Jeffery Deaver - Praying for Sleep

It wouldn’t have hurt so bad, Heck knew, if they hadn’t been so close-if he’d gotten a notice that Hrubek was, say, in Florida or Toronto. But they were so damn close… Trenton Heck glanced at Fennel then gazed across the empty fields, which seemed white, as if dusted with snow or lime. He saw in the vague, indiscernible distance the shape of a man’s back, crouching low as he ran. But as Heck’s eyes squinted the back became a shrub and he understood that he was seeing only what his imagination had created.

Without a word to the two men Heck untied his hound and slipped off the harness, replacing it with the jangling ID collar. He said, “Come,” and returned to the squad car to wait for the others, Emil trotting along beside.

They didn’t notice him for a full minute so he spent that time looking around the shabby office-the cheap desk, the vibrating fluorescent light, the carpet of shocking green, the books with torn jackets or no jackets at all, stacks of recycled manila folders, the shoddy walls.

Owen Atcheson was himself a homeowner and handy with tools. He recognized that the paneling came from a cheap store and was mounted by cheaper labor. The carpet was stained and the windows were streaked with grease though Owen also observed that the glass in the frames holding the doctor’s diplomas was shiny as a diamond.

“Excuse me.”

The men turned. The one in uniform-this would be Haversham, the captain, the good man -pivoted on the heels of his short boots. The other one-whose office this was, a sandy-haired man of about fifty-seemed to have had only two hours of a much-needed sleep. Still, he had keen eyes, which now tersely examined his visitor.

Owen introduced himself then asked, “You’re Dr. Adler?”

“I am,” said the hospital director, neither polite nor contrary. “What can I do for you?”

The trooper, whose eyes suggested that he remembered the name, surveyed Owen’s clothing.

“I live in Ridgeton. It’s west of here about-”

“Yes. Ridgeton. I know where it is.”

“I’m here about Michael Hrubek.”

Adler’s eyes flashed with brief alarm. “How’d you find out that he’s wandered away?”

“Wandered away?” Owen asked wryly.

“Who exactly are you?”

The trooper spoke up. “It’s your wife…?”

“That’s right.”

Adler nodded. “The woman at the trial? That sheriff called about her a while ago. Some letter Hrubek sent.” The doctor squinted, wondering, it seemed, where Owen might fit in the zodiac of the evening.

“You haven’t caught him yet?”

“Not quite. You really don’t have anything to worry about.”

“No? That was a pretty frightening letter your patient sent my wife.”

“Well, as I think we explained”-his gaze incorporated Haversham-“to your sheriff, Hrubek is a paranoid schizophrenic. What they write is usually meaningless. There’s nothing for you to wor-”

“ Usually meaningless? Then not always. I see. Don’t you think there’s something to it if he threatened my wife at the trial, then wrote this letter a few months back and here he goes and escapes?”

Adler said, “It’s not really your concern, Mr. Atcheson. And we’re really quite busy-”

“My wife’s safety is my concern.” Owen glanced at the doctor’s left hand. “It’s a man’s job to look after his wife. Don’t you look after yours?” He noticed with some pleasure that Adler had in this short time grown to dislike him. “Tell me why there are only four men in the search party.”

The hospital director’s front teeth danced together briefly with several short taps. “The men after him’re experienced dog-trackers. More efficient than a dozen troopers just wandering around in the dark.”

“He’s in Watertown?”

“He was. He seems to be going north. He is going north, I should say.”

From outside, the sound of hammering boomed. Owen recalled that entering the hospital grounds he’d seen workmen carrying sheets of plywood toward large plate-glass windows in what seemed to be a cafeteria.

“Have they actually spotted him?” Owen asked curtly, and watched the doctor’s dislike become active hatred. But Owen was a lawyer; he was used to this.

“I don’t think so,” Adler said. “But they’re very close.”

Owen believed posture was a man’s most important attribute. He could have hair or no hair, be shaven or stubbled, tall or short, but if he stood up straight he was respected. Now, at attention, he stared down this doctor, who may have believed that Hrubek was harmless but on the other hand was here late on Sunday, looking like death itself, with an officer of the state police at his side.

He asked, “He escaped in Stinson?”

Dr. Adler glanced at the far ceiling. He nodded impatiently toward Haversham, who strode to the desk and with a capped Bic pen touched a location on the map. “Here’s why your wife’s got nothing to worry about. We’re tracking him here.” He touched a spot near the intersection of Routes 236 and 118. “He escaped…” The doctor’s eyes bored into Haversham at this choice of word. The captain paused then continued. “He wandered off here, just over the Stinson line.”

“And how did he get to Stinson?”

Adler plucked a sentence from inventory and responded quickly, “There was a mix-up. He took another patient’s place in a transport van.”

Haversham took a moment to detach his gaze from the hospital director’s serene face and continued, “Then he eluded two orderlies here. In Watertown, here, he asked a driver for a ride to Boston. Oh, and he dropped a map of Boston while he was running. He’s on Route 118 now.”

“ Boston? What kind of lead does he have?”

“Just a half hour. And our people are gaining fast. We should have him within twenty minutes.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Adler said, “we’ve got some work to do.”

Owen had the pleasure of staring the troubled man down once more and said to the state trooper, “I hope you’ll do my wife and me the courtesy of keeping the Ridgeton sheriff informed about what’s happening here.”

“I’ll do that, sure.”

Nodding to the trooper and ignoring Adler, Owen left the office. He was walking down the dank, murky corridor when the captain stepped into the hall and caught up with him.

“ ’Scuse me, sir? A question?”

The trooper was a big man though Owen was bigger and Haversham stepped back a pace so that he wasn’t looking up into Owen’s eyes at so steep an angle. “You out doing some camping when you heard about this?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The reason I ask is, you’re dressed like you’ve been camping. Or hunting.”

“I just threw on some clothes and drove over here.”

“All the way from Ridgeton?”

“It’s straight down the highway. I’ll confess. I didn’t obey the posted.”

“You might’ve called.” When he received no response the captain continued, “You armed, by any chance?”

Owen asked if Haversham wanted to see his pistol permit.

“That won’t be necessary, no. What line of work you in?”

“I’m an attorney.”

“Lawyer, huh?” This seemed to please Haversham. “What sort?”

“Corporate mostly.”

“The doctor back there, he’s got a pretty low opinion of this Hrubek. And I suspect you and your wife do too. Now this fellow may be criminally insane but in the eyes of the law he isn’t no dog. He’s a human being and if somebody was to shoot him down they’d be guilty of murder just the same as they’d shot a minister. But I don’t need to tell you that, being a lawyer and all.”

“Let me ask you something, Captain. Have you ever seen Michael Hrubek up close? You ever faced him?”