Evil at Heart (21 page)

           
Henry gnawed at his bottom lip, leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. The plastic groaned under his weight. “Debbie left town last night,” he said, raising an appraising eyebrow at Archie. “She and the kids.Extended vacation. She called me from the airport.”

           
“She could use a vacation,” Archie said.

           
“Right,” Henry said. “It’s a coincidence that she took off right after she came to see you.” He hesitated and then scratched the back of his neck. “What I don’t get is, it’s not all for you.” He looked up at Archie. “Whatever she’s doing out there. It doesn’t connect.”

           
Of course. Archie had been so focused on what was happening on the ward, that he’d lost sight of the bigger picture. The rest stop.PittockMansion.The abandoned house.Eyeballs and old bodies. Gretchen didn’t do anything without a plan. Maybe Archie was supposed to figure it out. Maybe that was the game.

           
“You ID the head?” Archie asked.

           
“Nope,” Henry said. “Male. His eyes were removed. DNA match will take a couple of days, but the blood type matches a set from the rest stop. Robbins thinks the guy’s been dead a few years. Thinks someone kept his eyes in a jar of formaldehyde.”

           
It didn’t make sense.

           
“The John Doe Susan found yesterday.” Henry paused. “Robbins called me yesterday. Someone removed his eyes, and replaced them. Apparently the ones in his sockets were a few years old.”

           
“Let me guess,” Archie said. “Soaked in formaldehyde.”

           
“Gretchen’s apparently got a little eyeball collection. Some people collect unicorns, belt buckles . . .” He spread his hands. “You were lucky all she took was your spleen.”

           
“You’re right,” Archie said. “She could have taken my unicorn.”

           
Henry didn’t laugh.

           
From the bed, Archie could see the sun now, a sliver of orange over the skyline. “They want me out, don’t they?” Archie said.

           
Henry stood. “They’re concerned about the safety of the patients. You included.” He folded his glasses closed, hooked them on the collar of his shirt, and slid his notebook into the pocket of his jeans. “You can stay with me. Temporarily.Until we figure something else out.”

           
A nice padded cell in New Hampshire, maybe.

           
Henry stepped in front of Archie and peered down at him, his broad chest expanding with a deep sigh. “Tell me we’re not playing right into her hands,” he said.

           
Archie knew what he was thinking: Gretchen manipulates George into killing Courtenay, knowing that the hospital would have to ask Archie to leave.

           
“I’m not the one in danger,” Archie said.

           
“Good,” Henry said. “Because I can’t protect you.” He crossed his arms and glared down at Archie for a long moment before continuing. “If you were in touch with Gretchen—if she had found some way to communicate with you, or had some other information that might be of use to the investigation”—Henry lowered his chin and raised an eyebrow—“that might allow me to reallocate some resources.”

           
Archie nodded. He had known Henry for fifteen years. Henry had helped nurse him back to health, had overlooked his pill popping, and had convinced him to go back to work. He’d been the one who drove Archie to the psych ward, and who’d sat with him while he was admitted. He’d put up with far more than he should have, and Archie knew it. Still, Archie didn’t say anything.

           
Henry glanced at his watch and looked out the window for a moment. “I’ve got to make some calls,” he said. “Rosenberg’s on her way to rubber-stamp your newfound mental clarity.”

           
Just like that. Back into the world. “What are you doing to find Gretchen?” Archie asked.

           
“When you want to get over your bullshit and be a cop again, I’ll be happy to brief you,” Henry said. “Until then, you’re a civilian. And your job is to stay alive.” He started to walk away, then seemed to change his mind, and turned back. “I know you’re keeping something from me,” he said.

           
Archie didn’t move.

           
Henry looked at him for another moment, and then turned and walked out of the room.

           
The second he was gone Archie dropped to his hands and knees on the floor and looked under the bed. No phone. He got up and ran his palms along the bedding, searching for a telltale lump. Nothing.

           
It was gone.

           
Archie sank onto the floor at the foot of his bed. His one connection to Gretchen, and he’d lost it.

           
He was still sitting there when Frank shuffled in from the hall with a spot of egg yolk on his pajamas.

           
He didn’t look at Archie. Didn’t say hello.Didn’t mention the fact that two people had died on the ward a few hours before.

           
Frank.

           
Archie stood up and walked past Frank’s bed into the bathroom they shared. There was nothing in that bathroom but an open shower, a sink bolted to the wall, a toilet, and a metal mirror. No bathtub. Debbie would have hated it.

           
Archie stood in the bathroom for a minute with his hands on his hips, waiting, heart pounding. Then he looked up into the metal mirror and said to his own warped reflection, “Hey, Frank. Come look at this.”

           
Frank was a big guy, heavy, but he was soft. As soon as he walked into the bathroom, Archie kicked the door shut, took him by the shoulders, and slammed him against the wall. Frank’s eyes rolled toward the bathroom door.

           
No surveillance cameras in the bathrooms. They had a few minutes before anyone came to check on them. Maybe more.

           
Archie leaned in against Frank, and lowered his voice to a growl. “Where is it?” he said.

           
Beads of sweat had already formed on Frank’s brow. He retracted his chin an inch. “What?” he asked.

           
“The phone,” Archie hissed. “It was in my bed. And now it’s gone.” He bent one elbow and pressed his forearm against the yolk stain on Frank’s chest. “What did you do with it, Frank?”

           
Frank’s mouth opened and the tip of his tongue punched its way between his lips. “I can’t breathe,” he said.

           
He was authentically panicked, and Archie relented a little. He wanted to intimidate Frank, not give the guy a seizure. Archie put his mouth right next to Frank’s ear. “I need that phone,” Archie said. “It’s important.”

           
Frank gave Archie a fearful look. “I just wanted to call my sister,” he said. He waved a hand toward the bathroom door. “It’s in my bottom drawer,” he said. “Take it.”

           
Archie stepped back and Frank slid away from him along the wall.

           
“I’m sorry,” Archie said.

           
He walked out of the bathroom, dug through Frank’s bottom drawer, and found the phone under a stack of neatly folded BVDs. Archie glanced up at the security camera. He didn’t care. They wouldn’t take it away from him. He was leaving anyway.

           
Then Archie walked back to the bathroom door.

           
Frank was curled up on the floor.

           
“Do you even have a sister, Frank?” Archie said.

           
Frank didn’t answer.

           
C H A P T E R 24

           
Sarah Rosenberg was wearing black Lycra capri pants, flip-flops, and a long-sleeved white cotton shirt over a gray T-shirt. “I don’t approve of this,” she said.

           
Archie was packing. It wouldn’t take long. His books alone took up half of his overnight bag. He stowed his toiletries in the outside pocket, and was now emptying the dresser into the bag, drawer by drawer.

           
She looked around. “Where’s Frank?” she asked.