"Peter, Gulp-a-pill said that there are some release hearings scheduled for this week…"

Peter's eyes had arched up. "That will put people on edge."

"Why?" Lucy asked.

"Hope," Peter responded, as if that single word said everything at once. Then he'd looked back at Francis. "What is it, C-Bird?"

"It seems to me that somehow there's some connection in all this to the dormitory room at Williams," he said slowly. "The Angel had to pick out the retarded man, so he had to be familiar with his routine in order to place the shirt there. And he had to figure out that the retarded man would be one of the men Lucy was going to question."

"Proximity," Peter said. "Opportunity to observe. Good point, Francis."

Lucy nodded, as well. "I think," she said, "that I will get the roster of patients in that dormitory room."

Francis thought for a moment, then asked, "Lucy, can you get the list of patients scheduled for release hearings, too?" He kept his voice low, so that no one could hear him.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "But so much seems to be happening and I'm trying to see how it might be connected."

Lucy nodded, but Francis was unsure whether she actually believed him.

"I'll see if I can get it, as well," she said, but Francis had the distinct impression that she was saying this to accommodate him, and wasn't seeing any potential connection. She looked over at Peter. "We could arrange to search the entire room over in Williams. It wouldn't take long, and it might turn up something of value."

Lucy thought to herself that it was critical to try to maintain the more concrete aspects of the investigation. Lists and suppositions were intriguing, but she was much more comfortable with the sorts of details that people can testify to in courtrooms. The loss of the bloody shirt bothered her far more than she had let on, and she was eager to find some other morsel of hard evidence that could provide the foundation for a case.

Lucy thought again: knife; fingertips; bloody clothes and shoes.

Something had to be somewhere she told herself.

"That might make some sense," Peter said. He looked over at the prosecutor, and recognized what might be at stake.

Francis, however, was less sure. He thought the Angel would surely have anticipated that maneuver. What they had to come up with, he thought, was something oblique. Something the Angel wouldn't think of. Something skewed and different and more in keeping with where they were, rather than where they wanted to be. The three of them started to head toward Lucy's office, but Francis spotted Big Black over by the nursing station, and he peeled off to speak with the huge attendant. The others continued on, not fully aware, it seemed, that Francis had dropped behind.

Big Black looked up. "It's early for medication, C-Bird," he said. "But I'm guessing that isn't what you want, is it?"

Francis shook his head. "You believed me, didn't you?"

The attendant glanced around, before answering. "I sure did, C-Bird. The problem is, it never does any good in here to agree with a patient when the brass thinks something different. You understand, don't you? It wasn't about the truth or not. It's about my job."

"He might come back. He might come back tonight."

"He might. I doubt it, though. If he thought killing you was the right thing, C-Bird, he would have done it already."

Francis agreed with this, although it was one of those observations that was both reassuring and frightening at the same time.

"Mister Moses," Francis croaked out breathlessly, "why is it that no one in here wants to help Miss Jones catch this guy?"

Big Black instantly stiffened and shifted about. "I'm helping, ain't I? My brother, he's helping, too."

"You know what I mean," Francis said.

Big Black nodded. "That I do, C-Bird. That I do."

He looked about, as if to reassure himself of what he already knew, which was that no one was close enough or paying attention enough to overhear his response. Still, he kept every word beneath his voice, speaking cautiously. "You got to understand something, C-Bird. In here, finding this guy that Miss Jones wants, with all the publicity and attention and maybe a state investigation and headlines and television stations and all that showing up, why, that would mean some people's careers. Far too many questions, getting asked. Probably tough questions, like why didn't you do this, or why didn't you do that? Maybe even have to have hearings at the State House. Lots of rocking the boat, and there ain't nobody who works for the state, especially a doc or a psychologist, who wants to be answering questions about how they let a killer live in the hospital here with nobody paying too much mind. We're talking scandal here, C-Bird. A helluva lot easier to cover it up, explain away a body or two. That's easy. No one gets blamed, everybody gets paid, nobody loses their job, and things go on day in and day out, just like before. Ain't no different from any hospital. Or prison, either, you think about it. Keeping things keeping on, that's what this is all about. Ain't you figured that part out for yourself yet?"

He had, he realized. He just didn't like it.

"You got to remember," Big Black added, shaking his head, "no one cares all that much about crazy people."

Miss Luscious looked up and scowled when Lucy walked into the reception area outside of Doctor Gulptilil's office. She made a point of busying herself with some forms, turning to her typewriter and furiously starting to type, just as Lucy approached her desk. "The doctor is occupied," she said, her fingers flying over the keyboard, and the steel ball of the old Selectric banging away on a piece of paper. "I don't have you scheduled for an appointment," she added.

"This should only take a second or two," Lucy said. '

"Well, I'll see if I can work you in. Have a seat." The secretary didn't make an effort to change position, or even pick up the telephone until Lucy moved away from the desk and plopped herself down onto a lumpy waiting room couch.

She kept her eyes directly on Miss Luscious, boring into her with intensity, until the secretary finally tired of the scrutiny, picked up the office phone and turned away from Lucy as she spoke. There was a brief exchange, and then the secretary turned and said, "The doctor can see you now," an almost comical cliche, given the circumstances, Lucy thought.

Doctor Gulptilil was standing behind his desk, staring out at the tree just beyond the glass. He cleared his throat as she entered, but remained in his position, not moving, as she hovered waiting for the physician to acknowledge her presence. After a moment or two, he turned, and with a small shake of his head, slumped down into his seat.

"Miss Jones," he said cautiously, "Your arrival here is most fortuitous, for it saves me the trouble of summoning you."

"Summoning me?"

"Indeed," Gulptilil said. "For I have recently been in contact with your boss, the Suffolk County prosecutor. And he is, shall we say, most curious about your presence here, and your progress." He leaned back with a crocodilian smile. "But you have a request for me? That has brought you to this office?"

"Yes," she replied slowly. "I would like the names and files for all the patients in Williams, in the second-floor dormitory, and if possible, the locations of their beds, so that I can connect names, diagnosis, and location."

Doctor Gulptilil nodded, still smiling. "Yes. This would be from the dormitory that is in such upheaval now, thanks to your prior inquiries?"

"Yes."

"The turmoil you have already created will take some time to settle down. If I do give you this information, will you promise me that before engaging in any other activities in that area of the hospital, you will inform me first?"