Monster

"Model employee?"

"I was very impressed with her. Calm, level, thoughtful. Everyone liked her. Including the patients."

"That makes the patients sound rational," said Milo.

"Pardon?"

"The patients liked her, so they wouldn't hurt her. I thought the men here didn't operate out of any logical motive pattern. So what's to say one of them didn't hear a voice telling him to cut Dr. Argent's throat?"

No mention of the eyes. He was keeping that confidential.

Swig tightened his lips. "Yes. Well, they are psychotic, but most of them are very well maintained. But what's the difference? The main point is, they don't leave here."

Milo took out his pad and scrawled for a while. That almost always gets a reaction. Swig raised his eyebrows. They were pale blond, nearly invisible, and the movement created two crescent-shaped wrinkles above his clear blue eyes.

Milo's pen stopped moving. He said, "No one ever gets out?"

Swig shifted in his chair. "I won't tell you never. But very, very rarely."

"How rare?"

"Only two percent even attempt to obtain release, and most of those never make it past our review committee. Of those who are reviewed, perhaps five percent succeed in obtaining conditional release. That means placement in well-supervised board and care, regular outpatient treatment, and random uri-nalysis to monitor medication compliance. Additionally, they must continue to show absolutely no symptoms of dangerous decompensation. Any minor infraction lands them back here. Of those who do leave, the revocation rate is still eighty percent. Since I've been here, never has a released patient committed a violent felony. So, for all practical purposes, it's a non-issue."

"How long have you been here?"

"Five years."

"Before that?"

"Before that, there were a few problems."

"So," said Milo, sca

Swig clapped his hands together very softly. "Yes, but that would require a court order. Even our men have rights-for example, we can't monitor their mail without clear evidence of infraction."

"You can dose them, but no snooping?"

"The difference is that dosing them is for their own good." Swig wheeled his chair forward. "Look, I'm not trying to make your job difficult, Detective, but I really don't get this line of questioning. I can understand your initial assumption: Dr. Argent worked with dangerous individuals, and now she's been murdered. On the face of it, that's logical. But as I said, it's probably safer at Starkweather than on your beat."

"So you're telling me I need to file papers to find out who's been released."

"I'm afraid so. Believe me, if there was some obvious risk, don't you think I'd let you know? If only for our sake. We can't afford errors."

"Okay," said Milo with an ease that made me glance at him. "Let's move on. What can you tell me about Dr. Argent's personality?"

"I didn't know her well," said Swig, "but she was competent, quiet, businesslike. No conflicts with staff or patients." He picked up a folder and sca

"Thank you, sir." Milo took it and handed it to me and resumed jotting notes. Inside were Claire Argent's job application, an abbreviated resume, and a headshot photo. The resume was five pages thick. Several published studies. Neuropsychology. Reaction time in alcoholics. Solid journals. A clinical appointment as a lecturer. Why had she quit to come here?

The picture revealed a pretty, slightly broad face brightened by a shy half-smile. Thick, dark hair, shoulder-length, flipped at the edges, feathery bangs, white hairband, baby blue crewneck top. Clear skin, very little makeup, big dark eyes. The first adjective that came to my mind was "wholesome." Maybe a little too ingenue for someone her age, though she looked closer to thirty than the thirty-nine established by her birthdate.

No date on the photo, so maybe it had been snapped years earlier. She'd gotten her Ph.D. ten years ago. Graduation shot? I continued to study her face. The eyes were lustrous, warm-her best feature.

Now mangled. Someone's trophy?

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much," said Swig. "We've got a staff of over a hundred, including more than twenty psychologists and psychiatrists."

"The others are psych techs like Mr. Dollard?"

"Techs, nonpsychiatric physicians, nurses, pharmacists, secretaries, cooks, plumbers, electricians, custodians."

"And you don't know if any of them had some kind of relationship with Dr. Argent away from work?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Did she work with any staff members consistently?"

"I'd have to check on that."

"Please do."

"Certainly. It will take a few days."

Milo took the file from me, opened it, flipped pages. "I appreciate your letting us have this, Mr. Swig. When I saw her she looked quite different."

As if warding off the comment, Swig turned to me. "You're a psychologist, Dr. Delaware? Forensic?"

"Clinical. I do occasional consulting."

"Have you worked much with dangerous psychotics?"

"I rotated through Atascadero as an intern, but that's about it."

"Atascadero must have been pretty tough back then."

"Tough enough," I said.

"Yes," he said. "Before us, they were the toughest place. Now they're handling mostly MDSO's sex offenders." His tone was dismissive.

"You have some of them, too, right?" said Milo.

"A few," said Swig. "Incorrigibles who happened to come up for sentencing when the law-of-the-week said hospitaliza-tion. Nowadays, they go to jail. We haven't accepted any in years."

That made the hospital sound like a college. I said, "Are the sex offenders housed with the regular population or up on the top floor with the 1368!s?"

Swig touched one of his moles. "Regular population. The 1368's are a completely different situation. They're boarders, not residents. The court orders us to screen them. We keep them totally isolated on the fifth floor."

"Bad influences on the 1026's?" said Milo.

Swig laughed. "I don't think the 1026's can be influenced too easily. No, it's all the traffic and the escape risk. They come in and out on sheriff's buses-what they really want isn't treatment, it's out." He sat back, touched some of the moles on his face. Fingering them carefully, like a blind man reading braille. "We're talking about malingering criminals who think they can drool and avoid San Quentin. We evaluate them, ship them back."

His voice had climbed and his skin had pinkened.

"Sounds like a hassle," I said.

"It's a distraction from our main goal."

Milo said, "Managing the 1026's."

"Treating insane murderers and keeping them invisible. From the public. Every one of our men has committed the proverbial 'senseless crime.' On the outside, you hear nonsense like 'Anyone who kills has to be crazy.' Doctor, you of course know that's garbage. Most murderers are perfectly sane. Our men are the exception. They terrify the public-the apparent randomness of their crimes. They have motives, but not the kind the public can relate to. I'm sure you understand, Dr. Delaware."

"Voices in the head," I said.

"Exactly. It's like sausage making. The less the public knows about what we do, the better off we and the public are. That's why I hope Claire's murder doesn't put us in the spotlight."

"No reason for that," said Milo. "The sooner I clear the case, the faster I'm out of your life."

Swig nodded and worried another mole. "Is there anything else?"

"What, specifically, did Dr. Argent do here?"

"What any psychologist would do. Behavior modification plans for individual patients, some counseling, some group work-truthfully, I don't know the details."