"No," Quinn said, studying the subtle, curious light of challenge inBrandt's eyes. "There's nothing random in this guy's bag of tricks. Hepicked each of these women for a reason, The reason should be moreapparent with Jillian. How long had she been seeing you?"

"Two years."

"How had she come to you? By referral?"

"By golf. Peter and I are both members at Minikahda. An excellent placeto make connections," he confessed with a smile, pleased with his ownclever business ac.u.men.

"You'd make more if you lived in Florida," Quinn joked. Aren't webuddies-so smart, so resourceful "The season here has to be-what?

-all of two months?"

"Three if we have spring," Brandt shot back, settling into the rhythm ofrepartee. "A lot of time spent in the clubhouse. The dining room islovely. You golf?"

"When I get the chance." Never because he enjoyed it. Always as anopportunity for a contact, a chance to get his ideas through to his SACor the unit chief, or supposed downtime with law enforcement personnelhe was working cases with across the country. Not so different fromLucas Brandt after all.

"Too bad the season's over," Brandt said.

"Yeah," Kovac drawled, "d.a.m.ned inconsiderate for this killer to work in November, if you look at it that way."

Brandt flicked him a glance. "That's hardly what I meant, Detective.

Though, now that you've brought it up, it's a shame you didn't catch him

this summer. We wouldn't be having this conversation.

"Anyway," he said, turning back to Quinn. "I've known Peter for years.), "He doesn't strike me as a very social man."

"No. Golf is serious business with Peter. Everything is serious with

Peter. He's very driven."

"How did that quality impact his relationship with Jillian?"

"Ah!" He held up a finger in warning and shook his head, still smiling.

"Crossing the line, Agent Quinn."

Quinn acknowledged the breach with a tip of his head.

"When did you last speak with Jillian?" Kovac asked.

"We had a session Friday. Every Friday at four."

"And then she'd go over to her father's house for supper?"

"Yes. Peter and Jillian were working very hard on their relationship.

They'd been separated for a long time. A lot of old feelings to deal

with."

"Such as?"

Brandt blinked at him.

"All right. What about a general statement, say, about the root of

Jillian's problems? Give us an impression."

"Sorry. No."

Kovac gave a little sigh. "Look, you could answer a few simple questions

without breaching anyone's trust. For instance, whether or not she was on any medication. We need to know for the tax screen."

"Prozac. Trying to even out her mood swings."

"Manic depressive?" Quinn asked.

The doctor gave him a look.

"Did she have any problem with drugs that you knew of9" Kovac tried.

"No comment."

"Was she having trouble with a boyfriend?"

Nothing.

"Did she ever talk about anyone abusing her?"

Silence.

Kovac rubbed a hand over his mouth, petting his mustache, He could feel

his temper crumbling like old cork. "You know this girl two years. Youknow her father. He considers you a friend. You could maybe give us adirection in this girl's murder. And you waste our time with thisbulls.h.i.t game-pick and choose, hot and cold."

Quinn cleared his throat discreetly. "You know the rules, Sam."

"Yeah, well, f.u.c.k the rules!" kovac barked, Ripping a book of

Mapplethorpe photographs off the end table. "If I was a defense attorney waving a wad of cash, you can bet he'd find a loophole to ooze through."

"I resent that, Detective."

"Oh, well, yeah, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. Somebody tortured this

girl, Doctor." He pushed away from the credenza, his expression as hardas the stone he shot into the wastebasket. The sound was like a .22 popping.

"Somebody cut her head off and kept it for a souvenir.

If I knew this girl, I think I would care about who did that to her. And if I could help catch the sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d, I would. But you care more about

your social status than you care about Jillian Bondurant. I wonder if her father realizes that."

He gave a harsh laugh as his pager went off. "What the h.e.l.l am I saying?

Peter Bondurant doesn't even want to believe his daughter could be

alive.

The two of you probably deserve each other."

The pager trilled again. He checked the readout, swore under his breath,

and went out of the office, leaving Quinn to deal with the aftermath.

