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Sedgwick’s office. He walked half a block before ducking into a luncheonette, where he settled in a booth, ordered a sandwich from the waitress, and dialed Joe Owens’s number at MPD.
    â€œHow’s it going?” Owens asked.
    â€œIt’s going very well, Joe. I think I’m onto something, someone.”
    â€œWho?”
    Tatum briefed the detective on the information he’d turned up on Sheila Klaus, including her address and phone number.
    â€œLooks like you might have hit a home run, Nic.”
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    â€œI’ll go have a talk with Ms. Klaus.”
    â€œHold off until the end of the day, huh? Let me see what else I can come up with about her. And I’d like to be with you or whoever you send.”
    â€œNot a problem, Nic. Call me by four.”
    Tatum spent the next two hours finishing his examination of Sedgwick’s patient files. Further questioning of Betty about Sheila Klaus was nonproductive, although he did learn that the receptionist considered the patient to be, as she reluctantly put it, “a little strange.”
    â€œHow so?” he asked.
    â€œOh, I don’t know. She’s very nice, really sweet, but a little spacey, if you get what I mean.”
    â€œNot always here?” he suggested.
    â€œLike she sometimes daydreamed.”
    â€œYou’ve really been a big help, Betty. Thanks for coming in today.”
    â€œDr. Sedgwick’s lawyer wants me to keep coming in to make sure that things stay in order, but I’m sure that won’t last long. I’ll have to find a new job.”
    â€œIf I can be of any help in that, let me know. Thanks again.”
    He went directly to MPD headquarters and found Owens coming out of a meeting.
    â€œYou come up with anything else?” the detective asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLet’s swing by the address you have for her. Detective Breen is coming with us. If this pans out the way it looks like it could, Nic, I’ll owe you big-time.”
    â€œLunch at Ray’s Hell Burger will do just fine.”

 
    CHAPTER
    9
    Billy Breen was a young detective whose enthusiasm for the job was still fresh. He talked fast and was quick to agree with everything that the veteran Joe Owens said. He reminded Tatum of a tall Mickey Rooney. His youthful verve was welcome; veteran cops tend to be dour individuals after spending years dealing with the dregs of society, although Joe Owens was a pleasant exception. Tatum gave Breen two more years before he became soured and cynical. It just happened, an occupational reality.
    Sheila Klaus lived in a small one-story white house in Rockville, Maryland. Owens had run a background check on her earlier that afternoon. She was forty-eight and a divorcée; her only marriage had lasted two years and ended fourteen years ago. She’d been employed in George Washington University’s law school admissions office and had left a year earlier because of a disability, the specifics unstated. She had no arrest record, nor had she even received a traffic citation. Her credit score was high-average. A red Mazda was registered in her name.
    As they pulled up in front of her house, they saw a blond woman gardening in the postage-stamp-size front yard. She wore jeans, a red sweatshirt, a floppy white hat, and low red sneakers. Even in her oversized gardening clothes it was obvious to her visitors that she was an attractive woman.
    She looked up as they got out of the car but immediately returned to digging a hole for a potted plant that sat next to her.
    â€œMs. Klaus?” Owens said as they stood outside the low white picket fence that defined the yard.
    She looked up and smiled. “Yes?”
    â€œI’m Detective Owens. These are Detective Breen and Dr. Tatum.”
    She wiped perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand, stood, and approached, the smile still on her tanned face.
    â€œIs something wrong?” she