Therapy by Jonathan Kellerman Page B

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    CHAPTER
    5
    M ilo received written permission to speak to Gavin’s doctors, and we left. It was nearly 5 P.M., the sky was milky white and poisonous, and both of us were low and hungry. We drove to a deli on Little Santa Monica, had sandwiches and coffee. Mine was roast beef with hot mustard on pumpernickel. Milo opted for a wet, multidecked monster layered with pastrami and coleslaw and pepperoncinis and some things I couldn’t identify, all stuffed into a French roll. When he bit into it, it collapsed. That seemed to give him joy.
    He swallowed, and said, “Model family.”
    “They’re no ad for domestic life,” I said, “but the father may be right, and it doesn’t matter.”
    “Perverted stranger kills his boy. That sure distances it from the family.”
    “I don’t see this as a family crime,” I said. “The fact that the family doesn’t know the girl could mean she’s the kind of girl you don’t bring home to Mother. Which may lead us to her being the primary target.”
    “Someone with nasty friends.”
    “The killer impaled her and took her purse. That could’ve been