'Then she did,' I said. 'Of course, she did. How could she not? Did you know she wrote to me, Ms Blaustein, asking me to come see her and bring her Gault's autopsy photos?'

She said nothing, but her eyes were coming alive.

'He was hit by a train in the Bowery. Scattered along the tracks.'

'Did you do his autopsy?' she asked.

'No.'

'Then why would Carrie ask you for the photos, Dr Scarpetta?'

'Because she knew I could get them. Carrie wanted to see them, blood and gore and all. This was less than a week before she escaped. I'm just wondering if you knew she was sending out letters like that? A clear indication, as far as I'm concerned, that she had premeditated all she was about to do next.'

'No.'

Blaustein pointed her finger at me.

'What she was thinking was how she was being framed to take the heat because the FBI couldn't find its damn way out of a paper bag and needed to hang all this on someone,' she accused.

'I see you read the papers.'

Her face turned angry.

'I talked to Carrie for five years,' she said. 'She wasn't the one sleeping with the Bureau, right?'

'In a way she was.' I thought honestly of Lucy. 'And quite frankly, Ms Blaustein, I'm not here to change your opinion of your client. My purpose is to investigate a number of deaths and do what I can to prevent others.'

Carrie's legal aid attorney began shoving around paperwork again.

'It seems to me that the reason Carrie had been here so long is that every time an evaluation of her mental status came up, you made sure it was clear that she had not regained competency,' I went on. 'Meaning she is also incompetent to stand trial, right? Meaning she is so mentally ill that she's not even aware of the charges against her? And yet she must have been somewhat aware of her situation, or how else could she have trumped up this whole business about the FBI framing her? Or was it you who trumped that up?'

'This meeting has just ended,' Blaustein announced, and had she been a judge, she would have slammed down the gavel.

'Carrie's nothing but a malingerer,' I said. 'She played it up, manipulated. Let me guess. She was very depressed, couldn't remember anything when it was important. Was probably on Ativan, which probably didn't put a dent in her. She clearly had the energy to write letters. And what other privileges might she have enjoyed? Telephone, photocopying?'

'The patients have civil rights,' Blaustein said evenly. 'She was very quiet. Played a lot of chess and spades. She liked to read. There were mitigating and aggravating circumstances at the time of the offenses, and she was not responsible for her actions. She was very remorseful.'

'Carrie always was a great salesperson,' I said. 'Always a master at getting what she wanted, and she wanted to be here long enough to make her next move. And now she's made it.'

I opened my pocketbook and got out a copy of the letter Carrie had written to me. I dropped it in front of Blaustein.

'Pay special attention to the return address at the top of it. One Pheasant Place, Kirby Women's Ward,' I said. 'Do you have any idea what she meant by that, or would you like me to hazard a guess?'

'I don't have a clue.' She was reading the letter, a perplexed expression on her face.

'Possibly the one-place part is a play off One Hogan Place, or the address of the District Attorney that eventually would have prosecuted her.'

'I don't have a clue as to what was going through her mind.'

'Let's talk about pheasants,' I then said. 'You have pheasants along the riverbank right outside your door.'

'I haven't noticed.'

'I noticed because we landed in the field there. And that's right, you wouldn't have noticed unless you waded through half an acre of overgrown grass and weeds and went to the water's edge, near the old pier.'

She said nothing, but I could tell she was getting unsettled.

'So my question is, how might Carrie or any of the inmates have known about the pheasants?'

Still, she was silent.

'You know very well why, don't you?' I forced her.

She stared at me.

'A maximum security patient should never have been in that field or even close to it, Ms Blaustein. If you don't wish to talk to me about it, then I'll just let the police take it up with you, since Carrie's escape is rather much a priority for law enforcement these days. Indeed, I'm sure your fine mayor isn't happy about the continuing bad publicity Carrie brings to a city that has become famous for defeating crime.'

'I don't know how Carrie knew,' Ms Blaustein finally said. 'This is the first I've ever heard of fucking pheasants. Maybe someone on the staff said something to her. Maybe one of the delivery people from the store, someone from the outside, such as yourself, in other words.'

'What store?'

'The patient privilege programs allow them to earn credits or money for the store. Snacks, mostly. They get one delivery a week, and they have to use their own money.'

'Where did Carrie get money?'

Blaustein would not say.

'What day did her deliveries come?'

'Depends. Usually early in the week, Monday, Tuesday, late in the afternoon, usually.'

'She escaped late in the afternoon, on a Tuesday,' I said.

'That's correct.' Her eyes got harder.

'And what about the deliveryperson?' I then asked. 'Has anybody bothered to see if he or she might have had anything to do with this?'

'The deliveryperson was a he,' Blaustein said with no emotion. 'No one has been able to locate him. He was a substitute for the usual person, who apparently was out sick.'

'A substitute? Right. Carrie was interested in more than potato chips!' My voice rose. 'Let me guess. The delivery people wear uniforms and drive a van. Carrie puts on a uniform and walks right out with her deliveryman. Gets in the van and is out of here.'

'Speculation. We don't know how she got out.'

'Oh, I think you do, Ms Blaustein. And I'm wondering if you didn't help Carrie with money, too, since she was so special to you.'

She got to her feet and pointed her finger at me again.

'If you're accusing me of helping her escape…'

'You helped her in one way or another,' I cut her off.

I fought back tears as I thought of Carrie free on the streets, as I thought about Benton.

'You monster,' I said, and my eyes were hot on hers. 'I'd like you to spend just one day with the victims. Just one goddamn day, putting your hands in their blood and touching their wounds. The innocent people the Carries of the world butcher for sport. I think there would be some people who would not be too happy to know about Carrie, her privileges, and unaccounted source of income,' I said. 'Others besides me.'

We were interrupted by a knock on her door, and Dr Ensor walked in.

'I thought I might take you on your tour,' she said to me. 'Susan seems busy. Are you finished up here?' she asked the legal aid attorney.

'Quite.'

'Very good,' she said with a chilly smile.

I knew then that the director was perfectly clear on how much Susan Blaustein had abused power, trust, and common decency. In the end, Blaustein had manipulated the hospital as much as Carrie had.

'Thank you,' I said to the director.

I left, turning my back on Carrie's defender.

May you rot in hell, I thought.

I followed Dr Ensor again, this time to a large stainless steel elevator that opened onto barren beige hallways closed off with heavy red doors that required codes for entry. Everything was monitored by closed circuit TV. Apparently Carrie had enjoyed working in the pet program, which entailed daily visits to the eleventh floor, where animals were kept in cages inside a small room with a view of razor wire.

The menagerie was dimly lit and moist with the musky smells of animals and wood chips, and the skittering of claws. There were parakeets, guinea pigs, and a Russian dwarf hamster. On a table was a box of rich soil thick with tender shoots.