I looked at Mercer and tried to find an outlet for my temper. My elbow rested on the table, head in my hand, as I struggled with a plan for how to proceed.

Could he be malingering and doing it as well as this? Or was I simply wasting my time talking to someone who would never make any sense, never be found competent in a court of law?

“Why don’t you tell me what Charlie told you to do to the doctor? Why don’t we talk about that for a while? Charlie told me to ask you about that.”

Pops smiled at me again when I spoke Charlie’s name. “Yeah, but I can’t hear him now. All’s I can tell you is how I’m sorry that the doctor isn’t feeling good today.”

The three of us chased each other’s words around in circles for the next twenty minutes. We didn’t move Bailey from his senseless ramblings, and when he tired of us altogether he crossed his arms on the table and rested his head against them.

Wallace stood and motioned me out of the room. Chapman and Peterson had been watching through the window and started back to the lieutenant’s office when they saw us leave. I was frustrated and annoyed and certain that nothing Bailey said would be of any use to us in building the case against him.

“Going nowhere.”

“This is not a scene to memorialize on tape, that’s for sure.”

Mercer took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and announced that he’d go in and keep the conversation up until we made a decision about booking Pops and making the arrest official.

“Let me make some calls to my office. See how Battaglia wants me to go on from here. Make sure Public Relations is ready for the blitz from the press. Give me half an hour on the phone.”

The lieutenant got up from behind the desk. “Use this one. I’ll be out in the squad room.

“You ready for a little more pressure, Alexandra?”

“Shoot.”

“Capital Defenders Office called. Steve Rubinstein. Heard on the news you have someone in custody and they want to represent him. Want to send someone up here to talk to him, make you cut off the questioning.”

“Tell ‘em to call his brother, Charlie,” Chapman said.

New York had reinstated the death penalty in 1996 and the intentional killing of a woman during an attempted rape would make the murderer a prime candidate for a lethal cocktail after his conviction. Battaglia had opposed the legislation and I guessed he would be relieved that Pops’s psychiatric condition might take him out of the running for such a result.

I took the slip of paper with Rubinstein’s number on it from Peterson and added his name to the list of calls I needed to make.

I sat at the desk and dialed Battaglia’s number. Rose answered, told me he was in the car on his way to deliver a speech to the Citizens Crime Commission. She patched me through.

“Good work, Alex. Congratulate Peterson for me.”

“I need your advice on this one, Paul. At the moment, everything we’ve got is circumstantial. Forget statements. Nothing he says makes very much sense.

“It could be another day or so until we get the DNA match on the blood. I’m hoping that by then we’ll turn up some hard evidence, like something he took from Dogen’s office, or maybe even the weapon. I mean, they’re going through all the garbage receptacles and all the alleyways around the hospital. I’m reluctant to stand before a judge and ask to hold the guy with what we’ve got on the case at this point,” I said, outlining Bailey’s history to the District Attorney as I finished up my presentation.

“He’s never been discharged from Rockland State?” Battaglia asked, referring to one of the psychiatric facilities of the New York prison system.

“No. He absconded.”

“Let’s do an end run, Alex. Skip the arrest and arraignment until you have all the evidence you want. Get him over to the psych ward at Bellevue and tell Rockland you want them to do a hearing on the escape charge. That way, he’s held in the prison section of the hospital, which buys you a little time to put the case together while he’s under police guard. We won’t lock him up for Dogen’s killing ‘til you tell me you’re ready.”

“You’ll back me on it, boss?” I asked, knowing that my nemesis, Deputy Chief of the Trial Division Pat McKinney, would be second-guessing every decision I made on the case.

“Absolutely. No point in sticking our necks out ‘til we have the results you need. Screw the Capital Defenders. He hasn’t asked for a lawyer yet and we haven’t charged him with murder. I’ll handle the media on this myself.”

I hung up and dialed Mid-Manhattan Hospital. Maureen Forester had been admitted earlier this morning. The operator gave me her extension number and connected me to the room.

“How do you feel?”

“So far, so good. Even better since I heard you got your man. And thanks for the robe.”

“Well, I understand there’s a solarium at the end of your hallway where all the ambulatory patients wander in and out. I figured if you’re the best-dressed girl in the crowd, you might attract some companions who’ll gossip with you.”

“I take it you still want me to stay in here for a couple of days, then?”

“Yeah. We don’t know what we’ve got yet. Mike thinks Pops may have had an accomplice when he attacked Dogen. Some of his cronies may have heard or seen something after the murder. We’d just like to play it safe if you don’t mind.”

“Mind? This is a piece of cake. My first audition is at eleven-thirty. They’re bringing some interns by to have me describe my symptoms.”

“Show-and-tell?”

“No show, thank you very much. Just a history for the moment.”

“Well, Sarah will be up to visit later. I’ll be in touch. Mercer and Mike send their love. ‘Bye.”

I made some more calls, then opened Peterson’s door and checked what was going on in the squad room. Almost all of the men had gone back to the hospital to continue to canvass for evidence or witnesses. Wallace was still in the room with Bailey but making no progress.

The lieutenant was reviewing the memo books of two of his men. “Battaglia’s got a great idea to keep us from jumping the gun on arraigning Bailey.” I explained the plan to lodge him in the prison psych ward on his old case and avoid a premature statement on the strengths of our case until the evidence was analyzed and asked Peterson to tell Chapman, Wallace, and the rest of the team.

“I feel pretty useless here, Loo. It makes more sense for me to go down to my office and get some work done, don’t you think? If you need me for anything else, just call and I’ll come on back.”

I gathered all of my paperwork and left the precinct, again by the rear exit. I grabbed a cab on Lexington Avenue and continued to read police reports as it plodded downtown through the busy traffic of a midday Friday. I arrived at the office as most of the assistants were breaking for lunch. Laura handed me my messages, offering to bring me something to eat on her way back from a round of errands. I placed my order for some tuna salad and a Diet Coke and settled in to return calls and check on the lawyers in the unit.

The afternoon dragged for me. No word from anyone at the Squad, and Sarah was at the hospital keeping Maureen company. The usual trail of complainants in new cases dropped off as it always seemed to on Fridays after the lunch hour. And for those of my colleagues not on trial, it was a getaway time. If I wasn’t looking for them, they certainly weren’t looking for me.

It was after four-thirty when Laura told me that Jordan Goodrich, my best friend from my first days at law school, was on the line.

“Susan just called me. She knows you’re in the middle of a big case but wonders if you feel like joining us for a simple dinner at home with the kids tonight?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so. I’m whipped. I’m just going to make it an early night at home. Me and my Lean Cuisine.”

“How about a drink first?”