Stone Shadow

nervousness or even a professional apprehension so much as a feeling of icy resolve. It was nearly there. The hard evidence would soon fall into place or there would be none. It was as much in the hands of the team, task-force computers and people now working in faraway cities, the vast resources of MacTuff, as it was his.

An irony was that the racial situation had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The press were back on the president's case, and with no new corpses, the best that media could do with the Grave-digger was to ponder some conspicuously missing persons in the Plano area. The tabloids had a Jackie-O in Noel Collier, and her beautiful face and flamboyant track record continued to appear whenever the Grave-digger updates got more print space and air time.

As Eichord drove to work he tried to get inside the head of the man in question. He worked to resolve the disparity between Le Face of Joe Hackabee and The Man. The mask he wore was all but impenetrable. For a handsome, talented, brilliant, successful and seemingly well-adjusted citizen to be, in private, a mass murderer—it was a tough sell. True, a couple of the perps who had taken down big numbers of young women had been in fact physically attractive and, at least superficially, “normal’ in their life-styles. But this was something else, this Hackabee thing. The sheer numbers alone made it so difficult for a sane person to fathom.

He'd barely parked his car and walked in the building when Mandel said, “Jack?” The voice had a sharp, serious edge of urgency.

“Oh, hello,” he said to the bulky figure standing in the doorway of the homicide squad room.

“Check it out,” Dr. Mandel said, laying a folder in front of him. He opened the file and saw Ukie's personal bio, titled Minnesota Multi-Phasic Personality Inventory. “Okay,” Mandel said, reading over his shoulder, “skip all this here'—he reached around Eichord and flipped past the lengthy history, past a Stanford-Binet—'here.'

Eichord began to read the summary of the drug-induced test on SUBJECT: Mr. William Hackabee. He speedread word blocs about Ukie's very real fantasies. About his lack of a boundary between fantasy and reality. His fragile, schizophrenic personality, his frightening illusions of extreme power and terrorized vulnerability. He read Mandel's conclusions about Ukie's delusions and paranoia, and what he had said under drug-induced hypnosis. It sat him bolt upright in the chair and then he was pushing away from the desk even as he finished the paragraph.

“Where's the vid—” he started to say, but a nodding Dr. Mandel had anticipated him and placed the black cassette box in his hand. They headed for the monitor room, Sue Mandel telling him, “It was chancy, it was a gamble, but damn ... this new stuff is dynamite with pentathol, and it's super-potent. Opens up the old neural doors,” he told Eichord as he looked at him with a meaningful glare. They went in and Jack took out the tape and placed it in the machine, turning the power on and adjusting the controls.

The tape was marked and slated like a real movie, and then there was a period while the camera focused on Ukie, who appeared to be heavy-lidded but awake, and he heard Mandel's voice slightly off-mike saying, “Bill, how do you feel?'

“Fine.” Ukie slurring the word. Fine sounding like “hiiiii.'

“Are you comfortable?'

Eichord adjusted the volume up slightly. The doctor spoke to Ukie in quiet, reassuring tones as he began.

“Yes. Fine.'

“Just relax, Bill.'

“Relax.” (We-laaaahhhh.)

“You know I'm a doctor. And I'm your friend. I'm here to make you feel better.” Mandel's voice getting louder.

“Better.'

“You're a little boy, Bill. And we want to know how you feel. Tell the doctor how you feel. Are you sick?” Emphasizing the last three words.

“No.'

“You're not sick, are you?” A very loud voice now.

“No. I'm not sick.'

“Are you hurt?” Mandel's voice like a steel chisel.

“Yes. Hurt.'

“Where do you hurt, Bill?” Insistent.

“Here. Privates.'

“Do you hurt in your privates, Bill?'

“Yes.'

“Why do you hurt in your privates?'

“They hurt me there.'

“Who, Bill?” No answer. “Who hurts you in your privates?'

“They do.'

“Who hurts you in your privates, Bill?'

“Ma and Pa hurt us there.'

“Ma and Pa hurt who there?'

“Yes.” The jaw fell slack.

“Ma and Pa hurt us there.'

“Yes.'

“Hurt Bill and ... who else?'

“Hurt Bill and Joe.'

“How do they hurt you there?'

“No.” His face was contorted as he spoke. Words slurred.

“If you tell me how Ma and Pa hurt you I can make you feel better.'

“Better.'

“Yes. Much better. Now tell how Ma and Pa hurt you and Joe in your privates.'

“No. Can't tell.” He was starting to move.

“Just relax, Bill.'

“Relax.'

“How do they hurt Bill and Joe?” Ukie shook his head violently. Mandel stayed with it a little longer but he seemed to be losing Ukie so he got him comfortable, relaxed, quieted down, and said, “Bill, you're a big boy now. All grown up. You feel much better.'

Ukie smiled a heavy-lidded smile and nodded, “Yes.'

“You feel so much better now.'

“Yes.'

“Bill, you like the doctor, because you know I'm your friend.'

“Friend.'

“Bill, I'm here to make you feel better.'

“Yes. Better.'

“Tell the doctor how you feel.. Are you sick?'

“Siiiiiiiiigh,” it sounded like he said.

'Are ... you ... sick?'

“Mmmmmmmm.” Not a word, more of a moan.

“Tell the doctor, Bill, are ... you ... sick?'

“Nnnn.'

'ARE YOU SICK?” Mandel shouting so loudly it scared Eichord.

“Mmm,” grunted out, Ukie's head slumped over. Jaw slack.

“Bill. Talk to me, Bill.” Still in a very loud voice.

“Nnnnnn.” He seemed to be saying no.

“This is a crucial point,” Mandel said to Eichord as he continued to get only minimal and monosyllabic noises from Hackabee. “You have to take the subject just to that point where he can still function and keep him out there on the edge of the razor. When you're dealing with a new drug like this, and someone like Ukie, you have a lot of variables at work. Now he starts to come around a little and I bring him back but of course that's the meat and