forgotten your names.”
Bo held out his hand and introduced himself and Coyote.
As she shook Coyote’s hand, the woman said, “I’m Dr. Jordan Hart. I’ve asked Helen if we could go to my office and talk before we inform the local authorities. You seem to have information about Moses.”
“Moses?” Coyote said.
“The man you call Max Ableman.”
“Moses.” Coyote grinned at Bo. “Brother, looks like we’ve found the Promised Land.”
Dr. Hart was younger and less imposing than Bo imagined a psychologist who dealt with the criminally insane might be. He guessed her to be in her early thirties. She stood barely five feet tall, had a smooth, dark complexion, and intense brown eyes. She escorted them to her office. It was a neat little room, red brick walls decorated with tasteful Monet prints and lined with bookcases. The wide window overlooked another courtyard, one with a small flowerbed where a patient knelt, carefully pulling weeds and putting them in a plastic bucket.
“What’s your interest in David Moses?” she asked. She poured water into a coffeemaker and flipped the switch.
Bo explained about Ableman, about his own suspicions concerning the death of the hospital security guard, and about his fear for the safety of Tom Jorgenson.
“What can you tell me about this Moses?” he asked.
“David escaped two months ago,” the psychologist informed them. “We’ve had no word on him since.”
“Escaped how?” Bo asked.
“He just walked away.” Her words had a bitter edge.
Coyote looked surprised. “With all the razor wire you’ve got around this place?”
“David Moses is a unique individual.” Dr. Hart offered them the coffee that had just finished drip brewing. “What do you know about him?” she asked.
“Almost nothing,” Bo answered. “Except that he appears to be one step ahead of us.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
She handed them their coffee in disposable cups, then sat down with a mug of her own, a big ceramic thing with printing on the side:
SOMETIMES A CIGAR IS JUST A CIGAR.
“Before I can tell you anything, I need to see a court order allowing me to release information on David.”
“I’ve told you what’s happened,” Bo said. “Do you think Moses could be responsible?”
She didn’t say so, but her expression confirmed it. “Without a court order,” she insisted, “my hands are tied.”
Bo took out his cell phone and placed a call to Diana Ishimaru. He explained what he needed.
“It’s in the works,” he told the psychologist. “But if you wait until you have it in your hands, that might be too late. The more I know about this Moses, the more certain I am that he’s already killed one man. And it may be only the beginning. You said he was a unique individual. Why?”
She spent a moment weighing her options. Finally she said, “When he was being evaluated for competency to stand trial, he was given the WAIS, Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale, as part of the standard battery of assessments. Top score on the WAIS is a hundred fifty. David came in at a hundred forty-seven. I’ve never met anyone who scored so high, so when he was assigned to me I administered several additional tests to make sure his IQ score was accurate. It was.”
“Competency to stand trial on what charge?”
“Manslaughter. Two years ago, he was arrested for the murder of a man in Minneapolis, a street person, homeless, as was David Moses. The killing took place outside a mission shelter. There were no witnesses to the actual murder, but apparently the noise of the brawl caused someone to call the police. When they arrived on the scene, they found David disoriented, hallucinating. He told them he was being followed. People were trying to kill him. The court ordered psychiatric evaluation. He was diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic, judged not mentally competent to stand trial, and he was remanded here for treatment.”
“He was put under your care?”
“At first, yes. This facility houses patients who have committed serious crimes. Usually sex offenders and murderers. Often, they’re here for life. They’ve fallen into that dark area of the criminal justice system in which the constitutional rights of a citizen are abrogated. They’ll never leave this place unless the doctors give them a clean bill of mental health, and that doesn’t happen very often. At first, David was pretty hostile. In my initial sessions with him, he wasn’t cooperative at all. After several months, he decided to toss me a few bones. I think he was testing me. It was obvious David wanted out, and he was trying to figure out how to do it. He tried to con me, but I wasn’t fooled. So he got himself another doctor.”
“How?” Bo asked.
“He accused me of sexual impropriety. It was a ridiculous allegation, but it got him what he wanted. Dr. Graves.” She said the name with distaste. “Graves and I have never seen eye to eye. I tried to warn him about David, but he wouldn’t listen. David worked him like clay on a potter’s wheel. Two months ago, Graves recommended David be granted campus privileges.”
Coyote looked up from his coffee cup. “What’s that?”
“A patient with campus privileges has permission to walk the hospital grounds unsupervised. It’s a transition step when we believe someone is almost ready for a return to society. Which I absolutely believed David was not. I said as much in the staff meeting when Graves put forward his proposal. I was overruled.”
“So Moses just walked away and disappeared,” Coyote concluded. “And you’re the one talking to us because Graves was taken off the case.”
“Yes.” Her satisfaction was obvious.
“Just how dangerous is Moses?” Bo asked.
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead she said, “Working with David is like stepping through a looking glass. With him, one never knows what’s real and what isn’t. Some patients try to manipulate me, but I can usually trip them up in their inconsistencies. David is far more clever. It’s as if he allows you a true glimpse of his world, then slams the door so you’re not certain exactly what you saw. Except that you know it was real and it was terrible.”
“What can you tell us specifically?” Bo asked.
“What I know of the facts.”
“Fine.”
“David’s an orphan. He spent some time in St. Jerome’s Home for Children in the Twin Cities. He didn’t graduate from high school but joined the military instead at seventeen. He was discharged eight years later. He appears to have no other criminal record.”
Bo waited. When she didn’t go on, he asked, “That’s it?”
“In terms of facts.”
“Nothing after his discharge?”
“Between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, his life is a blank. Or at least as far as any official records are concerned.”
“He never gave you a clue about that time in his life?” Coyote asked.
“Yes. Only now we leave the realm of fact and we enter the Twilight Zone of David Moses.” She hadn’t touched her coffee, but now she took a sip. “Over the course of my treatment of David, I sifted through the notes and put bits and pieces together, and finally constructed the skeleton of a story. It’s a chilling one if it’s true. Do you have time?”
“As much as you need,” Bo said.
Coyote held up his cup. “Got any cream for this coffee?”
chapter
