"He wouldn't go under," the doc said. "Hal Levinson's been my anesthesiologist for twenty years. He's one of the best. Maybe the best. He tried everything he had—from pentathol to Halothane to Ketamine and back and nothing would put that kid under. Even a high-level spinal block wouldn't dent him. Nothing worked." His voice began to rise. "Do you hear me? Nothing worked!"
"So—so you didn't… operate?"
The doc's expression became even bleaker.
"Oh, I 'operated.' I 'operated,' all right. I went into that kid and put everything in his belly back the way it was supposed to be, then I closed him up. And I closed up the holes in his hands and feet too. And he jerked and writhed with every suture and so we had to tie him down. Yeah, he's all back together. He's up in Recovery now but I don't know why. He doesn't need to recover from the anesthesia because none of it took. He's got no blood and I can't give him any because we can't get a sample to type. He should be dead but he's up there screaming with pain but making no sound because his vocal cords are all shot to hell from all the screaming he's already done."
Renny watched in shock as tears began to form in the doctor's eyes.
"I sewed him up but I know he's not going to heal. He's in pain and I can't stop it. The only thing that's going to help that child is dying and he's not doing it. Who is he? Where did he come from? What happened to him? Are there any medical records on him anywhere?"
Father Ryan snapped his fingers. "Here! He had a full neurological workup right here just last year—through the child study team."
The doc dragged himself wearily to his feet. His expression was even bleaker than before.
"You mean I'm going to find this kid in medical records? That means he really exists and this isn't just a nightmare." He sighed heavily. "Maybe they typed his blood."
As he turned to leave, Father Ryan grabbed his arm.
"Can I see him?"
The doc shook his head. "Not now. Maybe later. After I see if I can get some blood into him."
As he stepped out the door, Kolarcik stepped in.
"They just brought in the guy from the house."
"Lorn!" The priest leapt forward. "Let me—"
Renny put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. Gently.
"You stay put for now, Father. I'll want you to ID him, other-wise you stay here for the time being."
"If he looks like Teddy Roosevelt, you've got him. But tell me something. Am I under arrest?"
"No. But you're up to your neck in this, so for everybody's sake, stay put."
"Don't worry about that. As long as Danny's here, I'm here."
Renny had no trouble believing that.
The handcuffs spoiled the picture, but this guy Herbert Lorn really did look like Teddy Roosevelt. Only the glasses were missing. And he was either completely whacked out or was putting on the best damn show Renny had ever seen.
Renny seated himself opposite Lom. The guy's eyes were focused somewhere off in space, like on Mars maybe.
"Your name is Lom? Herbert Lom?" Renny said.
"Don't waste your breath, Sarge," said the uniform who had brought him in, a cocky brat named Havens. "No one could get a word out of him over at the station. His wallet says he's Lom, though."
"Were you at the house?"
"Nah. Wasn't my shift."
"Anybody tell you about the scene."
Havens shrugged. "Said the upstairs bedroom was practically painted with blood."
Just like Father Ryan had said. Renny gave Lom's clothes a careful visual going over.
"These the clothes he was wearing when they found him?"
"Yeah. You don't think we changed him, do you?"
Havens's mouth was going to buy him big trouble someday, but not from Renny. Not tonight. He was too concerned with why there was no blood on Lom's clothes or hands.
"Forensics go over him?"
"Yeah. Scraped his fingernails, vacuumed his clothes, the works." t
"He's beep Miranda'd?"
"About three times, in front of witnesses."
"And he hasn't asked for an attorney?"
"He hasn't even asked to take a pee. He don't speak and don't do a goddam thing you tell him to, but watch this."
The cop pulled Lom to his feet and he stood there without moving. He pushed him back into the chair and he stayed seated. He got Lom up on his feet again and pulled him forward. After a couple of stumbling steps he began to walk in a straight line. The cop let him go and he kept on walking, right into a wall. Then he stopped walking and stood with his face against the wall.
"Guy's a fucking robot."
Renny didn't argue. He had Kolarcik bring Father Ryan down from the doctors' lounge.
"This him?" he asked the priest when he arrived.
Father Ryan's gentle features twisted into a snarl.
"You filthy—!
He lunged for Lom's throat and it took everything Kolarcik and the other uniform had to hold him back. Lorn didn't even flinch.
The cop was right: Lorn was like a fucking robot.
"I'll put that down as a positive ID," Renny said. "In the meantime, Father, would you mind returning to the lounge?"
As the priest was led away, Renny turned to the uniform.
"Take our friend down to the emergency room and have them give him the once-over. I don't want anyone saying we didn't see to his medical needs while he was in custody."
He glanced at his watch. Two A.M. Christmas already. And he hadn't called Joanne yet. There'd be hell to pay for that.
He hurried to a phone.
The ER doc caught up to Renny in the hall about half an hour later.
"Hey, Lieutenant—"
"It's sergeant."
"Okay—Sergeant. Where the hell did you find that guy?"
This doc was young, in his thirties, had long dark hair, an earring on the right, and a neat beard. Looked like a rabbi. The name-tag on his white coat said A. STEIN, M.D.
"Lorn? We've got him for attempted murder. Maybe murder, too, if we ever find his wife, so… Why are you shaking your head?"
"There's no way your Mr. Lorn is going to stand trial for anything."
Renny's stomach gave a lurch at the note of finality in Stein's voice.
"He died?"
"Might as well have. He's as good as brain dead."
"Bullshit! He's faking it, acting like he's got that disease, cata—cata-something."
"Catatonia. But he's not catatonic. And he's not faking. You can't fake what he's got."
"So what's he got?"
Stein scratched his beard. "I'm not sure yet. But I'll tell you one thing: His neurological exam puts him on a level somewhere between an earthworm and a turnip."
"Thanks, Doc," Renny said acidly. "You've been a big help. Now find me a specialist, one who knows that a guy who walks around ain't brain dead. Maybe then I can get a real exam done."
Stein's reddening face told Renny he'd scored with that one. Stein grabbed him by the arm.
"Okay, wiseass. You come with me. I want to show you a few things."
Renny accompanied him to a curtained-off cubicle in a rear corner of the ER where Herbert Lom lay on a gurney. Alone.
"Where's Havens?"
"The cop? I sent him for coffee."
"You left a suspect here alone?" Renny said angrily.
"Mr. Lom's not going anywhere," Stein said. He pulled a penlight from his coat pocket and stepped around to the far side of the gurney. "Come on over here and take a look at this."
Renny stepped closer and looked down at Lom's impassive face.
"Look at his pupils. Look how wide they are." Stein flashed the beam of his penlight into each eye, back and forth, one and then the other. "See any change in them?"
The pupils didn't move a hair.
"Fixed and dilated," Stein said. "Now watch this."
He touched his finger to Lom's left eyeball. Renny flinched but Lom didn't. He didn't even blink.