I crossed Michigan Avenue to the statue garden by the Art Institute, where I called the office to see whether Mary Louise was making any progress showing Radbuka’s photo to neighbors of the various Ulrich families listed around town. She’d been trying to dodge the assignment, but when I told her about Radbuka lurking around Max’s she agreed we needed some kind of wedge. If she could find someone who knew Radbuka when he was still Ulrich, that might give us a starting point.
The easiest wedge would clearly come from getting Rhea Wiell to help out. Since I was in the Loop already, I decided to pay a surprise visit: maybe she’d be more responsive in person than on the phone. And if she wouldn’t give me background material on her patient, maybe she’d at least help come up with a strategy for controlling him.
I walked the length of Michigan Avenue to Water Tower Place, stopping partway up for something the shop called a vegetarian sandwich. The mild day had drawn a throng of office workers outside for lunch. I sat on a marble slab between a guy buried in a paperback and a couple of women who were smoking while denouncing someone’s horrible behavior in asking them to fill out a second set of time sheets.
The sandwich turned out to be a thick roll with a few slices of eggplant and peppers. I crumbled up part of the roll for the sparrows who were pecking hopefully at my feet. Out of nowhere a dozen pigeons appeared, trying to muscle the sparrows aside.
The guy with the paperback looked at me in disgust. “You’re only encouraging pests, you know.” He dog-eared his page and got up.
“I wonder if you’re right.” I stood as well. “I always thought my work was keeping them at bay, but you may be on to something.”
His disgust changed to alarm and he turned hastily into the office building behind us. I crumbled the rest of the bread for the birds. It was almost one o’clock. Morrell would be over the Atlantic now, away from land, away from me. I felt a little hollow below my diaphragm and increased my pace, as if I could leave loneliness behind me.
At Rhea Wiell’s office, a young woman was sitting in he waiting room, her hands nervously clutching a cup of herbal tea. I sat down and studied the fish in the aquarium while the woman darted suspicious looks at me.
“What time is your appointment?” I asked.
“One-fifteen. Are you—when is yours?”
If my watch was right, it wasn’t quite ten after. “I’m a drop-in. I’m hoping Ms. Wiell will have a break in her schedule this afternoon. How long have you been seeing her? Has she been helpful?”
“Very.” She didn’t say anything else for a minute, but as I continued to watch the fish and the silence built, she added, “Rhea’s helped me become aware of parts of my life that were shut away from me before.”
“I’ve never been hypnotized,” I said. “What’s it like?”
“Are you afraid? I was, too, before my first session, but it’s not like they show it in the movies. It’s like riding an elevator down into the middle of your own past. You can get off on these different floors and explore them, only with the safety of having Rhea right next to you, instead of—well, being alone, or being with the monsters who were there when you had to live through the time originally.”
The door to the inner room opened. The woman immediately turned to watch for Rhea, who came out with Don Strzepek. The two were laughing in a kind of easy intimacy. Don looked wide awake, while Rhea, instead of her flowing jacket and trousers, had put on a red dress that fit snugly around the bodice. When she saw me she flushed and withdrew slightly from Don.
“Have you come to see me? I have another appointment right now.” For the first time in our brief acquaintance her smile held genuine warmth. I didn’t take it personally—I knew it was the overflow from Don—but it made my own response more natural.
“Something rather serious has come up. I can wait until you’re free, but we ought to talk.”
She turned to the waiting patient. “Isabel, I’m not going to start your session late, but I need one moment alone with this woman.”
When I moved with her to the entrance to her inner room, Don trailed after me. “Paul Radbuka has started stalking Mr. Loewenthal’s family. I’d like to talk to you about strategies for managing the situation.”
“Stalking? That’s a fairly extreme criticism. You may be misinterpreting his behavior, but even if you are, we definitely should discuss it.” She went behind her desk to look at her calendar. “I can fit you in at two-thirty for fifteen minutes.”
She nodded regally to me, but when she glanced at Don her expression softened again. When she walked us out to the waiting area, it was to him that she said, “I’ll see you at two-thirty, then.”
“Looks as though things are going well with your book,” I said once we were out in the hall.
“Her work is fascinating,” Don said. “I let her hypnotize me yesterday. It was wonderful, like floating in a warm ocean in a totally secure boat.”