Jamison gave him a searching glance. “Nothing?”
“Nothing. Let’s hope Rabinowitz proves more helpful.”
Dr. Harold Rabinowitz lived in an apartment in an old building on the other side of town. When Decker knocked on the door he heard footfalls heading his way.
A voice said, “Who is it?”
“Amos Decker.”
The door opened and Decker was looking down at a small, balding man with a gray beard and wearing dark glasses. He was well into his seventies. He had on a worn cardigan, dress slacks, and a collared white shirt.
“Hello, Amos.” The man gazed at Decker’s belly.
It took Decker a moment to process it.
“When did you lose your eyesight, Dr. Rabinowitz?”
“Fully? Seven years ago. Macular degeneration. A very nasty disease. You’re not alone. I can hear someone else.”
“My friend, Alex Jamison.”
“Hello, Dr. Rabinowitz. Please call me Alex.”
“I like your perfume. Vanilla and coconut, very nice. Am I right?”
“You are. Very good.”
He smiled, satisfied. “Other senses are heightened to compensate, you know. Please come in.”
They settled down in chairs in the small living room. Decker looked around and took in the neat surroundings, the carefully constructed walking paths. He also saw the guide stick for the visually impaired hanging from a peg next to the door.
“I was surprised to hear that you wanted to see me,” began Rabinowitz.
“I won’t take up too much of your time.”
“I’ve gotten to the point in my life, Amos, where all I have is time. My professional work is done. My wife is deceased. My health is declining. My old friends are dead. My children have their own health problems. My grandchildren are graduating from college and starting their own careers. So your visit is very welcome to me.”
Decker settled back and kept his gaze on the man while Jamison shot glances between them.
Decker said, “How long have you been gone from the Cognitive Institute?”
“They put me out to pasture ten years ago. I would have stayed longer, but my eyes were starting to go even then.”
“They’ve moved.”
“I know. I keep in touch. The institute has grown, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Hence the move. They needed more space. We’ve come light-years since you were with us. We know so much more.”
“And you obviously remember me.”
“You would be hard to forget. Our only professional football player. It was quite unusual.”
“I went into law enforcement when I left here. First as a cop. Then a detective.”
“You mentioned that was your ambition when you were here.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Good for you. And have you had a productive career?”
“It’s had its ups and downs, like most careers.”
“Hopefully more ups than downs.”
“You may be able to help with that.”
Rabinowitz frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Decker mentioned the Mansfield case.
Rabinowitz said, “I heard about that, along with the rest of the country. So tragic. So awful. So many lives just... ended. For no reason.”
“I’m working that case. And there is a reason. In fact, it might have a personal connection to me.”
“How so?” Rabinowitz said sharply.
“I think someone at the institute while I was there is involved with the massacre at the high school.”
Rabinowitz gripped the edge of his armchair. “What!?”
“I can’t give you specifics, but the killer communicated the old address of the institute to me. He said that I had dissed him. He indicated that was why he killed all those people.”
“Oh my God!” Rabinowitz nearly toppled from his chair, but, moving fast for a big man, Decker managed to snag his arm and hold him in his seat.
Decker looked at Jamison. “Water?”
She jumped up and hurried into the next room. She was back in less than a minute with a glass of water. Decker gave it to Rabinowitz, and he drank down a bit before carefully placing it on the table next to him.
“I’m sorry,” said Decker. “I shouldn’t have just dropped that on you. Sometimes... sometimes I just don’t realize...”
Rabinowitz wiped his lips with a trembling hand and then settled back in his chair. “Your neurological switches were set awry, Amos, for want of a better term. I know that certain societal parameters and cues are difficult for you, as they were for many of the folks who passed through our doors. It just goes with the territory. Parts of the brain become extraordinary in what they can do, while other parts, well, other parts regress a bit, at least from a societal perspective. It’s all a question of priorities for the mind.”
“That’s why I’m here. The folks who passed through your doors. One of them could be our killer.”
Rabinowitz shook his head, his brow scrunched up in distress. “I find that so very... terrible. And unlikely.”
“Damaged minds, Dr. Rabinowitz.”
“I think you can call me Harold now, Amos. We no longer have a doctor-patient relationship.”
“Okay, Harold. Damaged minds, even turned exceptional in some ways, are capable of many things. Some good, some bad.”
“But surely you remember quite vividly the people you met at the institute. Did you see a callous murderer among them?”
“Honestly, no. And I can’t remember ever ‘dissing’ any of them. I can’t recall insulting anyone while I was there.”
“But you say the... the man responsible for these terrible acts gave you the address of the institute?”
“The old address, on Duckton. He did it in code, but it was clearly his intent.”
Rabinowitz rubbed his mouth. “I’m not sure what I can add to what you already know.”
Jamison spoke up. “You’ve focused on patients who were there with you. But what about doctors, psychologists, or other health care professionals you met while you were there?”
Decker nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
Rabinowitz said firmly, “I can’t believe anyone who worked at the institute would ever commit such vile acts.”
“I don’t want to think it either,” said Jamison hurriedly. “But in an investigation like this you really can’t discount any possibility. It would be irresponsible.”
Decker said, “Chris Sizemore.”
Jamison said, “Who?”
Rabinowitz said, “He was a psychologist who worked at the institute. I was told he left there several years ago.”
“Why do you mention him, Decker?” asked Jamison.
“Because he and I did not get along. We had words. Nothing that would have led me to believe he could be our guy. But we didn’t get along.”
“Could he be Leopold twenty years later?” she asked.
Decker closed his eyes and clicked through the appropriate frames in his head. “Right height and build. Facial features similar. But it was hard to tell Leopold’s age. Sizemore would be in his early fifties now. Bottom line, while doubtful, I can’t be certain that Sizemore and Leopold aren’t the same person. The tats on his arm could have come later. He could have lied about being in the Navy. His voice could have changed over the years. A lot of things about him could have changed over two decades. But the police have Leopold’s prints and DNA from when he was arrested. Presumably Sizemore’s prints are available in some professional database. It should be fairly straightforward to see if the two are one and the same.”
He had a photo of Leopold on his phone, but of course he couldn’t show it to Rabinowitz to see if it might be Sizemore.
He looked at Rabinowitz. “Do you know what happened to Sizemore? Why did he leave the institute?”