As we exited, Chet shouted, "Wait I've solved it cherchez la femme cherchez la femme-!"
Outside, Dollard locked the door to the annex and handed Holtzmann over to the other two techs. The old man simpered but looked thrilled.
The taller tech said, "Tuck yourself in. Now."
Holtzmann obeyed, dropped his hands to his side.
"Nice to meet you." Kindly Grandpa again. "Mr. Dollard, if I've offended-"
"Don't say another damn word," Dollard ordered him. To the techs: "Keep them in there while I deal with these two. I'll send Mills back to help you."
The techs moved Holtzmann to the wall, had him face the stucco. "Don't budge, old man." Pointing at the door, one of them said, "They okay in there, Frank?"
"Chet Bodine's running his mouth like a broken toilet and Jackson's ticked at him.
At Randall, too-he's doing the Aryan crap."
"Really?" said the tech lightly. "Haven't heard that in a while, thought we had it under control."
"Yeah," said Dollard. "Something must have tensed them all up."
When we were back at the main building, he said, "Now, that was a good expenditure of taxpayers' money."
Milo said, "I want to see Peake."
"And I want to fuck Sharon Stone-"
"Take me to Peake, Frank."
"Oh, sure, just like that. Who the hell do you think-" Again, Dollard checked his anger. Chuckled. "That requires authorization, Detective. Meaning Mr. Swig, and, like I said, he's not-"
"Call him," said Milo.
Dollard bent one leg. "Because you order me to do it?"
"Because I can be back here in an hour with serious backup and a warrant on you for obstruction of justice. My bosses are antsy about this one, Dollard. Maybe Swig will eventually be able to protect you, but seeing as he's not here, he won't stop you from going through the process. I'm talking Central Booking. You were a cop, you know the drill."
Dollard's face was the color of rare steak. His words came out slow and clipped.
"You have no idea what kind of deep shit you're getting yourself into."
"I have a real good idea, Frank. Let's play the media game. Bunch of TV idiots with
sound trucks and cameras. The slant I'll give them is the police were saddled with a stroke-inducing whodunit homicide and you did everything in your power to impede.
I'll also throw in a nice little sidebar about how you geniuses judged a mass murderer sane and qualified for release and then he proves how sane he is by turning himself into garbage. When all that hits the fan, Frank, think Uncle Senator's gonna help Swig, let alone you?"
Dollard's jaw jutted. He toed the dirt. "Why the hell are you doing this?"
"Just what I was going to ask you, Frank. Because this change of attitude on your part puzzles me. Ex-cop, you'd expect something different. Makes me wonder, Frank.
Maybe I should be looking closer at you."
"Look all you want," said Dollard, but his head drew back and his voice lacked conviction. Squinty eyes examined the sky. "Do your thing, man."
"Why the change, Frank?"
"No change," said Dollard. "The first time you were here was courtesy, the second time tolerance. Now you're a disruption-look at what you just did to those guys."
"Murder's a disruption," said Milo.
"I keep telling you, this murder had nothing to- Forget it. What the hell do you want from me?"
"Take me to Peake. After that, we'll see."
Dollard's toe stirred up more dirt. "Mr. Swig's in a serious budget meeting and can't be-"
"Who's second in command?"
"No one. Only Mr. Swig authorizes visits."
"Then leave him a message," said Milo. "I'll give you five minutes; after that, I'm outta here and it's a whole different game. When's the last time you had your fingers rolled for prints?"
Dollard looked up at the sky again. Someone on the yard howled.
Milo said, "Okay, Doc, we're outta here."
Dollard let us walk ten paces before saying, "Screw it. You get ten minutes with
Peake, in and out."
"No, Frank," said Milo. "I get what I want."
28.
WE ENTERED THE main building. Milo got to the door first, throwing off Dollard's rhythm. Lindeen Schmitz was at the front desk, talking on the phone. She began to smile up at Milo, but a glance from Dollard stopped her.
We rode up to C Ward in silence. On the other side of the double doors, four inmates idled. I could see the nurses in the station chatting cheerfully. Laughter, shallow
and grating, spilled from the TV room.
Dollard stomped to Peake's room, unlocked the peep hatch, flipped the light switch, frowned. He released both bolts and opened the door cautiously. A brief look inside.
"Not here." Trying to sound annoyed, but puzzlement took over.
"How about that," said Milo. "He never leaves his room."
"I'm telling you," said Dollard, "he never does."
"Maybe he's watching TV," I said.
We went over to the big room, scanned the faces. Two dozen men in khaki stared at the screen. Canned yuks poured out of the box-a sitcom. No one in the room was laughing. Peake wasn't in the audience.
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.
