Jonathan Kellerman – Monster

No date on the photo, so maybe it had been snapped years earlier. She’d gotten her

Ph.D. ten years ago. Graduation shot? I continued to study her face. The eyes were lustrous, warm-her best feature.

Now mangled. Someone’s trophy?

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much,” said Swig. “We’ve got a staff of over a hundred, including more than twenty psychologists and psychiatrists.”

“The others are psych techs like Mr. Dollard?”

“Techs, nonpsychiatric physicians, nurses, pharmacists, secretaries, cooks, plumbers, electricians, custodians.”

“And you don’t know if any of them had some kind of relationship with Dr. Argent away from work?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Did she work with any staff members consistently?”

“I’d have to check on that.”

“Please do.”

“Certainly. It will take a few days.”

Milo took the file from me, opened it, flipped pages. “I appreciate your letting us have this, Mr. Swig. When I saw her she looked quite different.”

As if warding off the comment, Swig turned to me. “You’re a psychologist, Dr.

Delaware? Forensic?”

“Clinical. I do occasional consulting.”

“Have you worked much with dangerous psychotics?”

“I rotated through Atascadero as an intern, but that’s about it.”

“Atascadero must have been pretty tough back then.”

“Tough enough,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Before us, they were the toughest place. Now they’re handling mostly MDSO’s-sex offenders.” His tone was dismissive.

“You have some of them, too, right?” said Milo.

“A few,” said Swig. “Incorrigibles who happened to come up for sentencing when the law-of-the-week said hospitaliza-tion. Nowadays, they go to jail. We haven’t accepted any in years.”

That made the hospital sound like a college. I said, “Are the sex offenders housed with the regular population or up on the top floor with the 1368 !s?”

Swig touched one of his moles. “Regular population. The 1368’s are a completely different situation. They’re boarders, not residents. The court orders us to screen them. We keep them totally isolated on the fifth floor.”

“Bad influences on the 1026’s?” said Milo.

Swig laughed. “I don’t think the 1026’s can be influenced too easily. No, it’s all the traffic and the escape risk. They come in and out on sheriff’s buses-what they really want isn’t treatment, it’s out.” He sat back, touched some of the moles on his face. Fingering them carefully, like a blind man reading braille. “We’re talking about malingering criminals who think they can drool and avoid San Quentin. We evaluate them, ship them back.”

His voice had climbed and his skin had pinkened.

“Sounds like a hassle,” I said.

“It’s a distraction from our main goal.”

Milo said, “Managing the 1026’s.”

“Treating insane murderers and keeping them invisible. From the public. Every one of our men has committed the proverbial ‘senseless crime.’ On the outside, you hear nonsense like ‘Anyone who kills has to be crazy.’ Doctor, you of course know that’s garbage. Most murderers are perfectly sane. Our men are the exception. They terrify the public-the apparent randomness of their crimes. They have motives, but not the kind the public can relate to. I’m sure you understand, Dr. Delaware.”

“Voices in the head,” I said.

“Exactly. It’s like sausage making. The less the public knows about what we do, the better off we and the public are. That’s why I hope Claire’s murder doesn’t put us in the spotlight.”

“No reason for that,” said Milo. “The sooner I clear the case, the faster I’m out of your life.”

Swig nodded and worried another mole. “Is there anything else?”

“What, specifically, did Dr. Argent do here?”

“What any psychologist would do. Behavior modification plans for individual patients, some counseling, some group work-truthfully, I don’t know the details.”

“I heard she ran a group called Skills for Daily Living.”

“Yes,” said Swig. “She asked permission to start that a few months ago.”

“Why, if the men don’t get out?”

“Starkweather’s also an environment. It needs to be dealt with.”

“How many men were in the group?”

“I have no idea. The clinical decisions were hers.”

“I’d like to meet with them.”

“Why?”

“In case they know something.”

“They don’t,” said Swig. “How could they-no, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. Too disruptive. I’m not sure any of them even realize what happened to her.”