Gregg Hurwitz - Do No Harm

"Contaminating a crime scene?" David said. "But how? I wore gloves."

"Gloves. Great." Dalton crossed his arms. "Did you breathe near anything? Pick your teeth? Lean against a wall? Scratch your head? Flush a toilet? Turn on a sink? You don't have the slightest idea of how to enter a crime scene. Gloves." He shook his head disdainfully. "You've been fucking up this investigation since day one."

"I've been trying to work with you from the beginning." David caught Yale's eye and Yale turned his head slightly left-barely a shake. David should make no reference to the fact that he and Yale had spoken off record in the past.

"That's not your fucking job, Doc," Dalton said. "And in fact, we might just clink your sorry ass to keep it out of our way."

"I think you have it wrong," David said. "I have more on this than you do."

Heads swiveling, Peter and Diane watched the exchange with surprised interest.

"Then you'd better fucking spill, because if one more woman gets-"

Yale held up his hands, arms spread. A humorously saintly pose. Everyone calmed and looked at him. "Listen," he said quietly to David. "If I arrest you, it'll be a big hassle and your lawyer will ride my ass for years. To be honest, I don't have the time right now-or the resources-to commit to that."

David resisted the urge to respond, sensing that Yale was working an angle of some sort.

Yale turned to Dalton. "He's involved whether we like it or not. We might as well use him. At least he's a resourceful pain in the ass."

Talking cop to cop as though David were not in the room.

"He'll talk," Dalton said. "He'll have to talk."

"But in the interest of time, I say we give the bastard an out on charges and get what he's giving immediately. If he wants to agree to it. If he doesn't, we'll go the arrest-lawyer route."

"I'll agree to it," David said, a bit too quickly. He hoped Dalton would perceive it as his being scared, rather than his implicitly picking up the line of Yale's agenda.

Dalton's soft, misshapen face seemed to shift as he assessed David.

"There's a lot I'd like to fill you in on," David said.

"Fine," Dalton finally said. "You're now our most overeducated informant. Spill."

"Let's talk about this privately," Yale said, indicating Diane and Peter.

"No," David said. "They can contribute."

Dalton pulled his notepad from his back pocket and flipped it open. "Let's take it from the top, Doc. And include that shit about the woman you thought you heard."

Yale held up a hand when David opened his mouth. "Details," he said.

David told Yale and Dalton the events of the past few days, fabricating only when necessary so he wouldn't have to mention Ed. David was grateful to them for not making light of the porn mix-up. For the most part, they listened attentively, Dalton shaking his head now and then. When he related his discovery of Connolly's study and his mother's cover-up, he noticed Peter's shocked expression. Diane blanched at his description of his confrontation with Clyde. When he finished, everyone appeared to be in a state of mild shock.

"What happened tonight when you got to his apartment?" David asked.

"He cleared out before we got there," Dalton said. "Took his car. Thanks to your intervention, he's now roving. We got a whole new world of variables."

"You wouldn't even know where he lived to begin with if it wasn't for me."

"SID lifted some vaginal secretion from his sheets, so we're questioning the female apartment residents and some hookers in the area to see if we can obtain more information about that," Yale said. He paused. "What's wrong?"

"I guess I'm just surprised he's had any sexual contact. He's a real loner."

Dalton studied David angrily. "You feel sorry for him, don't you?"

"I think he's pitiful."

Dalton gestured to Diane, keeping his eyes on David. "Pitiful. That's it, huh?"

Yale shot him a sideways look. Wrong approach. David wasn't the type to get worked up over having his manhood questioned, and he was impressed that Yale realized that. "I'm answering your question," David replied evenly, "not starting a playground fight."

"And this experiment shit. I bet you think that explains him."

"This man, as a child, was systematically exposed to snakes, darkness, and blinding lights, and denied attention, affection, and nurturing. That he lacks gentleness is not his most surprising quality. Nor that he's dysfunctional."

Dalton's cheeks colored with anger. "Dysfunctional," he repeated disdainfully. "Do you have any idea how elusive this man is? We see it all the time-a guy can't keep up his own hygiene, or interact with people, but when it comes to eluding capture or injuring others, he's a regular fucking Kaczynski. Never underestimate what obsession can accomplish. This guy's bent his entire life to one aim-harming women."

"More than one aim," David said. "He's also been trying to cure himself."

"This guy's a nutcase, and you're buying what he's selling. If you didn't have your Ivy League credentials, I'd say you weren't the sharpest stick on the heap."

David felt his anger flare, bright and sudden, fueled by exhaustion and stress. "This is not a thriller, or some movie of the week," he snapped. "We're not dealing with Hannibal Lecter, or Norman Bates. This is a man-a sick man, with predictable and definable psychopathology."

"Sick or not sick-it doesn't get him off the hook," Dalton said. "He knows what he's doing. We see fuckers like this all the time. Out of prison every time some dipshit liberal judge gets a tingle in her conscience, then another girl gets raped, another family killed. I don't give a shit if he had a tough childhood."

"Here's an idea," Diane said sharply. "Why don't you both stop beating your chests and do something productive?"

Peter rested a hand on Diane's shoulder, but she shook it off.

"Ms. Trace," Dalton said, with exaggerated patience.

"It's Doctor and don't condescend to me because my face is fucked up."

"I agree with Dr. Trace," Yale said. "This pissing contest is getting us off track. Let's cut the shit and get into it."

"Okay," David said. "Fair enough." He turned to Dalton. "Listen, I am not suggesting that anything in Clyde's childhood does or doesn't get him off the hook. I'm suggesting it's what we need to bring him in. His past doesn't excuse him. It explains him. And if we can figure it out further, it might help predict him."

Dalton finally met David's eyes. Some understanding seemed to pass between them. The politics were now irrelevant. They had to get on the trail and sort all that out later.

"Let's start with the drugs," Yale said, glancing down at his notepad. "Is there any way to determine how much lithium carbonate Clyde is taking?"

"The urine jars in the bathtub are labeled by date and time," David said. "Take the most recent one and send it to a lab. Lithium is cleared by the kidneys, so it'll show up in the urine. That'll help us gauge his level of toxicity."

"Could he die from lithium poisoning?"

"It's difficult to say. When it comes to psychiatric drugs, the dosage variance between patients can be immense. But I would say that if Clyde keeps up at this pace, it'll shut down his kidneys. As it is, he might already need hemodialysis."

Peter leaned heavily on his cane. "Or perhaps he needs to take the rest of the pills at once and have a nice long sleep," he said.

A thoughtful silence.

Dalton jerked his head toward Peter. "I like this guy," he said.

"Did you find the pills?" David asked. "Behind the heating vent?"

Yale nodded.

"Looks like your wish won't come true, Peter," David said. "He left his supply. He's off the meds again. You know what that means?"

"A return of his faculties and motor skills," Diane said. "He'll regain his balance. He'll become more lucid, probably within twenty-four hours."