"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.

"What time last night did this happen?" Lucy asked.

"Late. Well after midnight."

Peter observed her hesitation. "There's some detail you would like to share?"

Again, Lucy hesitated. Then she said, "I believe I, too, was visited last night."

Peter seemed to rock back, slightly alarmed. "How so?"

Lucy took a breath, then described going back to the nurse-trainees' dormitory and finding her door unlocked, then locked upon her return. Although she was unable to say who, or why, and while she remained convinced that something had been taken, she was unable to say what. Everything seemed to be in place and intact. She had taken the time to inventory her small collection of possessions and could not find anything missing.

"So," Lucy said briskly, "as far as I can tell it's all there. Still, I can't shake the sensation that something is gone."

Peter nodded. "Perhaps you should double-check. Something obvious would be an article of clothing. Something a little more subtle would be" he seemed to think hard for a moment "some hair from your brush. Or perhaps he took a swipe of your lipstick and ran it down his chest. Or sprayed some perfume on the back of his hand. Something like that."

Lucy seemed slightly taken aback by that suggestion, and she shifted about in her seat as if it was a little hot, but before she replied, Francis shook his head back and forth vigorously. Peter turned to him, and asked, "What is it, C-Bird?"

Francis stuttered slightly, as he spoke. "I don't think you're quite right, Peter," he said, speaking quietly. "He doesn't need to take anything. Not clothes or a toothbrush or hair or underwear or perfume or anything that Lucy brought with her, because he's already taken something far bigger, and much more important. She just hasn't seen it quite yet. Maybe because she doesn't want to see it."

Peter smiled. "And what would that be, Francis?" he asked slowly, his voice a little low, but filled with an odd pleasure.

Francis's voice quavered slightly as he responded. "He took her privacy."

The three of them were quiet for a moment, as Francis's words filled each of them. "And then something else," he added cautiously.

"What's that?" Lucy demanded. Her face had reddened slightly, and she'd started to tap the end of a pencil against the surface of the desk.