City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(13)

“She could have a marriage and family therapist license.”

He shook his head. “Your board directed me there and they had no knowledge of her. Same for the social work board. I even tried the nursing board. Nothing. And she explicitly lists herself as a psychologist on the Web. Adults, teens, and kids. What do you think?”

“Sounds like she’s a fake.”

“The information age and people still do that?” said Shel.

“If they can get away with it.”

“Guess so—to be honest, it happens to M.D.’s, too. Last year there was a guy in East L.A. practicing internal medicine. His training? Meatcutter in a bodega. Wonderful world, huh? So now I’ve got a stupid kid messing herself up because of a quack.”

I said, “What’s this person’s name?”

“Cordelia Gannett. Ever hear of her?”

I shook my head.

He said, “Only thing on the Web is her site and it’s not much, just her name, address, and some patient endorsements that I think look pretty tacky. Only other person by that name in cyberspace is a tropical tanning butter bikini model, obviously someone different.”

“Unless Gannett leads an interesting life.”

“Huh,” he said. “You think?”

“I’d be curious.”

“Huh,” he repeated. “Now I am, too.”



* * *



—

A week later, he called. “Guess what, Alex? You were right, we’re talking the same bimbo. Bikini model claims she has a Ph.D. but doesn’t have any kind of license. I told the stupid kid’s mother. She wasn’t happy but she still didn’t commit to bringing the kid back—age of majority and all that. Which is fine with me, I’ve got enough cooperative patients, we both do, why waste time?”

Months later, I passed him in a courtroom corridor and told him about Gannett’s in camera stunt.

He said, “She got brought up on charges and is still doing it? Unbelievable.”

“Lame try,” I said. “It didn’t work.”

“Didn’t work out so well for the patient she stole, either. She ended up hospitalized with a serious seizure. Finally came back to me. Not the way I like to be right.”



* * *



—

Per Shel’s answering service, he was out of the office for a week. That sounded like one of his infrequent vacations. I requested a call-back but didn’t frame it as an emergency.

Twenty minutes later, my service patched him in. His voice reverbed a bit, as if directed through a tunnel.

“Alex. What’s up?”

“Remember Cordelia Gannett?”

“How could I forget?” he said. “What, now she’s claiming to be a dentist and doing relationship therapy for gum disease?”

“She’s not doing anything, Shel. She was murdered this morning.”

Silence. “You’re kidding me—obviously, you’re not. Shit, what happened?”

“Unclear,” I said. “The detective in charge—the one I told you about—”

“The guy who entices you into all the nasty stuff.”

“Yup. I told him about my courtroom experience and what she’d done to you. He asked me to call you and find out if you ever dug up anything else on her.”

“No, just the license scam.” He laughed. “Hope that doesn’t make me a suspect. Tell your friend I couldn’t have done it because I’m in Rome. Just had an amazing dinner in the Ghetto, they fry everything, kind of an Italian tempura.”

“Have fun.”

“Oh, I am. Sandra’s here along with Bonnie and John and the grandkids. Kaylie’s twelve and loves Renaissance art. She old enough to be my alibi witness?”

“No doubt.”

“Seriously, Alex, this is crazy. You think it had something to do with Gannett’s ethics? The lack of?”

I said, “Could be. Do you know of anyone else whose patients she monkeyed with?”

“No, but it doesn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility, once you’re amoral, you’re amoral. You know me, Alex. Not exactly an excitable boy but what she did really annoyed me. Guess if she did that to the wrong person…hold on…Sandy’s calling me over for something…restaurant’s got a TV, Bocelli’s on the tube, got to run.”



* * *



—

I phoned the psych board. Lots of robotic voicemail followed by a bored-sounding, robotic human. Complaints against licensed psychologists were kept on record but unlicensed practitioners were handled by another office at the board of consumer affairs, he wasn’t sure which one.

It took me a while to connect to the right person. Right, but not informative. Once cases were disposed of, they were disposed of.

I said, “To save trees?”

The woman on the other end said, “I have no idea.”

Click.

I got on the Web, plugged in Cordelia Gannett’s name, and watched the screen fill.

The first thing I looked for was another misrepresentation charge or a complaint by a doctor or a patient.

Zero. Just a hyperactive social network presence. Good place to dig.

But after I’d spent a long time scrolling through words and images, I was left with nothing usable.