'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.'
Milo said, 'Any idea why?'
She pulled a bobby pin from the bun, slipped it back in. 'To be honest, it probably doesn't mean that much. Lots of the guys in here have murdered family members. Isn't that what crazy people usually do when they freak? Like Peake, he started with his mother, right? At least, that's what Claire told me.'
'What else did she tell you about Peake's crimes?'
She touched the tip of her nose. 'Just what he did. His mom and an entire family. What does any of that have to do with Claire being killed?'
'Maybe nothing,' said Milo. 'So are you gonna keep working with Peake?'
'I guess. If you want me to. Not that I'm accomplishing much.'
'Don't get yourself in trouble, Heidi. I appreciate whatever you do.'
'Sure,' she said, gnawing her lip.
'Is there a problem?'
'Like I told you before, I was figuring it was time to move on. Was kind of waiting until you got to the bottom of Claire's murder.'
'Wish I could tell you it would be soon, Heidi,' he said. 'Meanwhile, as long as Dr. Delaware's here, he might as well give Peake a try.'
'Oh, sure,' she said. 'Whatever.'
The door closed after me with a pneumatic hiss.
I stood halfway between the door and the bed, watching Peake. If he was aware of my presence, he didn't show it.
I watched. He did tongue calisthenics. Rocked, rolled, fluttered his eyes.
Standing there immobile, suspended in gray light, I began to feel formless, weightless. My nose habituated to the stink. Keeping my eyes on Peake's hands, I edged closer. A few more minutes of observation and I thought I'd detected a cadence to his movements.
Tongue-thrust, curl and hover, lingual retreat, neck roll clockwise, then counterclockwise.
Approximately ten-second sequences, six repetitions per minute, played out against the constant rocking of his torso.
I took in other details.
His bed wasn't made. Looked as if it was never made. The hands rested on rumpled, sweat-stained covers. The fingers of the left hand were hooked in the sheeting, half-hidden.
Hands that had wreaked so much ruin… I moved to within inches of the bed, standing over him for a while.
No change in the routine. I kneeled. Bringing myself down to Peake's eye level. His eyes were glued shut. Strain-marks at the corners said he was pressing the lids together tightly. A few moments ago, with Heidi, they'd been half-open. Responding to that bit of stimulation? Withdrawing further, once returned to isolation?
I heard, a tapping from below. Looked down. His feet. Bare-the paper slippers had come off without my noticing.
Two thin white feet. Oversized feet. Unnaturally long toes. Drumming the floor, faster than the upper-body movements, out of rhythm with the tardive dance.
So much motion, but no flavor of intent-the inanimate dangle of a puppet.
All through it, his eyes remained sealed. This close I could see dry, greenish crust flecking the lashes.
'Ardis,'Isaid.
The beat went on.
I tried again. Nothing.
A few minutes later: 'Ardis, this is Dr. Delaware. I want to talk to you about Dr. Argent.'
Nothing.
'Claire Argent.'
No response. I repeated myself. Peake's eyelids remained shut, but started to tic-lids contracting and releasing, lateral movement visible under the skin. A few green specks dropped onto his lap.
Reaction? Or random movement?
I sidled closer. Had he wanted to kiss me or claw out my eyes, he could've.
'Ardis, I'm here about Dr. Argent.'
Another eyelid tic-a jerky wave traveling beneath the papery skin.
Definite response. On some level, he was able to focus.
I said, 'You were important to Dr. Argent.'
Tic tic tic.
'She was important to you, Ardis. Tell me why.'
His eyelids quivered like a frog in a galvanic experiment. I counted the time in tardive sequences: One T.D., two T.D.'s…tenT.D.'s.
Twelve. Two minutes. He stopped.
Subjectively, it seemed longer than a hundred and twenty seconds. I was far from bored, but time was dragging. I started wondering how many minutes Peake's rampage had consumed. Had the Ardullos been fully awake or asleep? Or somewhere in between-a murky semiconsciousness as they died, thinking it was all a bad dream?
I mentioned Claire's name again. Peake's eyes ticced. But nothing more.
