Читаем Do No Harm полностью

"I think he's fucked up. Dysfunctional, possibly schizophrenic. I think he needs to be put under lock and key, and provided with psychiatric care."

"Lye thrown in women's faces. That's pretty evil."

David sat forward, shoulders hunched. "Evil comes in many guises. It can be banal. Why not pathetic?"

"And you want to… what?"

"I want to find him and get him into the hands of the right authorities."

"How?"

"I haven't figured that out yet," David admitted. "But if I can get in touch with him, I think I can talk him in. Safely. He seems to trust me."

"A renowned physician like yourself taking a walk on the wild side." Ed's hands went to his shadowy head, arms bent to the sides. "Sometimes people have to pay consequences whether they make the right decision or not. You learn that in my line of work."

"What is your line of work? What exactly do you do?"

"Extreme shit." A rustling sound as Ed ran his hand along the fine leather arm of the chair. "Expensive shit."

"Why did you steal your chart from the hospital? It didn't contain your real name."

"Our bodies are full of clues, Spier. X rays and written records can be damning. You'd be amazed at what the FBI can use to ID a body-dental fillings, stomach staples."

"I'm not certain, but I don't recall any dental fillings in your ass."

Ed laughed, a loud, sharp laugh, and David felt a sudden relief. "Will you help me?" David asked. "Or point me to someone who can?"

Ed's shadow rustled, and David made out several shapes on the table beside Ed. Small and rounded. David wondered briefly if they were grenades. He found his surprising lack of fear to be empowering.

"I'll talk to you. Some. While I decide whether or not I trust you. If I decide I trust you, I might be willing to point you in a few directions. But first, some rules. I don't do violence. You saw my build-I'm not a fighter."

"Fine," David said. "I don't want violence."

"I have no involvement with the police. Ever. Is that understood? This thing gets out of hand, it's coming down on you. Believe me, I'll vanish." Ed waited for David to agree. "Now tell me about this guy."

"Overweight, disheveled, about 6' 1"."

"You'll have to do better than that. You want to play detective, Spier? Get observant. There are thousands of things you could've noticed. Was he clean-shaven? Did he have soft hands, rough hands, clean hands, dirty hands? Did he chew gum? Any scarring? Unusual facial features? Piercing? Tattoos? Length of hair? Type of shoes? Work shoes, cheap shoes, dress shoes, Velcro shoes? Did they match his outfit? Did he wear designer clothes? Did they have any paint on them? Plaster? Mud? Was he laid-back or intense? Were his clothes tight or loose? Did he have a watch? Did he wear it on the left wrist or right? Did he wear a belt? Pager? Cell phone? Rings? Necklaces? Did you undress him? Did you put anything in the property locker? Dumb as it sounds, cops sometimes forget to check it. What was he talking about? Any unusual remarks?"

David sat in silence for a moment, processing. Ed did not rush him. Finally, David said, "His speech was rambling and disorganized. He seemed extremely agitated, especially in the presence of a psychiatrist. He wore no rings or jewelry. A tattoo was reported by his first victim, but he didn't have one when he came in. He has bad acne and pitted fingernails. I don't know if he's right- or left-handed, and I don't remember his shoes. He wore hospital scrubs, loose, with no belt. They smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. The scrubs may indicate that he feels identified with the hospital somehow. My guess is, he works there. I don't know if he chewed gum, but his breath smelled of orange candy-very strong. His hair was thinning and greasy. His hygiene was terrible."

David's eyes were adjusting slowly to the dark, and he saw Ed nod approvingly. "You're a doctor. Use that. Give me more."

David pressed his hands together and rested his chin atop his fingertips. "Let's see. He wanted the lights dimmed, so maybe he has recurring migraines. His balance was off, and he slurred slightly. He might be obsessive-compulsive or delusional-he repeated what seemed to be ritualistic phrases and displayed concreteness of thought. He claimed he'd been locked up in darkness with snakes, and he mentioned lights and noises. His fixation on women, on punishing women, is extreme and conscious. And he seems to have deficits accurately interpreting the intentions of others."

"What does that mean?"

"He misinterprets benign questions as hostile, and this elicits aggression from him. For instance, I was checking his mental status, and asked him if he knew what month it was. He became hostile and asked if I thought he was stupid."

"If he doesn't understand something, it's an insult," Ed said.