The Devil's bed

“With a man of David’s intelligence, anything is possible. You indicated you’d seen the scars on his arms.”

Bo nodded. “Self-mutilation?”

She shook her head. “Cicatrization. Ritual scarring. If I’ve put his story together correctly, he carries a scar for each killing. Those of least importance are on his appendages. The greater the import, the nearer he puts them to his heart. Another thing. He’s very sensitive to sunlight. He prefers to wear sunglasses even indoors. He’s been checked. There’s no medical foundation for such a sensitivity. But to David, it’s real.”

“I asked you a question you never answered,” Bo said. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“Most patients are dreary repetitions of an unhappy theme. David Moses is different. I looked forward to our sessions. He’s charming when he wants to be. When he deigns to be communicative, a conversation with him can be delightful and challenging.”

“But is he dangerous?” Bo persisted.

“If he’s truly delusional, he’s fully capable of living out his delusion. If he’s not, then he knows well how to kill.” She paused and seemed to consider whether to say the rest of what was on her mind. “David doesn’t belong out there. Out there, heisdangerous. But in here, he’s a rare creature, and I would hate to see him destroyed.”

They leaned against their cars in the visitor lot of the Security Hospital. It was late morning, already hot. They’d given the program director all the information they had on the man who was probably David Moses. Helen Wardell had called the Nicollet County sheriff’s office, and two detectives were on their way to the Security Hospital.

Coyote said, “I was inclined to laugh when Dr. Hart said Moses might be a hired killer. But I’ve been thinking. A decade-long blank in his history, that’s pretty suspicious.”

“With this guy, I’m beginning to think anything is possible,” Bo answered.

“Could someone have actually hired David Moses to kill Jorgenson?”

“I think it’s more likely that he has his own agenda.”

“He’s driving Luther Gallagher’s truck. We should take a look inside Gallagher’s house.”

“You mind handling that, Stu?”

“Fine by me. When the sheriff’s men get here, I’ll see if we can’t get a warrant. While I’m at it, I’ll check out activity on any credit cards Gallagher has. Might tell us where he, or Moses, have been lately and what they’ve been up to.”

“My own instincts are telling me that Gallagher’s dead. And if David Moses is as clever as Dr. Hart believes, we’re not going to find the body easily.”

“Let’s see where we stand after I’ve had a look at his place. What about you, Bo?”

“I’m going back to the office, see how quickly we can get hold of Moses’s military service record. It might help in uncovering some of that missing history. I’d also like to find out about the fixation on Tom Jorgenson. What’s the connection between Moses and him?”

“If he’s whacked out, he could have seen Jorgenson on television and just fixated.”

“You know where St. Jerome’s Home for Children is, Stu? Less than ten miles from Wildwood. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Dr. Hart said David Moses never completed high school. He dropped out and joined the service. I’m going to look into his time at St. Jerome’s. I’d like to know who signed his enlistment papers and why.”

chapter twenty

It took Bo an hour and a half to get to Minneapolis. He made one stop on the way at a market outside Shakopee to pick up an apple and some cheese for lunch, but he still felt hungry when he walked into the field office. The place seemed empty, as it usually did when someone important enough to warrant protection visited the Twin Cities.

He spoke with Rafael Ramos, the criminal research specialist for the field office, and gave him what information he had on David Moses. He asked Ramos to get a copy of the man’s military record ASAP.

Diana Ishimaru was on her phone. She waved Bo in and pointed to a chair.

The office of the special agent-in-charge was a large and orderly room painted in light blue. On the wall behind her desk hung a photograph of a younger Agent Ishimaru shaking hands with President George Bush, the elder. She was an attractive woman, Bo’s boss. Forty-seven years old, straight black hair that swept her shoulders, a well-maintained figure, dark Asian eyes. Like a lot of agents, she had a divorce somewhere in her past. Never remarried. Driven in a profession dominated by men, she’d advanced to her position through hard work, an astute understanding of the politics of the Secret Service, and an ability to engender fierce loyalty in those who worked with her.

Ishimaru hung up. “What do you have?”

“Care to step into the Twilight Zone with me?” He related what he and Coyote had discovered in St. Peter. She made notes as he talked. He finished with “I called the Washington County sheriff and let him know what we’d found out. He’s putting additional security on Tom Jorgenson.”

“How about Wildwood?”