She gave him a nasty little smile, then looked past his shoulder and gestured with two fingers. “You can uncuff him now. The orderlies will take him from here.”
One of the cops who’d arrested him came over then and told him to stand up.
“When do I get to see Dr. Clarence?”
The woman behind the desk frowned. “Who?”
“Dr. Clarence,” Solomon said. “He’s been my doctor for what? Three years now? Every time I come to Baycliff he takes good care of me.”
“Look around, Mr. St. Fort. This isn’t Baycliff, it’s County General.”
Solomon squinted at her. “What’re you talking about? I told this fool. I’m supposed to go to Baycliff and see Dr. Clarence.”
“You didn’t tell me shit,” the cop said. He was about to take the cuffs off, but Solomon jerked away from him.
“Somebody call Dr. Clarence. I need to see him right now. He’s gotta take care of me.”
“Easy,” the cop said.
But Solomon didn’t listen to him. He started thrashing now, twisting away from his grasp. “Get me Dr. Clarence, goddamn it! Where’s Dr. Clarence?”
The woman behind the desk looked sharply at the cop. “You might’ve mentioned he was already under somebody else’s care.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know?”
Solomon kept thrashing, shouting out for Dr. Clarence. An orderly came over and grabbed him by the arms.
“She’s hurting me, Mama! Make her stop hurting me!”
The woman behind the desk stood up, her face reddening. “You shut up.”
“Make her stop! Make her stop!”
The woman was glaring at the cop now. “You think I’m going to sit here and do all this paperwork just so we can transfer him out in a couple hours?”
“What do you want me to do about it?” the cop said.
“What do you think? Get him the hell out of here. Now. Take him up to Baycliff to see his precious Dr. Clarence.”
“I’m not a goddamn taxi service.”
“Then throw him back on the street, for all I care.”
“You’re County General, for crissakes. You can’t just turn him away like that.”
“Oh?” the woman said. “Watch me.”
She grabbed the paperwork in front of her and unceremoniously ripped it in half, flashing her nasty little smile again. “Sorry, Officer, we’re full up this morning. You’ll have to take him somewhere else.”
“What’d you just do there, little Miss Hard Worker? You rip up my note to Dr. Clarence? Was that my note to Dr. Clarence?”
The woman kept her gaze on the cop. “Get him out. Now.”
And as the cop scowled at her and roughly grabbed hold of Solomon, Solomon bit back his own smile.
The Rhythm never lets you down.
24
It was closing in on noon when the caravan of police technicians took the winding road up to Baycliff Psychiatric. A special communications truck was parked near the ambulance bay, just outside Tolan’s office, his land line rigged with recording and tracing equipment.
The signal from his cell phone, Sue Carmody explained, would be picked up at a cellular switching station. And if Vincent was using one to make his calls, current technology allowed them to track his whereabouts within a three-hundred-foot radius.
There was a palpable, almost desperate excitement in the air. A hope that this might be it. An actual shot at catching a serial killer.
But Tolan didn’t share the excitement. As much as he appreciated the effort, it was, he thought, a waste of time.
Vincent was no dummy. He knew that Tolan would go straight to the police. There wouldn’t be anymore phone calls. And despite what Blackburn had said, Tolan knew that Vincent wasn’t playing games with him. Not about this.
Not about Abby.
You. You hurt me.
As he stood near his office doorway, watching a technician test his land line, Tolan thought back to that night again, to the fight he’d had with Abby.
It had all started with a stick of gum.
Craving a sugar fix, Tolan had been searching through her purse, looking for the pack of Doublemint she always kept in there — when he found something else. Something entirely out of place.
A small blue box.
The words on the label were still imprinted on his brain: Lifestyles Sheer Pleasure. Three-pack.
A box of condoms.
A box of condoms that had been opened.
And two of them were missing.
At first, Tolan couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Had even checked to make sure it was Abby’s purse. But the gesture was pointless. He knew it was hers, the one she carried wherever she went. And as he began to understand what this meant, what that open blue box signified, surprise gave way to hurt, then anger, then…
Then…
Then what, Michael? Keep going.
One of the police technicians coughed, bringing Tolan back to the present as dread blossomed inside him like a malignant growth.
But it wasn’t Vincent’s threat that weighed on him now. It was that simple, dark truth he had kept hidden away for over a year. A simple truth that Vincent’s phone calls and this morning’s events had brought screaming back to the surface.
Tolan had a blank spot.
A gap in his memory.
Was missing time from that night.
You. You hurt me.
Abby had been coming out of the bathroom when he confronted her, waving the open box in her face.
“What the hell is this?”
He remembered her startled expression when she realized what he was holding. The fading smile. The puzzled frown. “Where did you get that?”
“Where do you think?” He indicated her purse.
She just stood there a moment, then shook her head. “You’re kidding me, right? Those aren’t mine.”
But he wasn’t kidding. And when she realized that, her expression immediately changed. Hurt. Guilt. Fear? He wasn’t sure which.
“Who is he?” Tolan demanded.
“There’s no one, Michael. You know I wouldn’t—”
“—a client of yours? That guitar guy? You take him in for a little darkroom quickie?”
Abby just stared at him. “Is this what we’ve come to?”
But Tolan didn’t let up. He asked her again, and then again, growing more and more agitated. And despite her denials, despite her insistence that she would never betray him like that, every uncertainty Tolan had about their marriage, every doubt, every concern, coalesced into a rage so all-consuming that his whole body began to shake.
He had shouted at her then and, stunned by his behavior, she had given it right back—
— until he finally crossed the line. Called her a name he knew would cut her to the bone.
You. Fucking. Whore.
That was when Abby slapped him. Right across the face. Tears in her eyes.
Then… nothing.
That slap was the last thing Tolan remembered until a honking horn on the 101 jolted him back to consciousness. He had drifted out of his lane and immediately cut the wheel, righting himself.
It had taken him a moment to catch his bearings. He was alone, headed south toward Los Angeles.
What the hell?
He glanced at the dashboard clock. Two hours had passed. Two hours that seemed like two seconds.
And as the realization that he had just emerged from some kind of mental fog began to register, he wondered if he should call her.
What had happened in those last two hours? How had he wound up here?
He dialed her cell phone, but she didn’t answer. After two rings it went straight to voice mail. And as he waited for the beep, he wondered what he should say to her.
Then the vision of that blue box filled his head and, despite his confusion, he realized he didn’t want to say anything to her. He was still angry. Still hurt by what she’d done. So he simply left a quick message telling her he was close to L.A. and would call her back in the morning. Then he hung up. Whatever had happened after that slap would eventually come back to him and he’d deal with it then.