Back in the corridor, Dollard had flushed again. The rage of a dogmatist proven wrong. "I'll get to the bottom of this." He was heading for the nursing station when a sluggish, abrasive sound stopped him.

Swish swish… swish swish… swish swish… Like a snare drum bottoming a slow dance. Seconds later, Peake stepped out from around the left side of the station.

Swish… Paper slippers shuffling on linoleum.

Heidi Ott held his elbow as he stumbled forward, eyelids half-shut, each step causing his triangular head to bob like that of a rear-window stuffed dog. In the merciless fluorescence of the hallway, the bits of stubble on his head and face looked like random blackheads. The furrows on his skull seemed painfully deep. He was bent over sharply, as if his spine had given way. As if gravity would have pulled him down but for Heidi's grip.

Neither of them noticed us as she propelled him, whispering encouragement.

Dollard said, "Hey," and she looked up. Her hair was drawn back in a tight bun, her expression bland. Peake could've been any kind of invalid, she his long-suffering daughter.

She held him back. Peake swayed, opened his eyes, but still didn't seem to be aware of our presence. He rolled his head. His purple-slug tongue oozed out, curled, remained suspended for several seconds before retreating.

"What's going on?" said Dollard.

"Taking a walk," said Heidi. "I thought some exercise might help."

"Help with what?" said Dollard. His thick arms snapped across his chest, fingers digging into stout biceps.

"Is something wrong, Frank?"

"No, everything's great, terrific-they want to see him again. Be nice if he was where he's supposed to be."

"Sorry," said Heidi, glancing my way. "Is he on room restriction? I didn't hear about it."

"Not yet he isn't," said Dollard. "Go on, put him back." To Milo: "Do your thing, I'll be back in fifteen."

Arms still folded, he walked off.

Heidi smiled uneasily-a teenager embarrassed by Dad's outburst. "Okay, Ardis, exercise time's over." One of Peake's eyes opened wider. Bleary, unfocused. He licked his lips, extended his tongue again, rolled his shoulders.

"No one bothers to get him out," said Heidi. "I thought it might help with… you know."

"Verbal output," I said.

She shrugged. "It didn't seem like a bad idea. C'mon, Ardis, let's get you back."

She guided him across the hall to his room, led him to his bed, sat him down. He stayed exactly where she put him. For several seconds, no one said anything. Peake didn't budge for a while. Then the tongue-thrusts renewed. Both eyes fluttered, struggled to stay open, couldn't.

Heidi said, "Could one of you please turn off the light? I think it bothers him."

I flipped the switch and the room turned gray. Peake sat there, licking and rolling his head. The same reek of intestinal gas and charred wood seemed to press forward, a putrid greeting triggered by our entry.

Heidi turned to Milo. "Why was Frank so bugged? Is something wrong?"

"Frank's not in a good mood. So tell me, has Peake been talking at all since you taped him?"

She shook her head. "No, sorry. I've been trying, but nothing. That's why I thought some exercise…"

Peake rolled his head. Rocked.

Milo motioned us away from the bed. We moved toward the doorway.

Milo said, "So no elaboration on 'choo choo bang bang.' "

Heidi's eyes widened. "Does that actually mean something?"

Milo shrugged. "Let me ask you, did Peake ever mention anything else-like a name?"

"What name?" she said.

"Wark."

She repeated it very slowly. "Doesn't really sound like a name… more like a bark."

"So he might've blurted it and you would've thought it was just gibberish?"

"Maybe… But no, he never said that." She reached to tug her ponytail. Nothing there. Her hand rose to the tight bun. "Wark… No, he never said that. Why? Who is it?"

"Maybe a friend of Peake's."

"He doesn't have any friends."

"Old friend," said Milo. "Are you still taping?"

"I tried… when I could. Why's Frank so uptight?"

"Frank doesn't like being told what to do."

"Oh," she said. "And you've got him actually working."

"Frank doesn't like to work?"

She hesitated. Moved closer to the door, looked out through the hatch. "This may not be true, but I heard he got fired from some police department for sleeping on the job. Or something like that."

"Who'd you hear it from?" said Milo.

"Just talk on the wards. He's also a sexist-treats me like I don't belong. You saw his attitude-I mean, what's wrong with taking someone who never gets out for a walk? All the other patients are watching TV, it's not like anyone's getting neglected."

I said, "Has Frank been giving you other problems?"

"Basically what you just saw-attitude. Swig likes him, so he doesn't have to do too much scut."

She glanced back at Peake. He continued to sit and rock and lick air. "You're saying Peake actually has a friend? From his past?"

"Hard to believe?" I said.

"Sure is. I've never seen him make contact with anyone."

Milo said, "No mail?"

"Not that I know about. Same with phone calls. He never leaves his room."

"Till today "I said.

"Well, yeah. I was trying to help out. What's this Wark done? What's going on?"

"Probably nothing," said Milo. "Just working all the angles. You drill a bunch of wells, hope for a trickle every now and then."

"Sounds too slow for me," said Heidi. "No offense."

"Not like jumping off power stations."

She smiled. "Very few things are."

We left Peake's room and she locked the door.

Milo said, "Any idea where I could get a personnel list?"

"I guess in the front office. Why?"

"To see who else I should talk to."

"If it's about Peake," she said, "I'm the only one worth talking to. No one else pays attention to him, now that Claire's gone."

"How much time exactly did she spend?" I said.

"Hrnm. Hard to say. There were times when I was on shift when she'd be in there as long as an hour. Sometimes every day. Usually every day. She was like that-involved."

"With everyone?"

"No," she said. "Not really. I mean she spent more time with her patients, in general, than the other docs. But Peake was… she seemed to be especially interested in him."

"Speaking of her patients," I said, "we just met the men in the Living Skills group. Low-functioning, just like you said. Any idea what criteria she used to pick them?"

"We never discussed that. I was just the tech. Mostly I stood guard, got supplies. To be honest, the group never really went anywhere. Claire seemed to be… observing them more than training. The group only met seven times before she was…" Shaking her head. Stroking the bun. "Sometimes it just hits me. What actually happened to her."

"Do you have any background information on the men? What they did to get here?"

"Let's see… there's Ezzard Jackson-skinny black guy. He killed his wife. Tied her up in their house and burned it down. Same with Holtzmann-the old man you'd never think could do anything criminal. He cut his wife up, stored the pieces in the freezer, marked them the way a butcher would- flank, loin. Randall shot his parents-he was into some Nazi stuff, had some delusion they were part of a Zionist plot… Who else… The other black guy. Pretty. That's his name- Monroe Pretty. Killed his kids, four of them, little ones. Drowned them in the bathtub, one by one. Sam Paz-the Mexican guy-went bonkers at his brother's wedding. Shot his brother and his mother and a bunch of bystanders. All told, I think six people died. The giant, Chet Bodine, was living like a hermit. Killed some hikers."

So many madmen, so little time…

I said, "All except Chet victimized family members."

"Actually, Chet wasn't picked for the group," she said. "He found out about it, asked Claire if he could join. He was so verbal, she thought it might stimulate the others, so she agreed. Yeah, you're right. I never thought about it, but she must've been interested in family killers."