Silent Treatment

'Some team,' Hughes muttered.

'What did you say?'

'I said I'll stay here and protect her.'

'That's what I thought. I've already toldthe nurses that I don't want him alone with her as long as she's alive.'

'But — '

'Is that clear?'

'Sure, Lieutenant.'

Harry followed Dickinson down the hall andwatched until the elevator doors closed behind him.

'He gone?' Hughes asked when Harryreturned.

'For now. He says that as soon as anythingshows up in Evie's blood, I'll be arrested.'

'Do you think something will?'

Harry rubbed at the persistent stinging inhis eyes.

'I don't know what the hell to think,' hesaid. 'What an asshole that man is. I mean, the least he could have done wascall someone in for the fingerprints. I agree it's a long shot, but it's a noshot at all if — '

'We don't need him,' Tom said, leadingHarry back toward the elevators.

'What?'

'We've got the Dweeb. He's on his way upright now.'

At almost that moment, the elevator doorsglided open and a slight, almost frail-looking black man emerged. He waswearing a Detroit Tigers jacket and a Detroit Lions cap, and was carrying abriefcase in one hand and a large fishing-tackle box in the other.

'Did he see you?' Tom asked.

'Nope. Walked right past me, too. I swear,Albert wouldn't see a corpse if it was hanging from his ceiling.'

'I appreciate this. I really do,' Tomsaid. 'Harry Corbett, meet Lonnie Sims, also known as the Dweeb.'

Sims set his tackle box down and shookHarry's hand with a linebacker's grip.

'He's with us,' Tom said to thenight-shift nurse as they hurried past her. 'Another detective.' They enteredroom 928. 'Lonnie and I were classmates at NYU when I got my master's incriminology,' he explained. 'He's the best crime-scene man that school's everproduced. And he loves doing fingerprints.'

'That's true, my man,' Sims said, settinghis tackle box on a chair and snapping it open. 'That's true.'

'One of my friends, Doug Atwater, has alot of clout here,' Harry said. 'Actually, Tom, you probably saw him. He washere a while ago.'

'Tall, good looking, sort of blondishhair?'

'That's him. Anyhow, I think he'll be ableto get the print records from security or personnel, or wherever they're kept.'

'Great,' Sims said, slipping on rubbergloves and handing a pair to both Tom and Harry. 'I have some people at the FBIlab in D.C. who can help us, too. Now, we're going to play a little actinggame. Tom, do what you can to have your sister direct us, and try not to touchanything, especially those metal bed railings. Harry, you're going to play themysterious stranger. Don't you touch anything either.'

'Okay.' Harry glanced past Maura's bed towhere Evie lay. Even her decerebrate posturing had stopped now. She had led atleast one secret life with Caspar Sidonis. Had there been others? Had one ofthem led to her death? He headed toward the doorway to begin his part in theperformance. One thing seemed almost certain to him. The laboratory studies ofEvie's blood, which could take days or even weeks to complete, were going toturn up something. And sometime tomorrow, Evie would be gone and her roomscrubbed down. If they were going to have any chance at picking up thefingerprints of Doctor X, it had to be done now.

'Tell me,' he said, 'why do they call youDweeb?'

Lonnie Sims glanced over at Tom.

'He. . um … he did pretty well ingrad school,' Hughes explained. 'In fact, pretty well doesn't really cover it.The truth is, if they had curved the grades in our class, only Dweeb, here,would have passed.'

By the time Harry left the hospital, thefirst hint of dawn was washing over the city. The session with Lonnie Sims hadtaken over two hours. And as far as Harry could tell, the man was, asadvertised, a genius.

The thumb's the ticket,' the Dweeb toldhim. 'That sneaky, opposable thumb. Most forensic so-called experts dust on topof things. The key is to dust under them. Show me a lab man with floor dirtground into the knees of his trousers, and I'll show you a man who knows whathe's about.'

With Maura's help, he guided Harry or Tomslow-motion through half a dozen possible scenarios, watchingtheir movementsclosely and calling out, 'Freeze!' whenever he wanted to check a spot forprints. The mystery Doc had not worn rubber gloves, Maura assured them. Simsdusted beneath the Formica tray tables and along the underside of the bedrails.He did the door handles and the light pulls, both sides of the headboards andfootboards of both beds, and even the fixtures in the bathroom. He used specialpowders and an infrared light, magnifiers and a tiny, state-of-the-art camera.He lifted about fifty prints — some quite clear, some badly smudged.

In the end, he told them, if Doug Atwatercould arrange access to the hospital's personnel fingerprint files, anythingwas possible. By the time Sims folded his tackle box, closed his briefcase, andaccompanied Tom Hughes off of Alexander 9, it was three A.M. Harry called Philand Evie's family. Then he sat by Evie's bedside in the darkened room for atime, his thoughts focused on nothing. . and everything.

'You take care now, Gene,' Maura said as heheaded out of the room.

Harry had thought she was asleep. Only nowdid he realize she was quite awake and had been keeping quiet for him — for thetime that might be his last alone with his wife. Perhaps her sedation hadkicked in, he reasoned. Perhaps the horrors of her DTs were abating. Or perhapsshe had just enough willpower to hold them off for a while.

'I will,' he said. 'You take care, too,Maura. And thanks for your help tonight.'

On the way off the floor, he stopped atthe nurse's station and signed permission for Evie's organs to be taken. Thenotion that somewhere, someone was about to receive the heart they haddesperately been praying for did help ease the profound sadness he was feeling.But nothing helped lessen his confusion — or his sense of foreboding.

The streets were virtually deserted.Emotionally drained, Harry drove home peering through a film of gritty fatigue.He parked in the indoor garage a block from his apartment. As usual RockyMartino, the co-op's night doorman, was asleep in a worn leather chair in clearview of anyone who chose to look through the glass front doors of the building.Although he would never admit it, Rocky was well past sixty. He would also notadmit to drinking more than was healthy, or to drinking on the job, althoughmost of the residents knew he did both. Firing him had been on the agenda ofvirtually every co-op meeting for as long as Harry had been part of thebuilding. But since nothing of consequence had ever happened during Rocky'sshift, and because he was a sweet guy, no action had ever been taken. Harrydebated knocking on the glass, or even ringing the ancient doorbell. Finally,he took out his keys. With the first touch of metal on metal, Rocky was on hisfeet.

'Doc, you scared the crap out of me,' hesaid, opening the inside door. 'I thought everyone in the building was tuckedin for the night. When did you go out?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I didn't see you go out after thatChinese food you ordered was delivered.'

Harry felt his pulse jump.

'You sure it was me the food was for?'

'Of course I'm sure.'

'Did you buzz me before you sent thedelivery man up?' he asked.

'I … um … I think I did.'

'And did the guy go right out?'

Rocky was clearly beginning to panic. Hewas also clearly about to lie.

'Sure,' he said. 'He went right up andcame right down.'

Harry headed for the elevator.

'Rocky, what time was that?'

'I don't know, Doc. Ten, maybe. Eleven.Why?'

Harry stepped into the elevator and heldthe door open.

'Because, Rocky,' he said, more testilythan he had meant, 'I haven't been home all night, and I didn't order anyChinese food.'

The apartment door was locked, but thatmeant nothing. They had a police lock, but he and Evie never bothered using itunless they were home. Once, when Evie had locked her keys inside, the superhad gotten her in with a credit card. Harry thought about calling the policewithout going inside. But he was exhausted and the cops might take hours to getthere.