Levine’s home to do the same. The home was a tidy one-story ranch-style house in Wilmette, a five-minute drive from the university. Walking up the path to the door, he noted that a small patch of grass, not thick and lush, but mostly green and well maintained despite Chicago’s current heat wave, surrounded the house. A terracotta pot full of cheery red geraniums greeted him on the front porch. And pumping ’80s rock music made the door vibrate under his knuckles when he knocked. The volume, set to teeth-rattling, actually lent some relief to the throbbing of his head. Or maybe his headache was simply outwailed by the guitar solo. Who was this woman—psychiatrist, professor and radio talk-show host—who listened to angry rock bands from decades past? And not as many decades past as Ethan would have thought. Folksy ’60s music would have been more in line with his image of the good doctor. He tried the doorbell, but didn’t hear it chime over the music. Perhaps it was broken. When nobody answered, he stepped off the porch and peeked in the front window.
