Praying for Sleep (20 page)

Kohler eyed his civvy clothes. "You a cop, or what?"

"Sort of a special deputy." Though this was untrue and he had no more police powers than an average citizen. Still he sensed he needed some authority with this wiry fellow, who looked like he was in the mood to make trouble. Heck repeated his question.

"I'm Michael's doctor."

"Quite a house call you're making tonight." Heck looked over the doctor's suit and penny loafers. "You did some fine tracking to get yourself all the way here, considering you haven't got dogs."

"I spotted him up the road, headed in this direction. But he got away."

"So he's nearby?"

"I saw him a half hour ago. He can't've gotten that far."

Heck nodded at Emil, whose head was up. "Well, for some reason the scent's vanished. That's got me worried and Emil antsy. We're going to quarter around here, see if we can pick it up."

The tone was meant to discourage company, as was the pace that Heck set. But Kohler kept up with man and dog as they zigzagged across the road and along the fields surrounding it, their feet crunching loudly on leaves and gravel. Heck felt the stiffening of his leg muscles, a warning to go slow. The temperature was still unseasonable but it had dropped in the last half hour and the air was wet with the approaching storm; when he was tired and hadn't slept his leg was prone to seize into agonizing cramps.

"Now that I think about it," Heck said, "you were probably better off tracking him without dogs. He fooled our search party damn good. Led us all in the opposite direction he ended up taking."

Kohler once again — for the fourth time, by Heck's count — glanced at the Walther automatic. The doctor asked, "Led you off? What do you mean?"

Heck explained about the false clue — dropping the ping that contained the map of Boston.

The doctor was frowning. "I saw Michael in the hospital library yesterday. Tearing clippings out of old newspapers. He'd been reading all morning. He was very absorbed in something."

"That a fact?" Heck muttered, discouraged once again at Hrubek's brainy talents. He continued, "Then he pulled a trick I've only heard about. He pissed on a truck."

"He what?"

"Yep. Took a leak on a tire. Left his scent on it. The truck took off for Maine and the dogs followed it 'stead of going after his footsteps. Not many people'd know about that, let alone psychos."

"That's not exactly," Kohler said coolly, "a word we use."

"My apologies to him," Heck responded with a sour laugh. "Funny thing: I was just falling asleep — you know how this happens sometimes? — and I heard a truck horn. It just come to me — what he'd done. Emil's good but following airborne scent of a man hanging on to a tractor-trailer? Naw, that didn't seem right. For that many miles? I drove back to the truck stop and sure enough picked up his backtrack. That's a trick of the pros. Just like he hid that clipping in the grass. See, I wouldn't've believed it, it'd been lying out in the open. He's clever. He's fooled dogs before, I'll bet."

"No. Impossible. He's never escaped from anything in his life. Not a calculated escape."

Heck looked at Kohler to see if he could spot the lie. But the doctor seemed sincere, and Heck added, "That's not what I heard."

"From who?"

"From my old boss at the state police. Don Haversham. He's the one called me about the search. He said something 'bout seven hospitals your boy'd hightailed it outta."

Kohler was laughing. "Sure. But ask Michael which ones. He'll tell you they were prison hospitals. And when he escaped he was on horseback, dodging musket balls. See what I mean?"

Heck wasn't quite sure that he did. "Musket balls. Heh. We've gotta head through this brush here."

They plunged down a steep dirt path into a valley below. Kohler was soon winded by the arduous trek. When they reached flat ground, he caught his breath and said, "Of course you don't know for certain that he isn't headed for Boston."

"How's that?"

"Well, if he was smart enough," the doctor pointed out, "to fool you into thinking he was going east, maybe now he's fooling you into thinking he's going west. Double bluff."

Well. This was something Heck hadn't thought about. Sure, why couldn't Hrubek just do the same thing all over again and turn east? Maybe he did have Boston in mind. But he thought for a minute and then told Kohler the truth: "That might be but I can't search the whole of the Northeast. All I can do is follow my dog's nose."

Though he was painfully aware that this particular nose presently had no notion of where his prey was.

"Just something to think about," the doctor said.

