front of the Achilles tendon.
With two cigarettes, held side by side.
Wrapped in an effluvium of formalin, Clyde sauntered past the gift shop and the security desk in a dark burial suit, the Beretta shoved in the band of his pants and pressed to the small of his back. The buttons that ran up the back of the jacket were misaligned, the gaps and flares of the fabric betraying the impromptu contortions he'd undertaken attempting to don apparel designed for the deceased. The combination of the suit's antiquated style and Clyde's robust build gave him the appearance of a vaudeville barker.
He caught a sideways glance from a six-year-old pulling an IV post, but neither of the guards at the desk looked up as he strode past, the glass hospital doors sliding open before him. The cops running the investigation had no photograph of him to circulate, but if the guards had looked closely, they might have seen dark spots on the shirt where the fabric clung to his weeping blisters.
The doors slid open before him and he stepped out, pulling the pack of cigarettes from the suit's damp breast pocket. He lit a cigarette-just one-with a match from the book nestled inside the clear wrapping and inhaled deeply, shooting a plume of smoke into the dark air of the plaza. In front of him, a massive lawn stretched wide, reaching almost to the top tier of the uncovered PCHS lot. The parking structure had many low walls, and exits leading to streets, paths, and gardens. The cops would have searched the cars that had remained there overnight, as well as those left along Le Conte.
His Crown Vic waited, hidden behind a Dumpster at the back of the old Macy's lot across the street, keys resting atop the left rear tire.
An officer jogged up the front steps, touching his cap. 'Morning.'
Clyde nodded, then, with an economical movement of his fat grubby fingers, flicked the cigarette butt aside. The cool air breezed around him as he walked forward into the open expanse of the plaza, the hospital towering behind him.
The sky was just beginning to grow light.
Chapter 32
Police officers were still moving about the hospital in clusters, but much of the activity had died down. The ER reopened at 7:45 A.M.; David was there waiting at the police perimeter, doing his best to hide his intense discomfort at the reporters pressing him for statements. The cops spitefully made him wait until eight to enter the hospital, as that was when his shift officially began. The gas station coffee, bad as it may have been, had certainly been caffeine-intensive, and he actually felt a few steps better than exhausted.
It would be a long, unrelenting day. After working a full shift, he'd have to run over to the Sunset Recreation Center for the meet-and-greet for the incoming class of residents. Aside from Diane and Dr. Nelson, the ER staff was curt with him. He wasn't sure if they held him responsible for Clyde's escape or if it was merely his own guilt at work.
Composites of Clyde had been posted in the lobby and the CWA. David removed one and gazed at it. The artist had failed to capture Clyde's dead, flat eyes, but she'd managed to sketch the mouth and chin perfectly. David stared at the wide neck and acne-scarred cheeks and felt a faintness ripple through him.
After making sure the floor was under control, he found Ralph in the rear hall of the ER. 'Anything?' David asked.
Ralph shook his head.
David pulled the sketch of Clyde from his pocket. 'Did you send these around to staff?'
'We posted them just about everywhere.'
'I think we should circulate copies through the internal mail, make sure every single staff member sees this. We should write on it that Clyde is a possible hospital worker, so people give it more than a cursory glance.'
'Yale told me about the worker angle,' Ralph said. 'But it would take me awhile to get a request like that through the bureaucratic bullshit.'
'Put my weight behind it. See if that helps. If not, let me know and I'll get into it personally.' David walked briskly through the network of halls across the hospital and into the connected Neuropsychiatric Institute. He unfolded Clyde's composite and examined it on the elevator down to the Badge Center in the basement. In order to move freely within the hospital, every employee of the UCLA Hospital was required to wear a photo badge. All pictures were taken passport style at the Badge Center, with a digital camera and a blue backdrop.
An obese woman manned a computer behind the terminal, her monitor cluttered with family photos and stickers featuring anthropomorphic animals. A plaque adhered to a bulletin board behind her read: SEXUAL HARASSMENT WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. BUT IT WILL BE GRADED. David shuddered.
The woman looked up with a wide grin. 'Hello, Dr. Spier.' She glanced him over, then waved a finger at him in scolding fashion. 'I see you're not wearing your badge.'
David found it difficult to force a smile. 'You keep all employee photographs on computer file, right?'
'Did you lose your badge again? Do you need us to make you up another new one?'
'No, I have mine right here.' He removed his badge from his coat pocket and brandished it at her. 'I was wondering how many years back your photo files run.'
'Five years, three months… ' she recited proudly. She leaned over and checked a Far Side day-by-day calendar propped on her desk. '… and six days. Ever since we switched to a digital camera.'
David laid the police sketch on the countertop and smoothed out the creases. 'The man who escaped… I have reason to believe he works here at the hospital.'
She picked up the sketch and shivered, her weight shifting beneath a stretched yellow sweater. 'That's the guy, huh? The acid thrower.'
'He said his name is Clyde, though I'm not certain he was telling the truth. Can you run a computer check and see if you can match the sketch to a photo?'
'Well, jeez, Doctor, I don't know. There's really no way to do that. I mean, it's not a big fandangled program or anything. I'd have to run through every entry click by click. And there are thousands of photographs in here. Plus, I can't run a search without a first and last name. That's how the badge search engine operates.' She picked up the composite and stared at it, as if it contained the solution to the predicament. 'Sorry, Doctor.'
David took back the flyer, refolded it, and began to walk away before being struck by a new thought. The woman looked back up with the same wide grin when he returned. 'Hello again,' she said, with a short burst of laughter.
'You get a lot of people through here, I'd imagine, from all the departments, right? New employees and people who need replacement badges?'
'Yessirree. Why just this morning I've had five lost badges, including-'
'Would you mind running copies of this flier and handing them out to people to pass around their departments? Just in case it gets lost in the mass mailing. Ask people to look at it, really look at it, and see if they remember this guy working here. Will you do that for me.. ' He glanced on the counter for a name tag, but couldn't spot one. When he looked back at her, she was holding up her badge proudly for him to read. '… Shirley?'
She seemed taken aback by the intensity in his face. 'Um… it's not normally our policy to distribute non- badge-related information.'
David took a deep breath. 'I think the risk of more women becoming horribly disfigured probably outweighs this breach of badge etiquette. Would you concur, Shirley?'
The color seemed to wash out of her face, leaving only the two splotches of rouge that capped her cheeks. 'Yes, Dr. Spier,' she said tightly. 'Though I don't see why you have to be so rude.'
Chapter 33
Diane's scrubs shifted when she leaned over, the fabric holding tight to her body in spots-across the rounded band of her lower back, at the curve where her buttocks met her legs, on her right scapula-before fading back into
