David glanced in Fifteen as he passed; Don was playing the hero, tending to the injured officers. Clyde's blow had inflicted some damage, the hasp on the restraint splitting the skin above one officer's ear. As he finished stitching, Don told a joke David couldn't overhear-probably something involving golf or heaven-and the officer's laughter carried to David as he pushed through the doors to the lobby.

Jenkins had disappeared, leaving Ralph to direct police traffic through the lobby. David moved up beside Ralph. "Is someone watching Nancy?" David asked.

"Yeah, Doc. We got her covered."

"What would Clyde want to do if he was loose in the hospital?"

Two more dogs walked by, sniffing, their nails scuttling over tile, pulling SWAT guys behind them.

"Get his ass out of here, I'd think," Ralph replied.

"Which way did he head?"

"Found smudges of fresh O-negative blood in the Three Corridor. Doors back there are Omnilocked, but we only change the combos once a year, so the codes are around. Plus, people sometimes leave the doors propped open."

David thought of the convoluted hospital interior, the endless white corridors, and realized how hopeless it would be to try to find Clyde's hiding place.

Ralph shook his head. "I'd say our bird's flown the coop."

Dalton finished with Peter and strode over. His tie was yanked to one side, and he'd missed a button on his shirt, the small gap revealing a threadbare undershirt. "Congratulations, Doc. You've turned the ER into a crime scene. Now I have jurisdiction. Get out."

David looked over his shoulder and saw Peter talking to a forensic artist. She shaded some element of the sketch with the side of her pencil, thanked Peter, and headed into Hallway One, probably to see the wounded cop.

"Go home," Dalton said. "You've done enough." His face, for once, was firm and intense. "I'm not asking this time."

David nodded once, slowly, and headed for the door, passing Peter. Peter embraced him across the shoulders with one arm.

"How are you doing?" David asked.

"Fine, fine." Peter ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth it down. It did little good. His voice was a touch shaky. "You never think about it, but a hospital is full of weapons. Prongs and hooks and blades. It's grotesque, really. Tools of healing turned outward." He coughed into a fist. "The way he looked at me… "

"You didn't hurt your leg tripping him?"

Peter waved off the notion. "It's steel-enforced, remember?"

"All right," David said. "I have to leave. They're making me leave."

Dalton had finished scribbling something in his worn notepad. He flipped it closed with a flourish, rammed it into his back pocket, and looked up, sighting David. "I'm not fucking around, Doc. I'm gonna check on our artist, and if you're still here when I get back, I'll have you forcibly removed from the building. Don't think I won't." He banged through the swinging doors into the ER proper with the heels of his hands.

Peter trembled slightly, perhaps because the lobby was cool.

"Are you sure you're all right?" David asked.

"Yes," Peter said. "Always."

David was headed for the door when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, expecting Peter but finding Jenkins.

Stress had gone to work on Jenkins's face over the last few days. The skin had reddened, as if pulled taut across the bones, and his cheekbones projected in almost skeletal fashion. His voice came low and vicious. "You treated him. You held him so he could escape. From here on out, every girl that winds up maimed and blind is your fault." He took a step back, as if not wanting to remain near David for fear of losing control.

David looked at him, unsure how to react, afraid to respond. An adrenaline rush left him light-headed, his ears humming.

When Jenkins spoke again, his voice was deathly calm. His finger stabbed the air, pointing at David's face. "It's on your head now," he said.

Chapter 30

DAVID returned to his car in the PCHS lot and slid behind the wheel. It was 5:12 A.M. There was little point in his going home; he'd be unable to sleep anyway. He rolled down the window to let in the chilly air.

The flurry of activity around the hospital didn't seem to be slowing. Two UCPD cops strode past David's car.

"-sleazeball reporter dressed as a doctor tried to sneak in a mini-camera. Cranked the cuffs extra tight for his ride to the station."

One of the cops saw David in his car. "Can I see some ID?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm the chief of the emergency room." David flashed his badge. He thought he detected a note of recognition in the cop's eyes. And disdain.

"The ER's shut down for at least a few more hours, sir, and we're keeping this area clear. You're gonna have to leave."

"What time do you think they'll open the ER again?"

"I don't know. At least a few hours."