They followed the path through a valley beside an old quarry. Heck remembered in his youth, a solitary boy, he'd taken an interest in geology. He'd spent many hours pounding with a hammer in a quarry similar to this one, snitching honest quartz, mica and granite rocks for his collection. Tonight, he found himself staring at the tall cliffs, scarred and chopped — the way bone was gouged by a doctor's metal tools. He thought of the X-rays of his shattered leg, showing where the bullet cracked his femur. Why, he'd wondered at the time, as he wondered now, had the goddamn doctor shown him that artwork?

The hound turned abruptly several times, paused then turned again.

"Has he got the track?" Kohler asked, whispering.

"Nope," Heck replied in a conversational voice. "We'll know when he does."

They walked behind Emil as he snaked along the base of the tall yellow-white cliffs around pools of brackish water.

They emerged from the rocky valley and climbed slowly. They found themselves once again back at the disabled MG. Heck was grimacing. "Hell, back to square one."

"Why're you out here by yourself?" Kohler asked, breathing heavily.

"Just am."

"There's a reward for him."

Heck looped the track line for a moment. Finally he said, "How'd you know that?"

"I didn't. But it explains why you're out here by yourself."

"And how 'bout you, doc? If you spotted him, how come you didn't call out the Marines?"

"He panics easily. I can get him back without anybody getting hurt. He knows me. He trusts me."

Emil suddenly stiffened and turned to the forest, tensing. In an instant Heck drew and cocked his pistol. The underbrush shook.

"No!" Kohler shouted, glancing at the gun. He started forward into the bush.

But Heck gripped him by the arm and whispered, "I'd be quiet there, sir. Let's don't give our position away."

There was silence for a moment. Then the muscular doe bounded in a gray-brown arc over a low hedge and vanished.

Heck put the gun away. "You oughta be a little more careful. You're kinda trusting, you know what I mean?" He looked south along the road, where the gray asphalt disappeared into the hills. Emil'd shown no interest in that direction but Heck thought they ought to try it nonetheless, started to hold the plastic bag containing Hrubek's shorts down to the dog once more. But Kohler stopped his arm.

"How much?" the doctor asked.

"How's that, sir?" Heck stood.

"How much is the reward?"

Emil was aware that a scent article was dangling over his head and he shivered. Heck closed the bag up again to keep the dog from growing too skittish. He said to the doctor, "That's sort of between me and the people paying it, sir."

"Is that Adler?"

Heck nodded slowly.

"Well," Kohler continued, "he's a colleague. We work together."

"If he's a buddy then how come you don't know 'bout it? The reward?"

Kohler asked, "How much, Mr. Heck?"

"Ten thousand."

"I'll give you twelve."

For a moment Heck watched Emil rock back and forth eager to run. He said to Kohler, "You're joshing."

"Oh, no. I'm quite serious."

Heck snorted a laugh but his face grew hot as he realized that he was looking at a man who could actually write a check for twelve thousand dollars. And probably have some left over afterwards. "Why?"

"Thirteen."

"I'm not bargaining with you. What do you want me to do for that kind of money?"

"Go home. Forget about Michael Hrubek."

Heck looked slowly around him. He noticed in the west, far away, a diffuse flash of lightning. It seemed to stretch for a hundred miles. He gazed at the huge expanse of countryside, the muddy horizon against the black sky. He found the view disturbing, for the very reason that this unexpected money was so appealing. How could he possibly find one man in that vast emptiness? Heck laughed to himself. Why I did God always drop temptations in front of you when you wanted them the most?

"What's in this for you?" Heck asked again, to stall.

"I just don't want him hurt."

"I'm not going to hurt him. Not necessarily."

"You were about to use that gun."

"Well, if I had to I would. But I'm not going to shoot anybody in the back. That's not my way. Wasn't when If was a trooper. Isn't now."

"Michael isn't dangerous. He's not like a bank robber."

"Doesn't matter if he's dangerous like a crazed moose protecting her calves or dangerous like a Mafia hit man. I'm looking out for me and my dog and if that means shooting the man's coming at me with a rock or tire iron so be it."

Kohler gave a little smile that made Heck feel he'd somehow lost a point.

"Look, he's set out traps for dogs. I don't give much quarter to a man like that."

"He did what?" The smile vanished from Kohler's face.

"Traps. Spring animal traps."

"No. Michael wouldn't do that."

