uniformed guards was positioned a few feet away. The bearded man left us to join two other techs, their backs against the facing wall.
No men in khaki. But for the hum of the air conditioner, the ward was silent.
Swig saw us and shook his head very hard, as if denying a harsh reality. He had on a navy polo shirt, jeans, running shoes. The filmy strands atop his head puffed at odd angles. Overhead fluorescents heightened the contrast between his facial moles and the pallid skin that hosted them. Dark dots, like braille, punctuating the message on his face.
Nothing ambiguous about the communication: pure fear.
He opened Peake's door, winced, gave a ringmaster's flourish.
Not that much blood.
A single scarlet python.
Winding its way toward us from the far right-hand corner of the cell. About three feet from the spot where Peake had played Jesus.
Otherwise the room looked the same. Messy bed. Wall restraints bolted in place. That same burning smell mixed with something coppery-sweet.
No sign of Peake.
The blood trail stopped halfway across the floor, its point of origin below the body.
Stocky body, lying facedown. Plaid shirt, blue jeans, sneakers. A head full of coarse gray hair. Arms outstretched, almost relaxed-looking. Thick forearms. The skin had already gone grayish-green.
'Dollard,' said Milo. 'When?'
'We don't know,' said Swig. 'Someone discovered him two hours ago.'
'And you called me forty-five minutes ago?'
'We had to conduct our own search first,' said Swig. He picked at a mole, brought a rosy flush to its borders.
'And?'
Swig looked away. 'We haven't found him.'
Milo was silent.
'Look,' said Swig, 'we had to do our own search first. I'm not even sure I should've called you. It's sheriff's jurisdiction-actually, it's our jurisdiction.'
'So you did me a favor,' said Milo.
'You had an interest in Peake. I'm frying to cooperate.'
Milo stepped closer to the body, kneeled, looked under Dollard's chin.
'Looks like one transverse cut,' he said. 'Has anyone moved him?'
'No,' said Swig. 'Nothing's been touched.'
'Who found him?'
Swig pointed to one of the three techs. 'Bart did.' The man stepped forward. Young, Chinese, delicately built, but with the oversized arms of a bodybuilder. His badge photo was that of a stunned child. B.L. Quan, Tech II.
'Tell me about it,' Milo told him.
'We were in lockdown,' said Quan. 'Not because of any problems; we do it during staff meetings.'
'How frequent are staff meetings?'
'Twice a week for each shift.'
'What days?'
'It depends on the shift,' said Quan. 'Tonight was for the eleven-to-seven. Six-thirty. Friday night, the weekly summary. The patients go in lockdown and the staff goes in there.' He pointed to the TV room.
'No staff on the ward?' said Milo.
'One tech stays outside. We rotate. There's never been any problem, the patients are all locked up tight.'
Milo looked at the body.
Quan shrugged.
'And Dollard was scheduled to be the outside guy tonight.'
Quan nodded.
'But your beeper never went off.'
'Right.'
'So what made you look for him?' said Milo.
'The meeting was over, I was doing a double, and Frank was supposed to talk to me about some patients. Give me the transfer data-meds, things to watch out for, that kind of thing. He didn't show up, I thought he forgot.'
'Was that typical?' said Milo. 'Frank forgetting?'
Quan looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Swig.
'Don't worry,' said Milo. 'You can't embarrass him anymore.'
Quan said, 'Sometimes.'
'Sometimes what?'
Quan shifted his feet. Milo turned to Swig.
'Tell him anything you know,' said Swig. His voice had turned hoarse. He rolled his fingers, rubbed another mole.
'Sometimes Frank forgot things,' said Quan. 'That's why I didn't make any big deal out of it. But then, when I went to get the charts I couldn't find one of them-Peake's. So I checked out Peake's room.'
'You ever find the chart?'
'No.'
'What else?' said Milo.
'That's it. I saw Frank, Peake was gone, I locked the door, put out a Code Three alert. Easy, we were already in lock-down. Mr. Swig came in, we brought outside guards onto the wards, and a bunch of us searched everywhere. He's got to be somewhere, it makes no sense.'
'What doesn't?' said Milo.
'Peake disappearing like that. You don't just disappear at Starkweather.'
Milo asked for a key to Peake's room, got Swig's, closed the door and locked it, then moved out of earshot and used his cell phone to call the sheriff. He talked for a long time. None of the guards or techs budged.
The silence seemed to amplify. Then it began to falter- with sporadic knocks from behind some of the brown doors; muffled scuffs, faint as mouse steps. Cries, moans, escalating gradually but steadily into ragged shards of noise that could only be human voices in distress.
A chorus of cries. The guards and techs eyed one another. Swig seemed oblivious.
'Shit,' said the bearded tech. 'Shut the hell up.'
Swig moved farther up the hall. No one attempted to stop the noise.
Louder and louder, frantic pounding from within the cells.
The inmates knew. Somehow, they knew.
Milo pocketed the phone and returned. 'Sheriff's crime-scene team should be here shortly. Squad cars will be searching a five-mile radius outside the hospital grounds. Tell your men in front not to hold anyone up at the gate.'
Swig said, 'We need to keep this under wraps until- What I mean is, let's find out exactly what happened before we jump to-'
'What do you think happened, Mr. Swig?'
'Peake surprised Frank and cut his throat. Frank's a strong man. So it had to be a sneak attack.'
'What did Peake use to cut him?'
No answer.
'No guesses?' said Milo. 'What about Dollard's own knife?'
'None of the techs are armed,' said Swig.
'Theoretically.'
'Theoretically and factually, Detective. For obvious reasons we have strict-'
Milo cut him off: 'You have rules, an ironclad system. So tell me, are techs and doctors required to check in weapons at the guardhouse the way we were?'
Swig didn't answer.
