Dan pulled the phone away from his ear and slowly lumbered to his feet.
Great, Katie thought. He stood about five-ten and his upper body was as broad as his middle. He’ll be as strong as an ox.
Dan walked directly towards Katie, staring at a spot past her shoulder. His expression was benign. She and Westboard stepped aside cautiously and allowed him to pass.
Dan hung up the phone and turned to face them.
“My friend is sad.”
“Why?” Katie asked.
“I had to hang up. He’s lonely.”
“I see.” Katie thought for a moment. “Dan, you said I was your friend, didn’t you? You told your friend on the phone that I was your friend, too, right?”
“Him, too,” Dan motioned at Westboard.
“Yes. Him, too.” Katie struggled not to grin. The guy was funny. “Dan, would you like to take a ride with me? Up to Sacred Heart Hospital?”
“In a police car?” Dan grinned, child-like.
“Yes. To see Nancy.”
His face fell. “Nancy?”
“Yes. In my police car.”
Dan shrugged. “Yeah. Of course, I’m supposed to call Fred back.”
“He’ll be okay.”
“Yeah.”
Katie found a light jacket for Dan and handed him his tennis shoes. It took him almost five minutes to put them on. He tied each bow meticulously.
“Okay.” He stood up. “Ready.”
Katie led him out of the house. As they were halfway down the walk, Katie remembered to ask him where his house keys were so that they could lock the house.
“They are in hyper-space,” Dan said matter-of-factly.
“Great.” She cast a glance backward at Westboard.
He mouthed the words, “I’ll look.” Katie nodded her thanks.
Once at the car, she paused again. Department policy stated that everyone an officer took into custody and transported must be handcuffed. This applied whether the custody was benevolent or an arrest situation. However, Katie knew that the rule was occasionally violated when it better suited the situation. For instance, the rape victim she transported the previous night had ridden in the front seat with her.
Still, she could, actually should, handcuff Dan. He might remain cooperative for the ride, but he could go ballistic in the back of her patrol car. Uncuffed, he could cause a lot of damage, maybe hurt himself, to say nothing of being difficult to control once she stopped the car. She’d heard of it happening every so often to an officer. She was pretty sure that was a fun one to explain to a supervisor.
Then again, Dan had blood on his hands. In this age of communicable diseases that were blood-borne, Katie didn’t really like to touch someone else’s blood without rubber gloves.
Katie considered briefly, then said, “Dan, you know you have to behave in my car, right? Your best behavior?”
“Yeah. Best behavior.”
“I mean it, Dan. If you don’t behave, my boss will get very mad at me. He will ask me why I didn’t handcuff you. Do you want to be hand-cuffed?”
Katie saw horror enter Dan’s eyes. She worried that she’d said too much.
“No! Handcuffs hurt! Send them to hyper-space!”
Katie waved her hand and made a whooshing sound. “There-gone. They will stay in hyperspace, as long as you behave. All right?”
“Behave. Yes. All right.”
Katie opened the driver’s door and popped the security button in the doorjamb to release the door to the back seat. As she stepped away from the car, she said, “Okay, Dan, get in.”
Dan immediately climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Dan-” Katie protested.
Dan began pushing buttons on the computer and the radio keypad. He moved quickly to the steering wheel, moving it from side to side as he adjusted the wiper blades and the heater. Since the car was turned off, none of the instruments responded. He gave a tug on the shotgun in its secure slot and moved on to the car stereo, pushing several buttons and twisting a dial.
“Busy guy,” Westboard commented as he walked up. He handed Katie the house keys. “The place is locked up.”
“Thanks.” Katie said. She turned back to Dan. “Are you finished, Dan? Can we take a ride now?”
Dan sat still for a moment, staring through the windshield.
“Dan?”
His head rotated slowly toward her. “Of course, my favorite cat is an elephant,” he said.
“Mine, too. Now please get out of my seat and get in the back.”
Dan struggled out of the front seat and walked gingerly around the rear door and into the back seat. Katie shut the door.
“Sheesh. He is out there,” Westboard said. “I feel like we’re taking the Rainman into custody.”
Katie cringed. She knew Dan probably couldn’t hear them, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings or get him riled up. “At least he’s not violent,” she said. “Just…a little loony.”
“I’ll say.”
“Did you see any meds in the bathroom?”
“Nope. None in the bedroom, either. But you know that typewriter in the living room?”
“Yes.”
Westboard handed her a sheet of paper and said, “A book of poetry by Ralph W. Emerson was next to it.”
Katie looked at the sheet of paper. A single line was typed over and over about thirty times.
The strong gods pine for my abode.
“What poem is this from?” she asked.
Westboard shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya. I didn’t see it on the page the book was open to.” He motioned to the sheet of paper. “There were about fifteen or twenty of those stacked next to the typewriter, though.”
“I wonder what the deal is with that?”
“Dunno. You want me to follow you up in case he gets excited?”
“No,” Katie said. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Matt.”
“Enjoy the ride in the police car,” he said slyly and walked toward his own car.
Katie got into her driver’s seat. She pulled a baby wipe from her patrol bag and wiped everywhere Dan had touched. As she cleaned the steering wheel, she looked into her rear-view mirror at Dan. The bearded man was staring off at nothing again.
“Dan? What’s this from?” She held up the paper with her free hand.
Dan looked at her but didn’t answer.
“What poem?”
“I don’t know.”
Katie held back a sigh. She balled up the baby wipe and slid it into the small plastic garbage bag. Then she started the engine. Instantly the windshield wipers began to flap violently. The stereo blasted static. She quickly hit the right buttons to stop everything, feeling like a three-year-old had been playing in her car.
She glanced back at Dan. He stared back, unaffected and not at all curious.
“So you like Emerson, then?” she asked.
“To me, he tastes like ketchup,” Dan replied.
Katie put the car into gear and reset her trip odometer. “Ketchup?”
“Ketchup.”
“What about T.S. Eliot?”
“Mustard.”
“Of course,” Katie said, smiling. She informed dispatch that she was en route to Sacred Heart with a forty-eight. On the way up, she wondered which poet tasted like mayonnaise.
0607 hours
Connor O’Sullivan sat in the lobby of the Internal Affairs office at 1098 West Mallon Avenue. Anthony Battaglia sat next to him in the corner. The dark-haired officer leaned into the wall and slept, snoring lightly.
How the hell can he sleep sitting in IA, Sully wondered. He must not think he did anything wrong. Either that, or he was consigned to his fate. Who knew?
Hart kept them both waiting. Sully figured that was how he showed his dominance. Hart was important. They were not. Therefore, they arrived early and waited for him.
At nine minutes past the hour, Lieutenant Alan Hart entered the lobby of the IA office.
Sully took one look at his thin, smug face and felt a stab of anger replace his concern. Battaglia’s light snore next to him gave him confidence.
Hart cast a disapproving look at the slumbering Battaglia. Then his eyes flicked to Sully. “You’re first,” he said in a clipped tone.