"Well, you may say that but —"

"Have you seen any?"

"I know he took some. Haven't found any yet."

The doctor didn't speak for a moment. Finally he said, "I think you're being used, Mr. Heck."

"What do you mean by that?" He was ready to take offense but the psychiatrist's voice was suddenly soothing, the voice of someone on his side, trying to help.

"Adler knows that a dog'll make a schizophrenic snap. Chasing someone like Michael is the worst thing in the world for him. A patient like that, cornered? He'll panic. He'll panic bad. You'll have to shoot him. Adler wants this whole thing wrapped up as smooth as possible. Fourteen thousand."

Lord. Heck squeezed his eyes shut and opened them just in time to see another flash of lightning. At his feet Emil rocked on his paws and had just about had it with this human-conversation stuff.

Take the money and go back home. Call up the bank, feed them a big check. Fourteen'd buy him another nine, ten months. Maybe in that time HQ'd find money to reinstate all the troopers let go in the last three years. Maybe one of the thirty-six security companies that had Heck's résumé would find an opening.

Maybe Jill'd come home with her knuckleball and tip money and her lacy nightgowns.

Fourteen thousand dollars.

Heck sighed. "Well, sir, I understand you're concerned about your patient and all, and I respect that. But there're other people to think about too. I wasn't a trooper for nothing. Emil and me have a chance to capture this fellow. And I'd say it's probably a better shot than you have — even with your talk about double bluffs and all. No offense."

"But he isn't dangerous. That's what nobody understands. You chasing him, that's what makes him dangerous."

Heck laughed. "Well, you psychiatrists have your own way of talking, I don't doubt. But those two fellows he almost killed tonight might disagree with you some."

"Killed?" Kohler's eyes flickered, and the doctor seemed as badly shaken as when Heck had pressed the black barrel of the gun against his skin. "What're you talking about?"

"Those orderlies."

"What orderlies?"

"He had the run-in with those two fellows near Stinson. I thought you knew about it. Just after he escaped."

"You know their names?"

"No, sure don't. They were from the hospital. Marsden. That's all I know."

Stepping away from Heck, Kohler wandered to the car.

He picked up the small skull. He rubbed it compulsively in his hands.

"So," Heck continued, "I think I gotta turn down your offer."

Kohler stared at the night sky for a moment then to Heck. "Just do me a favor. If you find him, threaten him. Don't chase him. And whatever you do, God's sake, don't sic that dog on him."

"I'm not looking at this," Heck said coolly, "like a hunt."

Kohler handed him a card. "That's my service. You close to him, call that number. They'll page me. I'd appreciate it."

"If I can, I will," Heck said. "That's the best I can say."

Kohler nodded and looked around, orienting himself. "That's 236 down there?"

"Yessir," Trenton Heck said, then leaned against fender of the car and — with a slight laugh — watched the peculiar sight of this narrow man in a suit and tie, muddy as a ditchdigger, sporting a fine-looking overcoat and backpack as he strolled down this deserted country late on a stormy night.

Dr. Ronald Adler's eyes coursed up and down the Marsden County map. "Made it all the way to the state border. Who'd've thought?" He added with neither elation nor interest, "The Massachusetts Highway Patrol should have him within an hour or so. I want a worst-case plan."

"Are you talking about the reward?" Peter Grin asked.

"Reward?" the director snapped.

"Uhm. What do you mean by worst-case?"

Adler seemed to know exactly but didn't speak for moment, perhaps out of some vestigial superstition medical training had not wholly obliterated. "If he kills a trooper when they find him. Or kills anybody else for matter. That's what I mean."

"Okay, that's possible, I suppose," Grimes offered. "Unlikely."

Adler turned his attention back to the E Ward supervisor's reports. "Is all this accurate?"

"Absolutely. I'm sure."

"Hrubek was in the Milieu Suite? Kohler was doing individual psychoanalysis with him? This delusion therapy he's always boring people with?"

And publishing about in the best professional journals, Grimes reflected. He said, "So it appears."

"NIMH guidelines. We all know them. The criteria for individual psychotherapy in schizophrenic patients are that they be young, intelligent, have a past history of achievement. And are more acute than chronic... Oh, and that they have some success in a sexual relationship. That's hardly Michael Hrubek."