Free Survival of the Fittest by Jonathan Kellerman Page A

company because he was so smart. Which is another reason becoming a cop seems so strange. Who’s more establishment?”
    “Cops can be pretty alienated as a group,” I said. “Living with all that violence, the us-them mentality.”
    “Doctors and nurses develop an us-them, too, but I still feel part of society.”
    “And you don’t think Nolan did?”
    “Who knows what he felt? But life must have been pretty damn bleak for him to do what he did.”
    Her voice was tight, dry as kindling.
    “How could he, Dr. Delaware? How could he get to the point where he didn’t feel tomorrow was worth waiting for?”
    I shook my head.
    “Dad’s depressions,” she said. “Maybe it’s all genetic. Maybe we’re just prisoners of our biology.”
    “Biology is strong but there are always choices.”
    “For Nolan to make that choice he must have been profoundly depressed, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Men sometimes do it when they’re angry.” Cops sometimes do it when they’re angry.
    “Angry about what? Work? I’ve been trying to find out more about his work record, see if he went through any bad work situations. I called the police department to get hold of his file and they referred me to his original training officer, a Sergeant Baker. He’s at Parker Center, now. He was nice enough, said Nolan had been one of his best trainees, there’d been nothing out of the ordinary, he couldn’t understand it either. I also went after Nolan’s medical records, contacted the department insurance office and used some of my nursing skills to pry them loose. Back when I was still hoping for a disease. Nolan hadn’t been treated for any medical conditions but he had seen a psychologist for two months before he died. Up til a week before. So something was wrong. A Dr. Lehmann. Do you know him?”
    “First name?”
    “Roone Lehmann.”
    I shook my head.
    “He’s got an office downtown. I left him several messages but he hasn’t called back. Would you have any problem calling him?”
    “No, but he may not break confidentiality.”
    “Do dead people have confidentiality?”
    “It’s an open question but most therapists don’t breach even after death.”
    “I guess I knew that. But I also know that doctors talk to doctors. Maybe Lehmann would be willing to tell you something.”
    “I’ll be happy to try.”
    “Thank you.” She handed me the number.
    “One question that I have, Helena, is why Nolan transferred from West L.A. to Hollywood. Did Sergeant Baker say anything about that?”
    “No. I didn’t ask him. Why? Is that strange?”
    “Most officers consider West L.A. a plum. And Nolan went from the day shift to the night shift. But if he liked excitement, he could have wanted an assignment with more action.”
    “Could be. He did like action. Roller coasters, surfing, motorcycling.   .   .   . Why why why, all these whys. It’s stupid to keep asking questions that can’t be answered, isn’t it?”
    “No, it’s normal,” I said, thinking of Zev Carmeli.
    She laughed, a jarring sound. “I saw this cartoon in the paper, once. That Viking, Hagar the Horrible? He’s standing on a mountaintop, with rain and lightning all around, holding his hands up to the heavens, shouting, “Why me?’ And down from the heavens comes the answer: “Why not?’ Maybe that’s the ultimate truth, Dr. Delaware. What right do I have to expect a smooth ride?”
    “You have a right to ask questions.”
    “Well, maybe I should do more than ask. There’s still Nolan’s stuff to go through. I’ve been putting it off, but I should start.”
    “When you’re ready.”
    “I’m ready now. After all, it’s all mine, now. He left everything to me.”
       
    She made an appointment for next week and left. I called Dr. Roone Lehmann’s number and gave my name to his service, asking for the office address.
    “Seventh Street,” said the operator, reciting a number that put it near Flower, in the heart of the downtown