"No surrendering the gun?" I said. "When do they unfurl the red rug?"
"Too easy," said Milo. "I hate it when things go too easy."
At the parking lot, a black tech with salt-and-pepper hair pointed out the closest parking space. Milo muttered, "Now I have to tip him."
When we got out of the car, the tech said, "Hal Cleveland. I'll take you to Mr.
Swig."
Hurrying toward the inner fence without waiting. Running ahead the way Dollard had done, he kept checking to see if we were with him.
"What's the story?" Milo asked him.
Cleveland shook his head. "I'll leave that to Mr. Swig."
At night, the yard was empty. And different, the dirt frosty and blue-gray under high-voltage lights, scooped in places like ice cream. Cleveland half-jogged. It was nice being able to cross without fear of some psychotic jumping me. Still, I found myself checking my back.
We reached the far gate and Cleveland unlocked it with a quick twist. The main building didn't look much different- still ashen and ugly, the clouded plastic windows gaping like an endless series of beseeching mouths. Another guard blocked the door. Armed with baton and gun. First time I'd seen a uniform-or weapons-inside the grounds. He stepped aside for us, and Cleveland hurried us past Lindeen's cleared desk, past the brassy flash of bowling trophies, through the silent hallway.
Past Swig's office, all the other administrative doors, straight to the elevator. A quick, uninter-ruped ride up to C Ward. Cleveland wedged himself in a corner, played with his keys.
When the elevator door opened, another tech, big and thick and bearded, was positioned right in front of us. He stepped back to let us exit. Cleveland stayed in the lift and rode it back down.
The bearded tech took us through the double doors.
William Swig stood midway up the corridor. In front of Peake's room. Peake's door was closed. Another pair of uniformed guards was positioned a few feet away. The bearded man left us to join two other techs, their backs against the facing wall.
No men in khaki. But for the hum of the air conditioner, the ward was silent.
Swig saw us and shook his head very hard, as if denying a harsh reality. He had on a navy polo shirt, jeans, running shoes. The filmy strands atop his head puffed at odd angles. Overhead fluorescents heightened the contrast between his facial moles and
the pallid skin that hosted them. Dark dots, like braille, punctuating the message on his face.
Nothing ambiguous about the communication: pure fear.
He opened Peake's door, winced, gave a ringmaster's flourish.
Not that much blood.
A single scarlet python.
Winding its way toward us from the far right-hand corner of the cell. About three feet from the spot where Peake had played Jesus.
Otherwise the room looked the same. Messy bed. Wall restraints bolted in place. That same burning smell mixed with something coppery-sweet.
No sign of Peake.
The blood trail stopped halfway across the floor, its point of origin below the body.
Stocky body, lying facedown. Plaid shirt, blue jeans, sneakers. A head full of coarse gray hair. Arms outstretched, almost relaxed-looking. Thick forearms. The skin had already gone grayish-green.
"Dollard," said Milo. "When?"
"We don't know," said Swig. "Someone discovered him two hours ago."
"And you called me forty-five minutes ago?"
"We had to conduct our own search first," said Swig. He picked at a mole, brought a rosy flush to its borders.
"And?"
Swig looked away. "We haven't found him."
Milo was silent.
"Look," said Swig, "we had to do our own search first. I'm not even sure I should've called you. It's sheriff's jurisdiction-actually, it's our jurisdiction."
"So you did me a favor," said Milo.
"You had an interest in Peake. I'm frying to cooperate."
Milo stepped closer to the body, kneeled, looked under Dollard's chin.
"Looks like one transverse cut," he said. "Has anyone moved him?"
"No," said Swig. "Nothing's been touched."
"Who found him?"
Swig pointed to one of the three techs. "Bart did." The man stepped forward. Young,
Chinese, delicately built, but with the oversized arms of a bodybuilder. His badge photo was that of a stunned child. B. L. Quan, Tech II.
"Tell me about it," Milo told him.
"We were in lockdown," said Quan. "Not because of any problems; we do it during staff meetings."
"How frequent are staff meetings?"
"Twice a week for each shift."
"What days?"
"It depends on the shift," said Quan. "Tonight was for the eleven-to-seven.
Six-thirty. Friday night, the weekly summary. The patients go in lockdown and the staff goes in there." He pointed to the TV room.
"No staff on the ward?" said Milo.
"One tech stays outside. We rotate. There's never been any problem, the patients are all locked up tight."
Milo looked at the body.
Quan shrugged.
"And Dollard was scheduled to be the outside guy tonight."
Quan nodded.
"But your beeper never went off."
"Right."
"So what made you look for him?" said Milo.
"The meeting was over, I was doing a double, and Frank was supposed to talk to me about some patients. Give me the transfer data-meds, things to watch out for, that kind of thing. He didn't show up, I thought he forgot."
"Was that typical?" said Milo. "Frank forgetting?"
Quan looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Swig.
"Don't worry," said Milo. "You can't embarrass him anymore."
Quan said, "Sometimes."
"Sometimes what?"
Quan shifted his feet. Milo turned to Swig.
"Tell him anything you know," said Swig. His voice had turned hoarse. He rolled his fingers, rubbed another mole.
"Sometimes Frank forgot things," said Quan. "That's why I didn't make any big deal out of it. But then, when I went to get the charts I couldn't find one of them-Peake's. So I checked out Peake's room."
