“You’re not allowed to have a gun in the hospital.”
“I’m acquainted with the regulations,” April assured her.
“If an unstable person got a hold of that”—Gunn rolled her eyes—“anybody could get killed. We don’t have a police guard like they do at Bellevue.” She started to cry again. “You don’t know the things that can happen in a place like this.”
April could smell the remains of coffee in the Styrofoam cup on her desk. It was one of those gourmet blends. The aroma was strongly perfumed vanilla or hazelnut. Next to the cup, near the computer, two doughnuts wrapped in plastic wrap waited to be consumed.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” April didn’t wait for an answer. She sat in the chair by the desk and took out her notebook, wrote down the day, the date, the time, who was with her, and what Gunn Tram had said so far. Then she wrote: DISKS???
The woman’s chins trembled. “How long will this take?”
April shrugged. “Depends.”
Gunn took a deep breath and tore apart one of the doughnuts.
“How well did you know Dr. Dickey?” April tried some subtle backtracking. It wasn’t easy now. She was tired and didn’t like the people there. They were like Chinese puzzle boxes, complicated and deceptive.
“I’ve been working here as long as he has,” Gunn said stiffly.
“How long is that?”
“More than thirty years.” She studied the pieces of doughnut, then took a bite of the smallest, chewed daintily.
“So you knew him pretty well.”
“Very well.” Of that fact she was proud. “We have to be careful about the people who work here. Accidents are”—her eyes teared up again—“costly for everyone.”
“What kind of accidents?”
“Oh, in a hospital anything can happen. If a patient who shouldn’t be out gets a weekend pass, then goes home and hurts somebody or hurts himself. Or somebody gets the wrong medication and …” She left the rest hanging in the air. “Or someone elopes.”
April sighed. Elopements, wrong medication. Wrongful death in a mental hospital. “What’s the procedure when something goes wrong?”
Gunn rolled her eyes again. “Oh, God, there’s an internal investigation for everything—reports, meetings, disciplinary actions. No accident goes unpunished,” she said softly, “except maybe the ones that do.”
“Did Dr. Dickey often work on Sundays?”
“He never did that I remember.”
“What was he working on last Sunday?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are your personnel files on disks?”
“What?” Gunn brushed sugar from her fingers.
April pointed to the computer. “Have you got the personnel files in the computer?”
“Only the business data. The personal stuff—evaluations, promotion information, histories, disciplinary-action reports—are kept separately in the files. There’s never been the manpower to enter it all in.”
“What about Robert Boudreau’s file?”
“Who?”
“Dr. Dickey asked you for files. Was Boudreau’s file one of them?”
The hostile look was back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dr. Dickey took files of certain people. Did he tell you why he wanted them?”
Gunn took another bite of the doughnut. “I think he was doing some kind of survey.”
Uh-huh. “And what about Boudreau?”
Gunn frowned, then shook her head. “Dr. Dickey never mentioned the name.”
“Gunn, I heard that you know a great deal about what’s going on here. Have you ever heard anything about Dr. Dickey being depressed or drinking in his office?”
Gunn looked horrified. “Dr. Dickey? Never. He was a wonderful man.”
That was as far as April got with Gunn. She gave the woman her card. Then she had to wait ten minutes to get her bullets back from the head nurse. She wasn’t out of the hospital yet, so she put them in her pocket.
Her next interview was in the cafeteria. She was meeting with John Flower, a resident who had been in therapy with Dickey. The untidy young man came in several minutes after she did. He was wearing a maroon knit tie and a wrinkled blue work shirt
“Two years ago he had surgery on his knees. He put his whole life in order in case something happened and he didn’t survive. Got someone to cover his seminars and everything.”
The young man played with his cup of coffee. It had come from the carafe marked GOURMET BLEND. The flavor of the week was titled vanilla-hazelnut. April had passed it up for the carafe labeled REGULAR. Hers was not a good choice. The murky liquid tasted like mold.
“He never missed a session, was never late. Why are you asking me these things?” John looked at her with undisguised curiosity.
“Dr. Dickey had taken some medication that contributed to his death. We’re trying to establish how that happened, Dr. Flower.”
“Oh, please, call me John.” John cocked his head, staring at her in a boyish way. She noticed that he had green eyes. “May I ask you what?”
“What medication?”
“Yes, it might help.”
“I really can’t say.”
Flower made a harrumphing noise. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, except there are things you can take by accident and things you can’t, if you see what I mean.”
April smiled. “It was, apparently, something he didn’t take as a general rule.”
“The rumors say he was drunk.”
“Was he a drinker?” April asked evenly.
Flower raised an eyebrow, continuing to stare at her speculatively. “From time to time I have had the suspicion. Not enough to incapacitate him, though. He never looked or acted drunk.”
April nodded. She wondered what was wrong with the young doctor that he had to be in therapy. He seemed attractive and not unintelligent. “Do you think he was suicidal?”
Flower shook his head. “Once he got hung up at an airport somewhere and didn’t think he was going to be able to make my session. He called me from the airport and left a message on my machine.”
He fell silent, breathing in the scented steam of his coffee. Then he said, “I had a nine-o’clock on Monday.”
“Uh-huh,” April said.
“We were going to terminate soon.”
“Terminate? Does that mean the end of treatment?”
“Yes, and I knew him very well. He wouldn’t have done this to himself without making sure I was okay. And that goes for everybody else he treated.”
“I understand.” April glanced at her watch. She was going to be late for the FBI. “Look, I have to go. Thanks for your help.”
Flower seemed disappointed. “Listen, I’d like to help. Can we talk again? I could nose around, ask a few questions, and get back to you.”
“Thanks,” April said, holding in a smile. Everybody there was so helpful. “I’ll let you know.”
“He was a great guy. I wouldn’t like to think …” John Flower got up and followed her to the door. “You’ll find out, won’t you? You’ll find out what really happened to him, won’t you?”
“Yeah,” April murmured. “We usually do.”
