Fortune 500 companies. He'd just seemed too withdrawn and helpless to be the Mastermind.
The most telling evidence was that the hospital's records didn't show that he'd worked at First Union. Supposedly, Szabo had been an out-of-work drifter since Vietnam. Of course, we now knew that he'd been lying about those years.
According to his psychiatric profile, Szabo had a paranoid personality disorder. He had a severe distrust of people, especially business people, and believed that they were exploiting and trying to deceive him. He was sure that if he confided in someone, the information would be used against him. During a two-year marriage from '70 through '71, Szabo had been pathologically hypersensitive and jealous of his wife. When the marriage broke up, he supposedly hit the road. He eventually showed up at Hazelwood, seeking help three years before the robberies and a year after he'd been let go at First Union. During his frequent stays at Hazelwood he was always cold and aloof. He cut himself off from everyone at the hospital, both patients and staff. He never made a friend, but he basically seemed harmless to others; and he had grounds and town privileges most of the time.
After I read the profile again, it struck me that Szabo's job at the bank had been a perfect fit for his disorder. Like a lot of functioning paranoids, Szabo had sought out work where he could operate in a punitive and moralistic style that would be socially acceptable. As head of security at the bank, he could focus on his need to prevent attacks from anyone at any time. By protecting the perimeters of the bank, he was unconsciously protecting himself.
The irony was that, by setting up a series of successful bank robberies, he had proven, at least symbolically, that there was no way to protect himself from attack by others. Maybe that was his point.
His mistrustfulness made treatment at the hospital difficult, if not impossible. He had been in and out of Hazelwood four times in the past eighteen months. Had the veterans hospital been a front for his other activities? Had he chosen Hazelwood as his hideout?
And, most puzzling of all, why was he still there?
Chapter One Hundred and Eight
On Monday morning I went to work at Hazelwood again. I was outfitted in an overhanging white shirt and corduroy pants that were loose enough to hide the holster strapped on to my leg. An FBI agent named Jack Waterhouse had been added to the staff as an aide. Sampson continued on as a porter, but he was working only on Five now.
Frederic Szabo proceeded to do nothing to attract suspicion or reveal himself in any way. For three days straight, he never left the ward. He slept a lot in his room. He occasionally worked on an old Apple laptop.
What the hell was he doing? Did he know we were watching him?
Late on Wednesday after the work shift, I met up with Betsey inside the hospital's administration building. She had on a navy-blue suit and blue sling back heels, and she was all business again. She almost seemed like another person at times, preoccupied and distant.
She was clearly as frustrated as I was," He worked on his master plan for at least three years, right? Presumably, he has fifteen million dollars stashed somewhere. He's killed a lot of people to get it. Now he's sitting on his ass at Hazelwood? Give me a break!"
I told her what I thought about Szabo. "He's extremely paranoid. He's psychopathic. He may even know we're here. Maybe we should pull back from the hospital. Do surveillance from the outside. He has his full grounds and town privileges back from Dr. Cioffi. Szabo can come and go as he likes."
While I talked, Betsey kept pulling at the lapels of her blazer. I was afraid she might start pulling out her hair next.
"But he doesn't go anywhere! He's a fifty-year-old slacker! He's a total loser!"
"Betsey, I know. I've been watching Szabo sleep and play games on the Internet for three days."
She snorted out a laugh. "So he's pulled off five perfect crimes that we know of. And now he's retiring to the farm."
"Yeah. The funny farm," I said.
"Want to hear about my day?" she finally asked.
I nodded.
"Well, I visited First Union and I talked with everyone I could find who was there when Szabo was at the bank. He was considered very "dedicated," actually. But he was wound tight about efficiency and doing the right thing in exactly the right way. Some of the others used it to mock him."
"Mock him in what way?" I asked.
"Szabo had a nickname, Alex. Get this it was the Mastermind! The name was a joke. It was supposed to be a joke on Szabo."
"Well, I guess he's turned the joke around. Now the joke is on us."
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
The strangest thing happened the following morning. As Szabo was passing me in the hall, he rubbed against me. He managed to look flustered and he apologized for supposedly 'losing his balance," but I was almost certain he had done it on purpose. Why? What the hell was that all about?
About an hour later, I saw him leaving the ward. I was pretty sure he knew I was watching him go. As soon as he was out, I hurried to the door.
"Where's Szabo going?" I asked the aide who'd just let him out.
"PT. He signed out. Szabo has full grounds and town. He can go wherever he likes."
He had been vegetating on the ward for so long that he'd caught me off guard. Tell the head nurse that I had to leave," I said.
"Tell her yourself," The aide frowned and tried to blow me off.
I pushed past him," Tell her. It's important."
I let myself off the unit and took the rickety and temperamental elevator down to the lobby floor. PT was physical therapy, and Frederic Szabo hated the gym. I remembered reading it in his nursing notes. Where was he really going?
I hurried outside and saw Szabo skulking across the courtyard between hospital buildings. Tall and bearded like the physical description we'd gotten from Brian Macdougall.
When Szabo walked right past the gym, I wasn't surprised.
He was on the move!
He kept on going and I followed. He seemed kind of nervous and skittish. He finally turned his head in my direction and I ducked off the path. I didn't think he'd seen me. Had he?
Szabo continued on and walked through the hospital gates. The street outside was filled with traffic. He walked due south. Not a care in the world. Was this the Mastermind?