New York's Psychiatric Centre ought to have a disclaimer on all its forms: WARNING: Association with This Facility is No Guarantee of Increased Sanity and May Shorten Your Life. Take Raymond Cowles, whose well-remembered four-year course of therapy for homosexual fantasies with Dr. Clara Treadwell and her supervisor, Dr. Harold Dickey, not only didn't cure him; his insurers contend it drove him to suicide, and they're suing Dickey and Treadwell, now leapfrogged over her old mentor as the Centre's hoity-toity Director, for malpractice. Dickey wants to circle the wagons by leaping back between the sheets with Treadwell, but she can think only of her new lover, a US senator, and the government job she's convinced is within her grasp. Besides, Dickey's not long for this world himself; a lethal cocktail of liquor and Elavil will stop his pursuit of Treadwell in its amorous tracks. Detective April Woo and Sgt. Mike Sanchez suspect ex-Centre nurse Bobbie Boudreau, fired when a patient he gave Elavil to jumped out a window. But how can they focus on the case when Sanchez is preoccupied with trying to figure out if April takes baths or showers, and April's frequent psychiatric consultant, Dr. Jason Frank, has his hands full with his movie-star wife's announcement that she's coming back to New York for at least a few months? Psychosis, neurosis, and the stress of trying to find a decent apartment--they all come in for the same emphatic treatment in Woo's third case (Hanging Time, 1995, etc.), still as interminable as a strict Freudian analysis.