Walter turned off the flashlight and tossed it into the air as he rolled into the pew.
A gunshot, the muzzle flash jumping like lightning inside the chapel, and Walter was on his feet.
'Brian, get in here, he's running!'
Walter knew every inch of the chapel by heart. His hand was on the back of the pew and he saw the beam of the man's flashlight moving through the chapel. Another man was shouting, another flashlight beam crisscrossing through the darkness. Walter ran up the centre aisle, heading for the back of the chapel, and heard another gunshot, the muzzle flash lighting up the door to the room holding the ladder, and he ran inside and threw the door shut.
A gunshot splintered the door. Walter climbed the ladder, legs shaking, rubbery. He reached the top and scrambled to his feet as another gunshot blew apart the wood. Walter gripped the ladder and pulled it up. Below him, the door flew open, banging against the wall. Walter tossed the ladder into the hallway. The man with the knit hat moved into the room, saw the hole in the ceiling and fired. The man started to climb the mountain of debris and Walter grabbed a brick and threw it down the hole, the man screamed and Walter threw another brick, then another. A gun fired again but Walter was gone, running through the dark.
78
'Walter Smith isn't here,' Darby said.
Dr Tobias looked over his bifocals. 'What's that?'
'Walter Smith's entire pharmaceutical history is listed in the pharmacy database but his name doesn't appear in your patient database.'
The hospital director groaned as he got out of his chair. Darby handed him the printed sheets listing Walter Smith's medications.
At the beginning of the year a physician named Dr Christopher Zackary had renewed Walter Smith's prescription for Lycoprime. Walter Smith had been using the product for the past year and a half. He had used the Derma camouflage concealer steadily since the early eighties. The medical entries for Derma stopped in 1997, the time when it no longer required a prescription.
Tobias scanned the pages then set them aside and typed on the keyboard 'Smith, Walter'. The search came up empty.
'That's not possible,' Tobias said. 'If he's in the pharmacy database, then his patient file should be in our system.'
'I'd like to see his paper file.'
'Dr Zackary has most likely gone home for the day. Let me see if I can find someone to unlock his office.'
Darby leaned back in her chair, stretching as she stared up at the ceiling tiles. It was after 10 p.m.
Why was Walter Smith's patient file missing? Was it some clerical oversight or computer glitch? A hospital of this size would have a system in place to perform weekly if not daily backups of its computer systems.
Her cell phone rang.
'You were right,' Bill Jordan said. 'He came back to the chapel.'
Darby stood, almost knocking over the chair. 'You've got him in custody?'
'Not yet. Look, I don't have much time, so let me give you a quick rundown. Quinn – he's one of the guys I have stationed inside Sinclair – Quinn said someone entered the chapel about half an hour ago. The guy he saw, his face was all messed up, like it was burned. The guy decided to run. Shots were fired and the guy made it into a room located in the back, behind the pews. There's a hole in the ceiling.'
Darby knew the room. She had seen it after she crawled through the vent.
'Quinn and his partner, Brian Pierra, they swear they saw a ladder,' Jordan said. 'Next thing they know, the ladder is pulled up. Quinn fired a shot and got a brick thrown at his head.'
'Can you cover all the exits?'
'We're covering all the exits we know about. Danvers PD is here and they're pissed. One of Reed's security guys heard the gunshots, panicked and called in the locals. I've got to go.'
'I'm on my way.'
'No, I want you to stay right where you are. This place is a goddamn zoo, and I've got a tactical nightmare on my hands. I'll call you as soon as we have this guy in custody, I promise. Good work, Darby. You were right.'
And then Jordan was gone.
Darby wanted to run for her car, tear up Route One North and then what? Jordan's men had SWAT experience. If she drove up to Danvers, what could she do? She couldn't do anything.
She paced the cheap carpeting, surrounded by papers and steamed heat. She wanted to be there when they dragged this person out of the hospital. She wanted to see the face of the man who had shot Emma Hale and Judith Chen – and what about Hannah Givens? Was the college student still alive or was her body at the bottom of a river?
Darby was staring out the office window when Dr Tobias walked into the office. He handed her three bulky folders. Tobias checked his watch and excused himself to get coffee.
Darby leaned back on a desk and read the patient file.
Walter Smith had been admitted to Shriners during the early morning hours of 5 August 1980 with third-degree burns covering ninety per cent of his body. His mother, who had died in the blaze, had doused his bed in gasoline and set him on fire because he was 'the son of the devil'. Walter Smith was eleven years old.
Walter had undergone psychiatric evaluation and been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. An orphan, with no access to medical insurance, Walter was refused acceptance at the McClean Hospital, famous for its treatment of mental illnesses. The Sinclair Mental Health Facility, a well-regarded psychiatric institution run by the state, offered the boy free treatment.
Darby looked back to the pharmacy records. Walter Smith had moved well over a dozen times during the past twenty years. His most recent address was in Rowley – two towns away from Danvers, where Sinclair was located.
She called Neil Joseph and gave him a quick rundown of Walter Smith.
'The name isn't appearing in any of our local cases,' Neil said. 'Do you have any other names for me?'
'No.' Darby told him what was going on with Sinclair.
Next she called Coop and relayed the same information. He was still searching through patient records.
'What do you want me to do?' he asked.
'You might as well keep looking.'
Darby hung up and stared at the close-up photographs taken of the boy's burned face. Was Walter Smith the man who had killed Emma Hale and Judith Chen? On paper, he looked like the perfect suspect. Was the man trapped inside Sinclair?
She checked the clock. 11:35 p.m. Forty minutes had passed since her conversation with Bill Jordan. Was Walter Smith in custody? Or were Jordan's men still hunting for him? It was maddening to wonder.
A search warrant would be needed to get inside Walter Smith's Rowley home. That would take time.
Was Hannah Givens inside the Rowley house or was she being kept somewhere else? Did Walter Smith live with someone? A roommate or a girlfriend? If he did live with someone, this person might be able to provide additional information about him.
Darby made a copy of Smith's medical files. She stuffed the pages inside her backpack and ran through the corridors, heading for the front door. Walter looked around the motel parking lot. The police hadn't followed him here – they hadn't followed him through the access tunnel but they were all over the hospital. He had locked the gate behind him and was off and running through the woods when he heard sirens. A moment later, blinking blue and white lights pierced the darkness.
The police hadn't found him but they had found Mary and she was gone, his Blessed Mother was gone.
Sitting behind the wheel, his clothes soaked with sweat, Walter rocked back and forth, back and forth, telling himself he wasn't going to cry.
He couldn't hold it any longer. He let it out, sobbing like a little boy, his whole body shaking.
Can you hear me, Walter?
Mary's voice was loud and clear. Walter stopped rocking, listened.