I "This," he said not unpleasantly, "is a pretty damn unusual set of situations we've got here." Lucy did not reply and Francis tried to read in the wiry black man's face what it was that he really thought of what was happening. This was, at least initially, impossible. "My brother went in to get your new office straight, Miss Jones. And I filled in the nurses on duty that you're gonna be here for a couple of days, at the very least. One of them will show you over to the trainees' dormitory later. And I'm guessing that right about now, Mister Evans is having himself a long and unhappy conversation with the head doc, and that he's going to want to speak with you, too, real soon."
"Mister Evans is the psychologist in charge?"
"Of this unit. That's right, ma'am."
"And you don't think he will be pleased by my presence?" She said this with a small, wry smile.
"Not exactly, ma'am," Little Black responded. "Something you got to understand about how things are here."
"What's that?"
"Well, Peter and C-Bird can fill you in as well as I, but, to be short and sweet about it, the hospital is all about getting things to just sail along nice and smooth. Things that are different, things that are out of the ordinary well, they makes folks upset."
"The patients?"
"Yes, the patients. And if the patients are upset, then the staff is upset. Staff gets upset, then the administrators get upset. You get the picture? People like things smooth. All people. Crazy folks. Old folks. Young folks. Sane folks. And I'm not thinking you're about making things be smooth at all, Miss Jones. No, I'm guessing that you are all about the exact opposite."
Little Black said this with a wide grin, as if he found it all amusing. Lucy Jones noted this, lifted her shoulders lightly, and asked, "And you? And your rather large brother? What do the two of you think?"
At first, Little Black let out a short burst of laughter. "Just because he's big and I'm small, don't mean we both don't have the same large ideas. No, ma'am. How you think ain't about how you look." He gestured at the knots of patients moving through the corridor, and Lucy Jones saw the truth in those words. Then the attendant took a short breath and stared at the prosecutor. When he replied, it was in a voice lowered so that only the small group could hear. "Maybe we both think that something wrong did happen here, and we don't like that, because, if it did, then in a little way, we are to blame, and we are not liking that one little bit, not at all, Miss Jones. So, if a few feathers get ruffled, then we're thinking that ain't such a bad thing."
"Thank you," Lucy said.
"Don't thank me quite yet," Little Black replied. "You got to remember, when all is said and over and done, me, my brother, the nurses and the doctors and most of the patients, but not all, well, we're gonna still be here, and you're not. And so don't be thanking anyone quite yet. And a whole lot depends on whose feathers are the ones that get the ruffling, if you know what I mean."
Lucy nodded. "Point well taken," she said. She looked up and spoke under her breath, "And I'm guessing this must be Mister Evans?"
Francis pivoted and saw-Mister Evil striding swiftly in their direction. He had a welcoming appearance in his body language, a smile, his arms held wide. Francis did not trust this for an instant.
"Miss Jones," Evans said quickly, "let me introduce myself." There were perfunctory handshakes.
"Did Doctor Gulptilil inform you of the reason for my presence here?" Lucy asked.
"He explained that you have suspicions that perhaps the wrong person was arrested here in the young nurse's murder, a suspicion that I find somewhat laughable. Nevertheless, you are here. This, he told me, was something of a follow-up investigation."
Lucy eyed the psychologist carefully, aware that his response fell somewhat short of the complete truth, but in a broadly painted sort of way, was accurate. "So I can count on your help?" she asked.
"Most certainly."
"Thank you," she said.
"In fact, perhaps you would like to begin an assessment of the Amherst Building's patient files? We could begin that now. There's still some time before dinner and evening activities."
"First, I'd like a tour," she said.
"I can do that now," he replied.
"I was hoping that the two patients might take me around."
Mister Evil shook his head. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
She did not respond.
"Well," he continued, puncturing the momentary silence, "Peter and Francis are, unfortunately, currently restricted to this floor. And outside access for all patients, regardless of their status, is being limited until the anxiety created by the murder and the arrest of Lanky has dissipated. To make things more complicated, your very presence on the unit well, I hate to say this, but it really prolongs the mini crisis we are experiencing. So for the foreseeable future, we'll be in a heightened security mode. Not precisely unlike a prison lock-down, Miss Jones, but our own version of the same. Movement around the hospital is being curtailed. Until we get the affected patients fully stabilized again."
Lucy started to respond, but then stopped. Finally, she asked, "Well, certainly they can show me the crime scene, and this floor, and fill me in on what they saw and what they did, just as they have for the police. That's not too challenging to the rules, is it? And then perhaps you, or one of the Moses brothers can accompany me through the remainder of the building and to the companion units?"
"Of course," Mister Evil replied. "A short tour followed by a longer tour. I will make the arrangements."
Lucy turned back to Peter and Francis. "Let's just go over that night once more," she said.
"C-Bird," Peter said, stepping in front of Mister Evil, "lead the way."
The crime scene in the closet had been dutifully swabbed down and cleaned up, and when Lucy opened the door, it stank of recently applied disinfectant, and no longer seemed to Francis to contain any of the evil that he recalled. It was as if a place of utter hellishness had been returned to normalcy, suddenly completely benign. Cleaning fluids, mops, buckets, spare lightbulbs, brooms, stacked sheets, and a coiled hose were all arranged in an orderly fashion on the shelves. The overhead light made the floor glisten, but not with any sign of Short Blond's blood. Francis was slightly taken aback by how clean and routine it all appeared, and he thought for a moment that turning the closet back into a closet was almost as obscene as the act that had taken place there.
Lucy bent down and ran her finger over the place where the body had come to rest, as if, Francis thought, by feeling the cool linoleum floor she could somehow connect with the life that had flowed out in that spot.
"So, she died here?" Lucy said, turning toward Peter. He bent down beside her, and when he did answer, it was in a low, confidential voice.
"Yes. But I think she was already unconscious."
"Why?"
"Because the stuff that surrounded the body didn't resemble a setting where a fight took place. I think that the cleaning fluids were thrown about to disrupt the crime scene, and to make people think something different about what took place."
"Why would he douse her body in cleaning fluid?"
"To compromise any forensic evidence he might have left behind."
Lucy nodded. "That would make sense."
Peter looked across at Lucy, saw that she wasn't saying something, rubbed his hand against his chin, then rose up, shaking his head slightly. "The other cases you're looking at. How was the crime scene in those?"