Black House (Page 153)

Smiling, Wendell Green props his elbows on the counter and watches Jack and Dr. Spiegleman leave the room. Their footsteps click against the floor tiles until it sounds as though they have gone more than halfway down the corridor. Then there is silence. Still smiling, Wendell about-faces and finds the attendant openly staring at him.

"I read you all the time," the boy says. "You write real good."

Wendell’s smile becomes beatific. "Handsome and intelligent. What a stunning combination. Tell me your name."

"Ethan Evans."

"Ethan, we do not have much time here, so let’s make this snappy. Do you think responsible members of the press should have access to information the public needs?"

"You bet."

"And wouldn’t you agree that an informed press is one of our best weapons against monsters like the Fisherman?"

A single, vertical wrinkle appears between Ethan Evans’s eyebrows. "Weapons?"

"Let me put it this way. Isn’t it true that the more we know about the Fisherman, the better chance we have of stopping him?"

The boy nods, and the wrinkle disappears.

"Tell me, do you think the doctor is going to let Sawyer use his office?"

"Prob’ly, yeah," Evans says. "But I don’t like the way that Sawyer guy works. He’s a police brutality. Like when they hit people to make them confess. That’s brutality."

"I have another question for you. Two questions, really. Is there a closet in Dr. Spiegleman’s office? And is there some way you could take me there without going through that corridor?"

"Oh." Evans’s dim eyes momentarily shine with understanding. "You want to listen."

"Listen and record." Wendell Green taps the pocket that contains his cassette recorder. "For the good of the public at large, God bless ’em one and all."

"Well, maybe, yeah," the boy says. "But Dr. Spiegleman, he . . ."

A twenty-dollar bill has magically appeared folded around the second finger of Wendell Green’s right hand. "Act fast, and Dr. Spiegleman will never know a thing. Right, Ethan?"

Ethan Evans snatches the bill from Wendell’s hand and motions him back behind the counter, where he opens a door and says, "Come on, hurry."

Low lights burn at both ends of the dark corridor. Dr. Spiegleman says, "I gather that my patient’s husband told you about the tape she received this morning."

"He did. How did it get here, do you know?"

"Believe me, Lieutenant, after I saw the effect that tape had on Mrs. Marshall and listened to it myself, I tried to learn how it reached my patient. All of our mail goes through the hospital’s mailroom before being delivered, all of it, whether to patients, medical staff, or administrative offices. From there, a couple of volunteers deliver it to the addressees. I gather that the package containing the tape was in the hospital mailroom when a volunteer looked in there this morning. Because the package was addressed only with my patient’s name, the volunteer went to our general information office. One of the girls brought it up."

"Shouldn’t someone have consulted you before giving the tape and a cassette player to Judy?"

"Of course. Nurse Bond would have done so immediately, but she is not on duty today. Nurse Rack, who is on duty, assumed that the address referred to a childhood nickname and thought that one of Mrs. Marshall’s old friends had sent her some music to cheer her up. And there is a cassette player in the nurses’ station, so she put the tape in the player and gave it to Mrs. Marshall."

In the gloom of the corridor, the doctor’s eyes take on a sardonic glint. "Then, as you might imagine, all hell broke loose. Mrs. Marshall reverted to the condition in which she was first hospitalized, which takes in a range of alarming behaviors. Fortunately, I happened to be in the hospital, and when I heard what had happened, I ordered her sedated and placed in a secure room. A secure room, Lieutenant, has padded walls — Mrs. Marshall had reopened the wounds to her fingers, and I did not want her to do any more damage to herself. Once the sedative had taken effect, I went in and talked to her. I listened to the tape. Perhaps I should have called the police immediately, but my first responsibility is to my patient, and I called Mr. Marshall instead."

"From where?"

"From the secure room, with my cell phone. Mr. Marshall of course insisted on speaking to his wife, and she wanted to speak to him. She became very distraught during their conversation, and I had to give her another mild sedative. When she calmed down, I went out of the room and called Mr. Marshall again, to tell him more specifically about the contents of the tape. Do you want to hear it?"

"Not now, Doctor, thanks. But I do want to ask you about one aspect of it."

"Then ask."

"Fred Marshall tried to imitate the way you had reproduced the accent of the man who made the tape. Did it sound like any recognizable accent to you? German, maybe?"

"I’ve been thinking about that. It was sort of like a Germanic pronunciation of English, but not really. If it sounded like anything recognizable, it was English spoken by a Frenchman trying to put on a German accent, if that makes sense to you. But really, I’ve never heard anything like it."

From the start of this conversation, Dr. Spiegleman has been measuring Jack, assessing him according to standards Jack cannot even begin to guess. His expression remains as neutral and impersonal as that of a traffic cop. "Mr. Marshall informed me that he intended to call you. It seems that you and Mrs. Marshall have formed a rather extraordinary bond. She respects your skill at what you do, which is to be expected, but she also seems to trust you. Mr. Marshall asks that you be allowed to interview his wife, and his wife tells me that she must talk to you."