Gregg Hurwitz - Do No Harm

"I just got the security equipment delivered this afternoon. I was gonna install it at your house tomorrow. I've been on a stakeout all night. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," David said. "We can get it done today. Nothing truly awful happened. Besides, this might give us a good lead."

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Yale and Dalton emerged. On an ordinary day, David would just be getting ready for work. At a stoplight, they pulled alongside Dr. Woods, the lethargic gastroenterologist, in a BMW. His eyes first found the removable police light on the dash, and then he did a double take at David in the backseat. David raised his hands together, as if they were handcuffed, and waved. Woods's jaw was just beginning to drop when Yale pulled forward, leaving him at the stoplight.

David told the detectives about the picture frame and said he'd added Peter to his list of potential victims. Dalton threw a weary look in Yale's direction. "Captain's been chafing at all the OT as is. We're gonna have to kiss some serious ass to get another unit for Peter Alexander."

Yale took a turn a little too fast. "Pucker up."

When they pulled up to the station, David waited patiently to be let out. The LA Times dispenser showed a color photo of Don's fallen body in the ER waiting room, David looming unpleasantly in the background. Front page. It was too bad that no media had staked out David's house through the night; they might have seen Clyde breaking in.

They headed directly upstairs; David was relieved not to have to deal with the contentious desk clerk. Yale's and Dalton's desks were pushed together so they faced each other as they worked. A stained coffee mug at the edge of Dalton's desk proclaimed world's greatest mom. Next to it were the film reels of the fear study.

David gestured to the reels. "Did you take a look at those yet?"

Dalton sat back down heavily. Yale pushed his fingertips together and pressed them over the bridge of his nose. "Late last night," Yale said softly.

Dalton's thumb fidgeted on his cheek. "The shit they did to those poor little bastards… " he said. "No kid should have to go through something like that." A series of crayon streaks stained Dalton's shirt near the pocket, and David thought again of Dalton's picnic at the Academy. He found something poignant in the crayon streaks, as he did in Dalton's rumpled shirt, though he wasn't sure what or why.

"Are you done speaking with the other subjects?" David asked.

"A few we're still running down. Nothing's rang the cherries."

"He's so withdrawn," David said. "I'd say it's a long shot that he's had real contact with anybody."

"Aside from you," Yale said. He flipped through his ever-present notepad. "He used surgical scalpels on the bird. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Any special kind?"

David shook his head. "He had plenty of medical supplies at his apartment. Maybe he took them before he fled. The needle he wielded at Diane-I saw a similar one in his car. For all we know, he's got a Dr. Mengele funhouse in his trunk."

"You were right about the urine sample," Yale said. "Our guy at County Med said his kidneys were clearing a lot of the stuff. He estimated something like a 2.3 blood level. That mean anything to you?"

David nodded. "That's bad. Really bad. But if we're correct in our assumption that he's no longer taking lithium, it'll be lower by now. It must be, for him to have driven over and broken in." He paused and moistened his dry lips. "Some pretty dexterous maneuvering."

"Why didn't he attack you? He's bigger and certainly a more capable fighter."

David suspected the latter remark was intended as a dig, though he found it merely accurate. "I think he's more interested in scaring me. First the torture tape, then the attack on Diane, then this. The phonetic graffiti on my car is probably intended to humiliate me. Diminish me further."

"Fits your theory," Dalton said. "Lucky for you, huh?"

"Actually, I'd be thrilled to figure out a way to make him come after me more violently. Better likelihood of catching him."

Dalton stood up and ran a hand through his already tousled hair, his cheap button-up shirt pulling untucked at the side. He chuckled to himself. "You've got balls, Doc," he said. "I'll give you that."

"The key is to instigate him consciously and intelligently," David said.

"I'd have to say you've been doing that from the get-go."

"But if I could provoke him in a way we could channel… "

"Then what?"

Before David could answer, Yale did. "We could designate his next victim. The question is: How do we place a fitting stimulus to prompt him to make a move?"

Dalton sat back down, the effort pushing a grunt out of him. "Female cops going UC as nurses?"

"But where? We haven't turned up shit over in his neck of the woods, and as you said, he's gotta know we'll nail him if he steps on Med Center grounds again."

"A nurse might be a step back for him," David said. "He's already attacked people further up the hierarchy of influence at the hospital."

"Maybe he'll go after that bitchy chief of staff. Who's on her?"

"Bicks and Perelli," Dalton said. "They'll have it covered. Perelli's the Police Olympics freehand shooting champ."

"Clyde's not going to attack someone with visible police protection," David said. "He may be getting bolder, but he's still essentially a coward. And besides, I still think I'm a more appealing target. We could wait for him to contact me or come after me again."

"Waiting," Dalton said, "sucks."

"For the next few nights, I'm putting a unit on you," Yale said. "If Clyde calls again, make sure you record it. I assume it's okay with you if we start taking steps to trace your incoming calls?"

"Yes. Fine. Can you do it immediately? I imagine he's gonna call to soak up my reaction to Stanley." At their blank looks, David added, "The bird."

"You named your bird Stanley?" Dalton said.

"My wife did. Clearly she had lapses in taste if she married me."

Yale cracked a grin-the first David had seen. "Unfortunately, even with your approval, we have to jump hoops," Yale said. "Every major post-O. J. Simpson investigation's gotta squeak. With the political pressure on this one, we can't sneeze without the DA checking in. We'll have to subpoena the phone company, get a search warrant for subscriber information. A couple of days minimum."

"Why didn't you start this already?"

"We did."

It was David's turn to smile. Dalton took a sip of coffee, his face showing he'd forgotten to refill the cup since yesterday. David emitted a monstrous yawn.

"When the last time you slept?" Yale asked.

"I'm fine."

"I'm not asking if you're fine. I'm asking the last time you've strung together more than a few hours of sleep."

"I don't know. Five, six days. I can handle it. During internship, I was on call every other day and every other weekend."

"You were a young buck then. I'd guess you didn't look this shitty."

"No," David said. "Probably not."

"I'm gonna take you home to get a few z's. You're no good to us blurry."

Dalton drew his hand down the front of his face wearily, distorting his features. "We have our own world of shit to get back to. Combing evidence from Clyde's apartment. Car tips. Ex-foster home kids. Drugstores. Trying to press something useful from Forensics."

David's pager went off, beeping loudly. It was Sandy. His watch read 9:23. He'd missed his appearance before the board. "I have to return this," he said. "Sorry."

He withdrew his cell phone from the pocket of his white coat, and walked a few paces off so he could have a semiprivate conversation.

Sandy picked up the phone after a half ring. "Where the hell are you?"

Two cops led a heavily drugged prostitute into a nearby interrogation room. She twisted in their grips and tried to bite them. "Things are… complicated right now."