“Rose Schlatter in the morning. A bosomy blonde in her early fifties, she favors big dangly earrings, low-cut blouses, and outdated makeup. Her eyeshadow is thick and blue, her lipstick bright and smeary. She resembles an aging barmaid or your favorite waitress. She is actually a psychiatrist who directed a once-praised treatment program for convicted sex offenders at the state hospital.
The program lost its funding, shut down in a clamor precipitated by an unfortunate incident involving hostages, escapes, and assault. Currently she evaluates defendants in criminal cases, conducts a solo practice, and lobbies tirelessly for revival of her defunct program.
Rose Schlatter seemed pleased to hear from me. “Sure, I have time, Britt, if you don’t mind listening to me chew my breakfast while we talk. Just let me get my doughnut and coffee.”
“What kind of doughnut?” I hadn’t even thought about breakfast.
“Jelly, sorry I can’t offer you one.”
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