Free Loving Time by Leslie Glass Page B

question was, could he cut back his activities and spend some real time with Emma? That was the issue. It seemed that only a major sacrifice would impress her. That was how far women had come in their evolution from passive helpmate to separateworking partner. It was clear that two careers meant no time for anybody. Emma had given him five years of hers and ended up desperate enough to act in an erotic film to get his attention. Now that she was successful in her own right, she thought it was perfectly fair for him to sacrifice his work to hers for the next five years.
    Up at 110th Street, sweating freely, Jason turned around and started back at a faster pace. By now he was no longer thinking of any of the things that oppressed him. The endorphins had kicked in. His energy was renewed. He felt he could run for an hour and not feel any pain later. Which wasn’t true. He felt optimistic about women in general and Emma in particular, felt somehow it would all work out. Which probably wasn’t true either.
    As he passed the Psychiatric Centre for the second time, he glanced at the entrance. He almost fell over his feet at the sight of the only two cops he knew heading into his turf again.

fourteen
     
    S hrinks were a strange species, April thought. The hospital complex was called the Medical Center, but the psychiatric building was named the Psychiatric
Centre
. The Centre’s towering marble entrance and vast lobby also insisted people take it seriously. A quick check before April and Mike left the precinct confirmed that both of Raymond Cowles’s shrinks had offices in this intimidating building. It was the kind of place that made cops feel like they came from the reeking lower levels of society’s dung heap.
    As soon as Mike was on the other side of the revolving door, he stuck a finger in the collar of his gray shirt and pulled at his shiny silver tie, stretching his neck. He didn’t exactly fit in with the M.D.s of the world. The bulge of his holster was just visible around his left armpit. His sharp clothes and sharp watchfulness, his gleaming black hair, and the bravado in the smile under his abundant mustache didn’t help either.
    April shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other, hoping the security guard having an animated conversation with a maintenance man across the wide stone floor would not suddenly realize he’d just let in two people with guns and call the cops. They headed for reception.
    “Can you tell me where I could find Dr. Dickey?” Mike asked the pretty woman at the desk.
    She gave him a big smile and tossed her mop of curly red hair so that it bounced around. “Dr. Harold Dickey?”
    Mike gave her a big smile back. “That would be the one.”
    “Do you have an appointment?”
    Mike showed her his gold shield. “Of course,” he said.
    “Nineteenth.” She handed them visitor passes.
    “Thanks.” Mike Sanchez turned away, then swung back. “What about Dr. Treadwell?”
    “The Director of the Centre? You have an appointment with her, too?”
    Her?
Mike’s eyes opened wide as he turned toward the elevators. “Yeah,” he murmured, “her, too.”
    Surprised, April touched his sleeve.
The woman director of the Centre was the shrink of the dead man?
    Mike jerked his head at the guard by the door, who continued his discussion without looking their way. Some security. Also the woman at the desk forgot to tell them they had to check in with the Nursing Supervisor on the third floor to turn in the bullets to their guns. Nobody was allowed to walk around a mental hospital with a loaded gun.
    April was troubled by a number of things, not least of which was that Dr. Treadwell was a woman. She had no idea why it bothered her. It occurred to her she might have felt the same distress if the doc were Chinese. One didn’t want trouble for one’s own. April pressed the up button a few times. Then Mike punched it. They looked at each other. With six elevators it seemed to be taking a long time. The