“Call him,” said Milo.
Dollard bent one leg. “Because you order me to do it?”
“Because I can be back here in an hour with serious backup and a warrant on you for obstruction of justice. My bosses are antsy about this one, Dollard. Maybe Swig will eventually be able to protect you, but seeing as he’s not here, he won’t stop you from going through the process. I’m talking Central Booking. You were a cop, you know the drill.”
Dollard’s face was the color of rare steak. His words came out slow and clipped.
“You have no idea what kind of deep shit you’re getting yourself into.”
“I have a real good idea, Frank. Let’s play the media game. Bunch of TV idiots with
sound trucks and cameras. The slant I’ll give them is the police were saddled with a stroke-inducing whodunit homicide and you did everything in your power to impede.
I’ll also throw in a nice little sidebar about how you geniuses judged a mass murderer sane and qualified for release and then he proves how sane he is by turning himself into garbage. When all that hits the fan, Frank, think Uncle Senator’s gonna help Swig, let alone you?”
Dollard’s jaw jutted. He toed the dirt. “Why the hell are you doing this?”
“Just what I was going to ask you, Frank. Because this change of attitude on your part puzzles me. Ex-cop, you’d expect something different. Makes me wonder, Frank.
Maybe I should be looking closer at you.”
“Look all you want,” said Dollard, but his head drew back and his voice lacked conviction. Squinty eyes examined the sky. “Do your thing, man.”
“Why the change, Frank?”
“No change,” said Dollard. “The first time you were here was courtesy, the second time tolerance. Now you’re a disruption-look at what you just did to those guys.”
“Murder’s a disruption,” said Milo.
“I keep telling you, this murder had nothing to- Forget it. What the hell do you want from me?”
“Take me to Peake. After that, we’ll see.”
Dollard’s toe stirred up more dirt. “Mr. Swig’s in a serious budget meeting and can’t be-”
“Who’s second in command?”
“No one. Only Mr. Swig authorizes visits.”
“Then leave him a message,” said Milo. “I’ll give you five minutes; after that, I’m outta here and it’s a whole different game. When’s the last time you had your fingers rolled for prints?”
Dollard looked up at the sky again. Someone on the yard howled.
Milo said, “Okay, Doc, we’re outta here.”
Dollard let us walk ten paces before saying, “Screw it. You get ten minutes with
Peake, in and out.”
“No, Frank,” said Milo. “I get what I want.”
28.
WE ENTERED THE main building. Milo got to the door first, throwing off Dollard’s rhythm. Lindeen Schmitz was at the front desk, talking on the phone. She began to smile up at Milo, but a glance from Dollard stopped her.
We rode up to C Ward in silence. On the other side of the double doors, four inmates idled. I could see the nurses in the station chatting cheerfully. Laughter, shallow
and grating, spilled from the TV room.
Dollard stomped to Peake’s room, unlocked the peep hatch, flipped the light switch, frowned. He released both bolts and opened the door cautiously. A brief look inside.
“Not here.” Trying to sound annoyed, but puzzlement took over.
“How about that,” said Milo. “He never leaves his room.”
“I’m telling you,” said Dollard, “he never does.”
“Maybe he’s watching TV,” I said.
We went over to the big room, scanned the faces. Two dozen men in khaki stared at the screen. Canned yuks poured out of the box-a sitcom. No one in the room was laughing. Peake wasn’t in the audience.
Back in the corridor, Dollard had flushed again. The rage of a dogmatist proven wrong. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.” He was heading for the nursing station when a sluggish, abrasive sound stopped him.
Swish swish… swish swish… swish swish… Like a snare drum bottoming a slow dance. Seconds later, Peake stepped out from around the left side of the station.
Swish… Paper slippers shuffling on linoleum.
Heidi Ott held his elbow as he stumbled forward, eyelids half-shut, each step causing his triangular head to bob like that of a rear-window stuffed dog. In the merciless fluorescence of the hallway, the bits of stubble on his head and face looked like random blackheads. The furrows on his skull seemed painfully deep. He was bent over sharply, as if his spine had given way. As if gravity would have pulled him down but for Heidi’s grip.