Fever Dream

Question: It must have been, what, the late '80s?

Answer: I believe it would have been more in the early '70s.

The judge looked up. 'Did you or did you not say these things?'

'I did.'

'Well, then. You claim to have been born in the early 1970s on Water Street. But the court's research has proven this to be untrue beyond any doubt. And in any case you look far too young to have been born more than thirty years ago.'

Greene said nothing.

Felder started to rise. 'Your Honor, may I interject?'

The judge turned to him. 'Yes, Dr. Felder?'

'I've already thoroughly explored this line of questioning with the patient. With respect, Your Honor, I would remind the court that we are not dealing with a rational mind. I hope I won't offend the court by saying that in my professional opinion, there will be no useful result from this line of questioning.'

The judge tapped the folder with his glasses. 'Perhaps you're right, Doctor. And am I to understand that the nominative next-of-kin, Aloysius Pendergast, defers to the court in this matter?'

'He declined any invitation to be heard, Your Honor.'

'Very well.' The judge gathered up another sheaf of papers, took a deep breath, and looked out over the small, empty courtroom. He put his glasses back in place and bent over the papers. 'This court finds--' he began.

Constance Greene rose to her feet, her face suddenly flushed. For the first time, she looked like she was experiencing emotion; in fact, to Felder she looked almost angry. 'On second thought, I believe I shall speak,' she said, her voice suddenly possessing an edge. 'If I may, Your Honor?'

The judge sat back and folded his hands. 'I will allow a statement.'

'I was indeed born on Water Street in the '70s--the 1870s. You will find all you need to know in the city archives on Centre Street, and more in the New York Public Library. About me; about my sister, Mary, who was sent to the Five Points Mission and later killed by a mass murderer; about my brother, Joseph; about my parents, who died of tuberculosis--there's a fair amount of information there. I know, because I have seen the records myself.'

The silence stretched out in the court. Finally the judge said, 'Thank you, Ms. Greene. You may be seated.'

She sat down.

The judge cleared his throat. 'The court finds that Ms. Constance Greene, age unknown, address unknown, is of unsound mind and represents a clear and present danger to herself and others. Therefore, we order that Ms. Constance Greene be committed involuntarily to the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for appropriate observation and treatment. The term of this commitment shall be indefinite.'

He gave a tap with the gavel for emphasis. 'Court dismissed.'

Felder rose, feeling oddly dispirited. He threw a glance toward the unknown woman, who had risen again and was now flanked by two muscular guards. Standing between them, she looked small and almost frail. The color had left her face, which was once again expressionless. She knew what had just occurred--she had to know--and yet she showed not the slightest hint of emotion.

Felder turned away and walked out of the courtroom.

55

Sulphur, Louisiana

THE RENTAL BUICK HUMMED ALONG THE diamond-cut concrete of Interstate 10. Hayward had set the cruise control at seventy-five miles an hour, despite Pendergast's murmured observation that, at seventy-nine miles per hour, they would arrive in town five minutes earlier.

They had already logged two hundred miles on the Buick that day, and she had noted that Pendergast was becoming uncharacteristically irritable. He made no secret of his dislike of the Buick and had suggested more than once they switch to the Rolls-Royce--its windshield freshly repaired--but Hayward had refused to get into it. She couldn't imagine conducting an effective investigation while tooling around in a Rolls, and she wondered why Pendergast would even consider using such a flamboyant car for work. Driving his wife's vintage sports car had been bad enough; after twenty-four hours of that, Hayward had returned it to its garage and insisted on renting a much less exciting but infinitely more anonymous vehicle.

Pendergast seemed particularly annoyed that the first two names on Mary Ann Roblet's list hadn't panned out: one was long dead, the other non compos mentis and, on top of that, in a hospital on life support. They were now on their way to the third and last. He was Denison Phillips IV, former general counsel of Longitude, retired and living a quiet life on Bonvie Drive in the Bayou Glades Country Club area of Sulphur. The name and address had already created a picture in Hayward's mind of a member of a certain minor southern gentry: pompous, self-important, alcoholic, cunning, and above all uncooperative. From her days at LSU she knew the type all too well.

She saw the exit sign for Sulphur and slowed, moving into the right lane.

'I'm glad we ran a file on our Mr. Phillips,' Pendergast said.

'He came up clean.'

'Indeed,' came the curt reply. 'I'm referring to the file on Mr. Denison Phillips the Fifth.'

'His son? You mean, that drug conviction on his rap sheet?'

'It's rather serious: possession of more than five grams of cocaine with intent to sell. I also noted in the file that he's pre-law at LSU.'