Brandt managed to find something amusing in Kovac's outburst.

"Well, that was quick. It generally takes the average cop a little

longer to lose his temper with me."

"Sergeant Kovac is under a great deal of stress with these murders,"

Quinn said, moving to the credenza and the Zen garden. "I apologize on his behalf."

The stones in the box had been arranged to form an X, the sand raked ina sinuous pattern around them. His mind flashed on the lacerations inthe victim's feet-a double X pattern-and on the stab wounds to thevictim's chest-two intersecting Xs.

"Is the pattern significant?" he asked casually.

"Not to me," Brandt said. "My patients play with that more than I do. Ifind it calms some people, encourages the flow of thought andcommunication."

Quinn knew several agents at the NCAVC who kept Zen gardens.

Their offices were sixty feet below ground-ten times deeper than thedead, they joked. No windows, no fresh air, and the knowledge that theweight of the earth pressed in on the walls were all symbolic enough togive Freud a hard-on. A person needed something to relieve the tension.

Personally, he preferred to hit things-hard. He spent hours in the gympunishing a punching bag for the sins of the world.

"No apology needed on Kovac's behalf." Brandt bent down to pick up theMapplethorpe book. "I'm an old hand at dealing with the police.

Everything is simple to them. You're either a good guy or a bad guy.

They don't seem to understand that I find the boundaries of myprofessional ethics frustrating at times too, but they are what they are.

You understand."

He set the book aside and sat back against his desk, his hip justnudging a small stack of files. The label read BONDURANT, JILLLAN. Amicroca.s.sette recorder lay atop the file, as if perhaps he had been atwork or would still work on his notes from his last session with her.

"I understand your position. I hope you understand mine," Quinn saidcarefully. "I'm not a cop here. While our ultimate goal is the same,Sergeant Kovac and I have different agendas. My profile doesn't requirethe kind of evidence admissible in court. I'm looking for impressions,feelings, gut instinct, details some would consider insignificant. Sam'slooking for a b.l.o.o.d.y knife with fingerprints. You see what I mean?"

Brandt nodded slowly, never taking his eyes from Quinn's. "Yes, Ibelieve I do. I'll have to think about it. But at the same time, youshould consider that the problems Jillian brought to me may have hadnothing whatsoever to do with her death. Her killer may not have knownanything at all about her."

"And then again, he might have known the one thing that set him off,"Quinn said. He took a business card from a slim case in his breastpocket and handed it to Brandt. "This is my direct line at the Bureauoffice downtown. I hope to hear from you."

Brandt set the card aside and shook his hand. "With due consideration for the circ.u.mstances, it was a pleasure meeting you. I have to confess,I'm the one who suggested your name to Peter when he told me he wantedto call your director."

Quinn's mouth twisted as he started for the door. "I'm not so sure Ishould thank you for that, Dr. Brandt."

He left the office through the reception area, glancing at the womanwaiting on the camelback sofa with her feet perfectly together and herred Coach bag balanced on her knees, her expression a carefully blankscreen over annoyance and embarra.s.sment. She didn't want to be seenthere.

He wondered how Jillian had felt coming here and confiding all to one ofher father's sycophants. Had it been a choice or a condition of Peter'ssupport? She'd shown up every week for two years, and only G.o.d and LucasBrandt knew why. And very possibly Bondurant.

Brandt could preen for them and display his ethics like a peac.o.c.kfanning his tail feathers, but Quinn suspected Kovac was right: When itcame down to it, Brandt's first obligation would be to himself. Andkeeping Peter Bondurant happy would go a long way toward keeping LucasBrandt happy.

Kovac was waiting in the foyer on the first floor, staring in puzzlementat an abstract painting of a woman with three eyes and b.r.e.a.s.t.s growingout the sides of her head.

"Jesus Christ, that's uglier than my second wife's mother-and she couldbreak a mirror from fifty feet away. You suppose they hang it there justto give their crazies an extra little tweak on the way in and out?"