Mercy 6

Mullich took one more reading and stood. The visitors left with worried expressions, back to their loved ones or to the cafeteria.

“That’s a good way of putting it.” Mullich faced her. “Good enough.”

Mendenhall shook her head and jabbed a finger toward the scope dangling from his neck. “It’s not. You can’t track death that easily in this place. I pronounced Verdasco dead down in ER. Time of death down there, too.” She raised a fist to show him the cheap running watch on her wrist. “Using this. So what pattern are you tracking? Blood or paper?”

“Blood.”

“Then forget ER. Verdasco died here.” She pointed to the floor mark she and Silva had calibrated. “Dozier died on his ladder.

Fleming died on her roommate’s bed. See, Thorpe’s going to use the paper one. But I don’t care about some nurse’s hopeful fingers taking a pulse that isn’t there, about shoving eyelids closed, about some tired ER doctor pronouncing time of death because some other doctor ran away.”

Mullich, as Silva had done, recorded information in his pad as Mendenhall spoke, focused on accuracy. She let him finish his entries.

Mullich stared at his pad. “And Peterson?”

“My guess is she died in that ventilation room. Right where they found her. But we couldn’t get to Peterson because she’s not mine.

Not without pissing off …” With the heel of her palm, she pushed Mullich’s forehead, forcing his gaze to her. “You. You can get me to Peterson. With that key of yours.”

“That depends, Dr. Mendenhall.”

“On what?”

“On what fight you’re fighting.”

She narrowed her look.

“Blood or paper.”

She gave him an honest answer. There probably was no other kind for him. “I’m still deciding. I’ll decide when I return to Claiborne. So give me Peterson. And that witness Thorpe has up there. That’s your next stop, right? Dozier on Seven, Fleming on Four, Verdasco on Three.”

“Not quite. I visit the roof in between each.”

She retracted.

“For perspective.” He raised his scope.

“I gave you an honest answer.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I do go up there in between — to maintain and record perspective. But I’m also watching the containment. The shape of the containment. Its growth. I’ll take you. I’ll show you.

But you have to agree to my conditions.”

“You sound like Thorpe.”

“No. I’m not like Thorpe. I’ve designed buildings — redesigned them — for people like Thorpe. But not this place. Not this hospital.

Not this time around. Not anymore.”

Stepping onto the roof meant everything to her. She could still smell it on Mullich, imagine its air trapped in the creases of his lab coat. Visitors approached the waiting area, then veered away when they neared Mendenhall and Mullich.

“What are your conditions?”

Mullich held up his card key. “Every time this is used, it’s recorded. Yours, too. Thorpe’s as well, and any like it. Anyone can see. That’s how it is. That’s how it must be. Transparent action.”

She shrugged.

“No,” he said. “You don’t understand. You have to enter your key, too. Even though it won’t open the doors. It will be recorded.

Anyone, including Thorpe, gets to see where you go, where you tried to go.”

“Thorpe won’t play that way.”

“I don’t care. And I’m not playing.”

13

The roof door rejected her key. A tiny red light above the slot blinked twice. Mullich inserted his key, the light went green, a beep sounded, and the door opened, bypassing containment.

“Who gets to push the button?” Mendenhall asked. “The one that suddenly changes all the doors? Thorpe? You?”

“There is a chain of agreement. Thorpe is one link. My office just does the resetting because we know how. There is no single button.”

Mullich led her up the short flight of stairs and out to the roof.

They headed to the telescope relic.

She paused to eye the stars. “Are you comfortable with all that?

That chain of agreement? With policy, with Men Who Know Best?

Containing things to keep the public calm.”

“It might be the best first course of action.”

She shook her head, continued to skim the stars. “First course of action becomes the only course of action. With policy and its makers and enforcers. Our nerves are built for power. They feed on it.”

One step short of the low wall, Mendenhall closed her eyes and drew a full breath of night air. Cool and damp, it opened her lungs.

She took the final step blind. She opened her eyes in exhalation, her look aimed toward the dark running trails below.

“Still,” she said, “it all comes down to someone pressing enter.

No?”

“You watch too much television.”

They stood side by side, she tracing the trail run she craved, he aiming his scope over the parking lot.

“What will Thorpe think?” she asked. “If he notices I tried to come out here with you?”

Mullich was aiming his scope at a white truck blocking the parking-lot gate. “That I’m out here explaining things to you.

I’ve already brought him out here. I told him I would bring other doctors involved.”