- I'll give him a call and tell him the truth. About you too, understand? He wants to go for it, that's up to him."

"Thanks Doc. I owe you."