“Sorry I’m late,” Judge said.
Dr. Fauvel had been wrong.
“I thought you weren’t going to call,” Chase said.
“I required a little more time than I’d expected to locate some information on you.”
“What information?”
Judge ignored the question, intent on proceeding in his own fashion. “So you see a psychiatrist once a week, do you?”
Chase did not reply.
“That alone is fairly good proof that the accusation I made yesterday is true – that your disability pension is for mental, not physical, injuries.”
Chase wished that he had a drink with him, but he could not ask Judge to hold on while he poured one. For reasons that he could not explain, he didn’t want Judge to know that he drank heavily.
Chase said, “How did you find out?”
“Followed you this afternoon,” Judge said.
“Bold.”
“The righteous can afford to be bold.”
“Of course.”
Judge laughed as if delighted with himself. “I saw you going into the Kaine Building, and I got into the lobby fast enough to see which elevator you took and which floor you got off at. On the eighth floor, besides Dr. Fauvel’s offices, there are two dentists and three insurance companies. It was simple enough to look in the waiting rooms of those other places and inquire after you, like a friend, with the secretaries and receptionists. I left the shrink’s place for last, because I just knew that’s where you were. When no one knew you in the other offices, I didn’t have to risk glancing in Fauvel’s waiting room. I knew.”
Chase said, “So what?”
He hoped that he sounded more nonchalant than he felt, for it was somehow important to make the right impression on Judge. He was sweating again. He would need to take another bath by the time this conversation was concluded. And he would need a drink, a cold drink.
“As soon as I knew you were in the psychiatrist’s office,” Judge said, “I decided I had to obtain copies of his personal files on you. I remained in the building, out of sight in a maintenance closet, until all the offices were closed and the employees went home.”
“I don’t believe you,” Chase said, aware of what was coming, dreading to hear it.
“You don’t want to believe me, but you do.” Judge took a long, slow breath before he continued: “The eighth floor was clear by six o’clock. By six-thirty I got the door open to Dr. Fauvel’s suite. I know a little about such things, and I was very careful. I didn’t damage the lock, and I didn’t trip any alarms because there were none. I required an additional half an hour to locate his files and to secure your records, which I copied on his photocopier.”
“Breaking and entering – then theft,” Chase said.
“But it hardly matters on top of murder, does it?”
“You admit that what you’ve done is murder.”
“No. Judgment. But the authorities don’t understand. They call it murder. They’re part of the problem. They’re not good facilitators.”
Chase said nothing.
“You’ll receive in the mail, probably the day after tomorrow, complete copies of Dr. Fauvel’s notes on you, along with copies of several articles he’s written for various medical journals. You’re mentioned in all these and are, in some of them, the sole subject of discussion. Not by name. ‘Patient C,’ he calls you. But it’s clearly you.”
Chase said, “I didn’t know he’d done that.”
“They’re interesting articles, Chase. They’ll give you some idea of what he thinks of you.” Judge’s tone changed, became more contemptuous. “Reading those records, Chase, I found more than enough to permit me to pass judgment on you.”
“Oh?”
“I read all about how you got your Medal of Honor.”
Chase waited.
“And I read about the tunnels and what you did in them – and how you failed to expose Lieutenant Zacharia when he destroyed the evidence and falsified the report. Do you think the Congress would have voted you the Medal of Honor if they knew you killed civilians, Chase?”
“Stop.”
“You killed women, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“You killed women and children, Chase, noncombatants.”
“I’m not sure if I killed anyone,” Chase said more to himself than to Judge. “I pulled the trigger … but I was … firing wildly at the walls … I don’t know.”