The Madman - Страница 54

Peter nodded, but seemed a little dismayed. "Surely when you started reading case files you realized that covers just about everybody in here, except the senile and the retarded, and they just might have some violent entries, as well. We need to find some disqualifying characteristics, I think, Miss Jones…," he started, but she held up her hand.

"Peter, from now on just call me Lucy," she said. "And that way I won't have to call you by your last name because I know from your file that your identity is supposed to be if not exactly hidden, at least, well, de-emphasized, correct? Because of your notoriety in some rather significant parts of the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts. And, I know, as well, that upon arrival here, you made a point of telling Gulptilil that you no longer had a name, an act of disassociation which he interpreted as having some wish to no longer bring some sort of unspecified shame on your large family."

Peter stopped pacing, and for an instant Francis thought he was going to get angry. One of his voices shouted out Pay attention1, and he kept his own mouth shut and watched the two of them carefully. Lucy wore a grin, as if she knew she had discomfited Peter, and he had the look of someone trying to come up with the right riposte. After a moment or two, he leaned back against the wall, and smiled, a look that wasn't wholly dissimilar to that worn by Lucy.

"Okay, Lucy," he said slowly. "First names are fine. But tell me this, if you will. Don't you think interviewing any patient with a violent past, or even a violent act or two since he arrived here, will ultimately be fruitless? More critically, just how much time do you have, Lucy? How long do you think you can take, coming up with an answer here?"

Lucy's grin fled abruptly. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I wonder if your boss back in Boston is fully aware of what you're up to out here."

Silence filled the small room. Francis was alert to every movement from his companions: the look in the eyes, and behind them, the positioning of arms and shoulders that might indicate subtle differences from the words spoken.

"Why wouldn't you think that I have the full cooperation of my office?"

Peter simply asked, "Do you?"

Francis saw that Lucy was about to answer one way, then another, and finally a third, before she replied.

"I do and I don't," she finally said slowly.

"That sounds to me like two different explanations."

She nodded.

"My presence here is not yet part of an official case file. I believe one should be opened. Others are undecided. Or more accurately, unsure of our jurisdiction. So when I wanted to head out here, just as soon as I heard about Short Blond's killing, there was some contentious debate in my office. The upshot was that I was permitted to go, but not on an official basis, exactly."

"I'm guessing that those circumstances weren't precisely outlined to Gulptilil."

"You'd be right about that, Peter."

He moved about the back of the room again, as if by motion he could add momentum to his thoughts. "How much time do you need before the hospital administration gets fed up or your office wants you back?"

"Not long."

Again, Peter seemed to hesitate, sorting through his observations. Francis thought that Peter saw facts and details in much the same way that a mountain guide did: seeing obstacles as opportunities, measuring achievement sometimes in single steps. "So," Peter said, as if he was suddenly speaking to himself, "Lucy is here, persuaded that a criminal is here, as well, and determined to find him. Because she has a… special interest. Right?"

Lucy nodded. "Right." Any amusement had fled her face. "Your days at Western State certainly haven't affected your investigative abilities."

He shook his head. "Oh, I think they have," he said. He didn't say whether this was for the better or for the worse. "And what might that special interest be?"

After a long pause, Lucy bent her head lower. "Peter, I don't think we know each other quite well enough. But let me say this: The individual who committed the other three killings managed to get my personal attention by taunting my office."

"Taunting?"

"Yes. In the you-can't-catch-me vein."

"You don't want to be more specific?"

"Not right now. These are details that we would hope to use in an eventual prosecution. So "

Peter interrupted her. "You don't want to share specifics with a couple of crazy guys."

She took a deep breath. "Not any more than you would like to be specific if I asked about how you spread gasoline through that church. And why."

Both were silent for a moment, again. Then Peter turned to Francis, and said, "C-Bird, what links all these crimes together? Why these killings?"

Francis realized he was being given a test, and he answered quickly. "The victims' appearance, for one thing. Age and isolation; they all were in the habit of traveling in a regular fashion by themselves. They were young and they had short hair and slender physiques. They were found in some location, exposed to elements, that was other than where they were killed, which complicates matters for the police. You told me that. And in different jurisdictions, as well, which is another problem. You told me that, too. And they were all mutilated in the same way, progressively. The missing fingers, just like Short Blond."

Francis took a deep breath. "Am I right?"

Lucy Jones nodded, and Peter the Fireman smiled. "Dead-on," he said. "We need to be alert, Lucy, because young C-Bird here has a far better memory for detail and observation than anyone gives him credit for." Then he stopped, seeming to think for a moment. Once again, he started to say one thing, then appeared to change direction at the last moment. "All right, Lucy. You should keep some information that might help us to yourself. For the time being. What's the drill, then?"

"We have to find a way to find this man," she said stiffly, but slightly relieved, as if she understood, in that second that Peter meant to ask another question or two that would have turned the conversation in a different direction. Francis couldn't tell if there was gratitude in what she said, but he saw that his two companions were staring tightly at each other, speaking without saying words, as if they both understood something that had slid past Francis in that moment. Francis thought that might be true, but he did observe something else: Peter and Lucy had established some credentials that seemed to him to place both of them on the same plane of existence. Peter was a little less the mental patient, and Lucy a little less the prosecutor, and what they both suddenly were was something more akin to partners.

"The problem is," Peter said carefully, "I believe he has already found us."

Chapter 16

If Lucy was surprised by what Peter said, she didn't immediately display it.

"What do you mean, exactly?" she asked.

"I'm guessing that the Angel already knows that you are here and, presumably, the why of your presence, as well. I think there aren't quite as many secrets around here as one might like. More accurately, there's a different definition of what constitutes a secret. So I suspect he's fully aware that you're here hunting him, despite Gulptilil and Evans's promises of confidentiality. How long do you suppose those promises lasted? A day? Maybe two? I would wager that just about everyone here who can know, does know. And I would suspect our friend the Angel is alert to the idea that somehow C-Bird and I are helping you."

"You reach these conclusions precisely how?" Lucy asked slowly. There was a dry and cautious suspiciousness in her voice that Francis noted, but that Peter seemed to ignore.

"Well, it's mostly supposition, of course," Peter said. "But one thing leads to another…"

"Well," Lucy said, "What's the first one thing?"

Peter rapidly filled her in on the vision that he'd observed through the window the previous night. As he described what he'd seen, and how quickly he'd moved to the doorway in an effort to catch a better look, he seemed to watch Lucy equally closely, as if to assess her response with some precision. He finished by saying, "And so, if he knows about us, enough to want to see us, then he knows about you. Hard to tell, but…well, there you have it." He shrugged slightly, but his eyes wore conviction that contradicted his body language.