Do No Harm

"SID lifted some vaginal secretion from his sheets, so we're questioning the female apartment residents and some hookers in the area to see if we can obtain more information about that," Yale said. He paused. "What's wrong?"

"I guess I'm just surprised he's had any sexual contact. He's a real loner."

Dalton studied David angrily. "You feel sorry for him, don't you?"

"I think he's pitiful."

Dalton gestured to Diane, keeping his eyes on David. "Pitiful. That's it, huh?"

Yale shot him a sideways look. Wrong approach. David wasn't the type to get worked up over having his manhood questioned, and he was impressed that Yale realized that. "I'm answering your question," David replied evenly, "not starting a playground fight."

"And this experiment shit. I bet you think that explains him."

"This man, as a child, was systematically exposed to snakes, darkness, and blinding lights, and denied attention, affection, and nurturing. That he lacks gentleness is not his most surprising quality. Nor that he's dysfunctional."

Dalton's cheeks colored with anger. "Dysfunctional," he repeated disdainfully. "Do you have any idea how elusive this man is? We see it all the time-a guy can't keep up his own hygiene, or interact with people, but when it comes to eluding capture or injuring others, he's a regular fucking Kaczynski. Never underestimate what obsession can accomplish. This guy's bent his entire life to one aim-harming women."

"More than one aim," David said. "He's also been trying to cure himself."

"This guy's a nutcase, and you're buying what he's selling. If you didn't have your Ivy League credentials, I'd say you weren't the sharpest stick on the heap."

David felt his anger flare, bright and sudden, fueled by exhaustion and stress. "This is not a thriller, or some movie of the week," he snapped. "We're not dealing with Hannibal Lecter, or Norman Bates. This is a man-a sick man, with predictable and definable psychopathology."

"Sick or not sick-it doesn't get him off the hook," Dalton said. "He knows what he's doing. We see fuckers like this all the time. Out of prison every time some dipshit liberal judge gets a tingle in her conscience, then another girl gets raped, another family killed. I don't give a shit if he had a tough childhood."

"Here's an idea," Diane said sharply. "Why don't you both stop beating your chests and do something productive?"

Peter rested a hand on Diane's shoulder, but she shook it off.

"Ms. Trace," Dalton said, with exaggerated patience.

"It's Doctor and don't condescend to me because my face is fucked up."

"I agree with Dr. Trace," Yale said. "This pissing contest is getting us off track. Let's cut the shit and get into it."

"Okay," David said. "Fair enough." He turned to Dalton. "Listen, I am not suggesting that anything in Clyde's childhood does or doesn't get him off the hook. I'm suggesting it's what we need to bring him in. His past doesn't excuse him. It explains him. And if we can figure it out further, it might help predict him."

Dalton finally met David's eyes. Some understanding seemed to pass between them. The politics were now irrelevant. They had to get on the trail and sort all that out later.

"Let's start with the drugs," Yale said, glancing down at his notepad. "Is there any way to determine how much lithium carbonate Clyde is taking?"

"The urine jars in the bathtub are labeled by date and time," David said. "Take the most recent one and send it to a lab. Lithium is cleared by the kidneys, so it'll show up in the urine. That'll help us gauge his level of toxicity."

"Could he die from lithium poisoning?"

"It's difficult to say. When it comes to psychiatric drugs, the dosage variance between patients can be immense. But I would say that if Clyde keeps up at this pace, it'll shut down his kidneys. As it is, he might already need hemodialysis."

Peter leaned heavily on his cane. "Or perhaps he needs to take the rest of the pills at once and have a nice long sleep," he said.

A thoughtful silence.

Dalton jerked his head toward Peter. "I like this guy," he said.

"Did you find the pills?" David asked. "Behind the heating vent?"

Yale nodded.

"Looks like your wish won't come true, Peter," David said. "He left his supply. He's off the meds again. You know what that means?"

"A return of his faculties and motor skills," Diane said. "He'll regain his balance. He'll become more lucid, probably within twenty-four hours."

David looked down, working his cheek between his molars. "And, possibly, more violent," he said.

"We should stake out drugstores in the area in case he tries to break in for more drugs," Yale said. "If he tries to steal more alkali, that might provide an opportunity to catch him."