"You ever find the chart?"
"No."
"What else?" said Milo.
"That's it. I saw Frank, Peake was gone, I locked the door, put out a Code Three alert. Easy, we were already in lock-down. Mr. Swig came in, we brought outside guards onto the wards, and a bunch of us searched everywhere. He's got to be somewhere, it makes no sense."
"What doesn't?" said Milo.
"Peake disappearing like that. You don't just disappear at Starkweather."
Milo asked for a key to Peake's room, got Swig's, closed the door and locked it, then moved out of earshot and used his cell phone to call the sheriff. He talked for a long time. None of the guards or techs budged.
The silence seemed to amplify. Then it began to falter- with sporadic knocks from behind some of the brown doors; muffled scuffs, faint as mouse steps. Cries, moans, escalating gradually but steadily into ragged shards of noise that could only be human voices in distress.
A chorus of cries. The guards and techs eyed one another. Swig seemed oblivious.
"Shit," said the bearded tech. "Shut the hell up."
Swig moved farther up the hall. No one attempted to stop the noise.
Louder and louder, frantic pounding from within the cells.
The inmates knew. Somehow, they knew.
Milo pocketed the phone and returned. "Sheriff's crime-scene team should be here shortly. Squad cars will be searching a five-mile radius outside the hospital grounds. Tell your men in front not to hold anyone up at the gate."
Swig said, "We need to keep this under wraps until- What I mean is, let's find out exactly what happened before we jump to-"
"What do you think happened, Mr. Swig?"
"Peake surprised Frank and cut his throat. Frank's a strong man. So it had to be a sneak attack."
"What did Peake use to cut him?"
No answer.
"No guesses?" said Milo. "What about Dollard's own knife?"
"None of the techs are armed," said Swig.
"Theoretically."
"Theoretically and factually, Detective. For obvious reasons we have strict-"
Milo cut him off: "You have rules, an ironclad system. So tell me, are techs and doctors required to check in weapons at the guardhouse the way we were?"
Swig didn't answer.
"Sir?"
"That would be cumbersome. The sheer number of..."
Milo looked over at the three techs. No telltale evasive gestures. The big bearded man stared back defiantly.
"So everyone but staff is required to surrender weapons?"
"Staff knows not to bring weapons," said Swig.
Milo reached into his jacket, pulled out his service revolver, dangled it from his
index finger. "Dr. Delaware?"
I produced my Swiss Army knife. Both guards tensed.
"No one checked us tonight. I guess the system breaks down from time to time," said
Milo.
"Look," said Swig, raising his voice. He exhaled. "Tonight is different. I told them to facilitate your entry. I had full knowledge-"
"So you're willing to bet Dollard wasn't carrying the blade that killed him?"
"Frank was very trustworthy."
"Even though he tended to forget things?"
"I've never heard that," said Swig.
"You just did," said Milo. "Let me tell you about Frank. Hemet P.D. fired him for malfeasance. Ignoring calls, false overtime-"
"I had absolutely no knowledge of-"
"So maybe there are other things you have no knowledge of."
"Look," Swig repeated. But he added nothing, just shook his head and tried to smooth down his filmy hair. His Adam's apple rose and fell. He said, "Why bother? You've already got your mind made up."
Milo turned to the techs. "If I frisk any of you guys, am I going to turn up something?"
Silence.
He walked across the hall. Bart Quan's feet spread, as if ready for combat, and the other two men folded their arms across their chests-the same resistant stance
Dollard had adopted yesterday.
"Tell them to cooperate," said Milo.
"Do what he says," said Swig.
Quickly, efficiently, Milo patted down the techs. Nothing on Quan or the tech who hadn't spoken-an older man with droopy eyes-but the jeans of the heavy, bearded man produced a bone-handled pocketknife.
Milo unfolded the blade. Four inches of gracefully honed steel. Milo turned it admiringly.
"Steve," said Swig.
The heavy man's face quivered. "So what?" he said. "Work with these animals, you take care of yourself."
Milo kept examining the blade." Where'd you get it, Home Shopping Network?"
"Knife show," said Steve. "And don't worry, man, I haven't used it since I went hunting last winter." "Kill anything?" "Skinned some elk. Tasty."
Folding the knife, Milo dropped it in his jacket pocket. "That's mine, man," said
Steve. "If it's clean, you'll get it back." "When? I want a receipt."
"Quiet, Steve," ordered Swig. "You and I will talk later." The bearded man's nostrils opened wide. "Yeah, right. If I even want to stay in this dump."
"That's up to you, Steve. Meanwhile, the state's still paying your salary, so listen up: Go down to A and B Wards, make sure everything's in order. Complete foot circuits, constant surveillance including door checks. No breaks till you're notified."
The bearded man gave Milo one last glare and stomped around the left side of the nursing station. "Where's he heading?" said Milo. "Staff elevator."
"We didn't see any elevator when we toured." "The door's unmarked, staff only," said
Swig. "We need to keep searching. Can I free these guards?" "Sure," said Milo.
"Go," Swig told the uniformed men. "Where?" said one of them.
"Every damn where! Start with the outer grounds, north and south perimeters. Make sure he's not hiding somewhere in the trees." Swig turned to the two remaining techs. "Bart, you and Jim search the basement again. Kitchen, laundry, every storage room. Make sure everything's as tight as it was the first time we looked."