“But you have to let Uncle Bob in on it.”

“Okay.”

“Are you there now? At the bank? I can be there in a few.”

“Davidson, who robbed this bank?”

I let out a long stream of air, stalling as long as I could, letting Donovan get a few feet closer to Mexico, then said, “A handful of men from a local biker club called the Bandits, but I need to talk to you about them before you go off half-cocked.”

“I never do anything half-cocked.”

I didn’t doubt that for a New York minute. “The guys were being blackmailed and whoever set up that gig knew that money would be there, but he doesn’t work at the bank. So, who else would know about it? Like maybe an armored car driver? Or the spouse of someone who works there?”

I could hear shoes clapping on the sidewalk as she searched for someplace more private. She whispered into the phone. “Are you saying this was an inside job?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. These guys did it, absolutely, but they had no choice.”

“Well, you’re always entertaining, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, thank you.” She was so nice. “I’ll meet you at my Jeep.”

“I’ll be here.”

I hung up, then asked Garrett, “Can I hire you for the rest of the day?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “I just got off a big case. I can take an afternoon away from the office.”

He didn’t actually have an office so much as a truck. I took in the vast array of papers and file folders and take-out containers that lined his backseat. “I thought this was your office.”

“It is, more or less. I meant that metaphorically.”

“While I’m impressed you know what that word means, I have to be honest. I don’t have any money to pay you.”

“Figures. So where’s your Jeep?”

I was a little surprised he didn’t know. He must not have been listening to the radio. Surely, the robbery was all over the news. “Well, my Jeep is at the Bernalillo Community Bank, but I need to run a couple of errands first, and I don’t have much gas.”

“Didn’t you just tell that agent you’d be right there?”

“I said I’d be there. I didn’t say when. And you’re the one who keeps telling me I need therapy.” I beamed at him. “Let’s go see a psychotherapist.”

He shrugged and followed my directions to Harper’s current psychotherapist’s place of business. It was a small building right out of the seventies, complete with a lava rock exterior and metal beams protruding over the walkway.

I went in as Garrett sat outside in the getaway truck, wondering if he could get arrested for his part in my evading a federal officer. I assured him that was not the case. And he believed me. I’d hate to be in his shoes if I were wrong, and if push came to shove, I was so throwing that man under the bus. I could claim he forced me into his vehicle at a convenience store and held me captive for two hours.

He made a great scapegoat.

I took off my shades and announced myself to a very stoic receptionist before sitting in the waiting area. After a solid twenty minutes, I was finally shown in to the doctor’s office. Harper’s psychotherapist was a dwarfish man with gray hair and tan, prunelike skin. He sat with his hands folded in his lap and his face set to no comment.

“Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Roland.” I sat across from him at a ginormous mahogany desk, trying not to read anything into it. “I just have a few questions about Harper Lowell.”

“Ms. Davidson, as my receptionist has already told you, there is absolutely nothing about Harper or her treatment that I can share with you. As a private investigator, you should already know that.”

I did know that, but he didn’t have to actually say anything. He could just sit there while I asked the questions. His own emotions would help me more than he could possibly imagine. “I understand, but Harper hired me, Dr. Roland, and asked me to look into her case.”

“Have you seen her?” he asked. “She missed her last appointment.”

“She came to see me a couple of days ago when she hired me. When was the last time you saw her?”

“She left in the middle of our last appointment. Very abruptly and very apprehensively. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”

I nodded in an open and nonjudgmental way. “Do you know what sparked her sudden departure?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

“You know I can’t.”

“But she got a phone call or a text, right?” What else would it be?

He smiled. “Perhaps.”

He was lying, so now I had to actually figure out what else it would be. Was it something he said to her? Or maybe something came out during their session. Could something he said have triggered a memory?

Knowing he wouldn’t tell me straight out, I asked, “And when did this happen?”

“She missed her last appointment, so a week ago Tuesday.”

“Did you call her?”

He seemed to be growing agitated. “I called and left a message, but she didn’t return my call.”

“What happened to her when she was five?”

With a sigh of annoyance, he uncrossed his legs, adjusted his position, then recrossed them yet still managed to look about as comfortable as a mouse in a boa tank. “Ms. Davidson, I have a client coming in—”