waitress stepped to our table with my coffee and Hollander's second helping of hash.
"Thanks," I managed.
She looked at me with sympathy as she put the cup and plate down. She probably thought I was one of Hollander's patients. "I won't bother the two of you. Just wave me down if you need more coffee." She headed back behind the counter.
Hollander leaned toward me, absorbing four, five inches of the table into his gut. "Maybe you ought to give yourself a break, instead of a death sentence at Lucas’ hands. You didn't ask to get caught up in all this, and nobody could have predicted things going the way they did. We both figured some shyster lawyer would spring Lucas in a heartbeat."
"It didn't happen that way."
"No. It didn't. And the police didn't solve the case after one victim. And Lucas didn't stop the killings after the second victim — which he could have. And, twenty years ago, nobody protected an eleven-year-old girl whose father was raping her and her kid sister. And nobody ever got that girl any help, until now, which is exactly four bodies too late in the game. Five, if you count the life she should have had herself." He shoveled in a forkful of hash. "The world isn't very predictable, pal, which means you can't control it. Putting your life on the line may fool everyone else into thinking you're a saint, but don't look for me to be singing any praises at your wake."
"The last thing I want at my wake," I said, "is you breaking into song."
Hollander smiled, in spite of himself. He attacked his hash, then grew serious again. "So you had hopes of seeing her," he said.
My heart began to race. "I didn't say that."
"Right. You said you needed to touch base with me, out of the blue, just before laying your life on the line." He tapped his forehead. "Don't forget I grease and oil this rocket ship every day. You want to touch base with what we did and the person we did it for. You need to know whether you were a fool."
"I'm not sure I want to know that."
"And you'd be better off letting it go."
Several seconds passed with nothing but the clinking of Hollander's fork to fill the time.
"Is she still on the unit?" I asked. "Did you move her to another hospital?"
He pressed his lips together. Deep furrows appeared across his brow. "For your own good, I should probably lie to you."
"If you believed that, you'd be in a different business."
He looked out the window. "Before Lucas’ trial started I thought about sending her to my facility in the Virgin Islands. That may have been the right thing to do." His eyes shifted back to meet mine. "But I didn't do it."
"Why not?"
"She kept begging me to set up a visit with you first. Part of me must have wanted to see it happen." He shook his head. "I may be crazier than you."
"Doubtful."
He reached for my coffee and took a swig. "If I arrange for you to see her, you'll have to be discreet. You can't use her real name or your own. I admitted her as Nancy Matheson. I've worked hard to keep her under wraps. I've even held on to staff I might otherwise have fired, in order to limit turnover and expose her to as few people as possible."
"Thank you. I knew how much I was asking when I brought her to you."
"Don't mention it. Just don't blow it."
"Does anyone suspect the truth?"
"I don't think so. At the beginning — the first few weeks of her stay — she kept insisting she was a doctor herself, that she'd been drugged and brought to the unit illegally. I dealt with that reality by helping the staff diagnose paranoid schizophrenia and then ordering very high doses of Haldol and Ativan for sedation. Once she gave me the chance to sit with her for long enough, she seemed to understand it was in her best interest to be in the hospital, rather than behind bars. She hasn't mentioned the doctor thing since." He finished off his hash. "Still, you never know; there is one counselor
"Thanks," I managed.
She looked at me with sympathy as she put the cup and plate down. She probably thought I was one of Hollander's patients. "I won't bother the two of you. Just wave me down if you need more coffee." She headed back behind the counter.
Hollander leaned toward me, absorbing four, five inches of the table into his gut. "Maybe you ought to give yourself a break, instead of a death sentence at Lucas’ hands. You didn't ask to get caught up in all this, and nobody could have predicted things going the way they did. We both figured some shyster lawyer would spring Lucas in a heartbeat."
"It didn't happen that way."
"No. It didn't. And the police didn't solve the case after one victim. And Lucas didn't stop the killings after the second victim — which he could have. And, twenty years ago, nobody protected an eleven-year-old girl whose father was raping her and her kid sister. And nobody ever got that girl any help, until now, which is exactly four bodies too late in the game. Five, if you count the life she should have had herself." He shoveled in a forkful of hash. "The world isn't very predictable, pal, which means you can't control it. Putting your life on the line may fool everyone else into thinking you're a saint, but don't look for me to be singing any praises at your wake."
"The last thing I want at my wake," I said, "is you breaking into song."
Hollander smiled, in spite of himself. He attacked his hash, then grew serious again. "So you had hopes of seeing her," he said.
My heart began to race. "I didn't say that."
"Right. You said you needed to touch base with me, out of the blue, just before laying your life on the line." He tapped his forehead. "Don't forget I grease and oil this rocket ship every day. You want to touch base with what we did and the person we did it for. You need to know whether you were a fool."
"I'm not sure I want to know that."
"And you'd be better off letting it go."
Several seconds passed with nothing but the clinking of Hollander's fork to fill the time.
"Is she still on the unit?" I asked. "Did you move her to another hospital?"
He pressed his lips together. Deep furrows appeared across his brow. "For your own good, I should probably lie to you."
"If you believed that, you'd be in a different business."
He looked out the window. "Before Lucas’ trial started I thought about sending her to my facility in the Virgin Islands. That may have been the right thing to do." His eyes shifted back to meet mine. "But I didn't do it."
"Why not?"
"She kept begging me to set up a visit with you first. Part of me must have wanted to see it happen." He shook his head. "I may be crazier than you."
"Doubtful."
He reached for my coffee and took a swig. "If I arrange for you to see her, you'll have to be discreet. You can't use her real name or your own. I admitted her as Nancy Matheson. I've worked hard to keep her under wraps. I've even held on to staff I might otherwise have fired, in order to limit turnover and expose her to as few people as possible."
"Thank you. I knew how much I was asking when I brought her to you."
"Don't mention it. Just don't blow it."
"Does anyone suspect the truth?"
"I don't think so. At the beginning — the first few weeks of her stay — she kept insisting she was a doctor herself, that she'd been drugged and brought to the unit illegally. I dealt with that reality by helping the staff diagnose paranoid schizophrenia and then ordering very high doses of Haldol and Ativan for sedation. Once she gave me the chance to sit with her for long enough, she seemed to understand it was in her best interest to be in the hospital, rather than behind bars. She hasn't mentioned the doctor thing since." He finished off his hash. "Still, you never know; there is one counselor
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