Cold Vengeance - Lincoln Child [94]
Pendergast moved to free his arm but Weiss held on. “Carry on my work,” he repeated. “Find out where that devil was, what he was doing. Then we can finally close the book on the Dachau Doctor.” He stared into Pendergast’s face. “Will you do this?”
“I’ll do what I can,” Pendergast replied.
After a moment, Weiss relaxed. He released his grip on Pendergast’s wrist. “But be careful. Even today, such demons as Dr. Faust have their supporters… those who would guard the Nazi secrets, even beyond the grave.” And he tapped the arm of his wheelchair significantly.
Pendergast nodded. “I shall be careful.”
The passionate fit had passed, and Weiss’s face was calm and gentle once again. “Then all that remains is for us to have another drink—if you’re so inclined.”
“I am indeed. Please tell your wife that she mixes an excellent julep.”
“Coming from a man of the Deep South, that is a compliment indeed.” And the older man lifted the pitcher and refilled their glasses.
CHAPTER 50
New York City
DR. OSTROM’S OFFICE AT MOUNT MERCY HAD ONCE BEEN—rather fittingly, Esterhazy thought—the consulting chamber of the hospital’s “alienist.” It still bore traces of the building’s days as a private hospital for the wealthy: a large, rococo marble fireplace; elaborately carved moldings; leaded-glass windows, now fitted with steel bars. Esterhazy almost expected a butler in white tie to enter, sherry glasses balanced on a silver salver.
“So, Dr. Poole,” Felder said, leaning forward in his chair and placing the palms of his hands on his knees. “What did you think of this evening’s session?”
Esterhazy glanced back at the psychiatrist, taking in his eager, intelligent gaze. The man was so obsessed with Constance and the strange aspects of this case that it was blinding his professional objectivity and normally prudent nature. Esterhazy, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about Constance or her perversities, beyond her use as a pawn in his game. And not caring gave him a huge advantage.
“I thought you handled her with great tact, Doctor,” he said. “Refusing to address her delusions directly, but only within the context of a greater reality, is clearly a beneficial strategy.” He paused. “I have to admit quite frankly, when I first approached you about this case, I had my doubts. You know the long-term prognosis of paranoid schizophrenia as well as or better than I do. And my earlier treatment of her was, as I’ve explained, less than satisfactory. But I’d be the first to admit that, where I once failed, you are now succeeding—to a degree I’d never thought possible.”
Felder flushed slightly, nodded his thanks.
“Have you noticed that her selective amnesia has abated to some degree?”
Felder cleared his throat. “I have noticed that, yes.”
Esterhazy smiled slightly. “And it’s clear that this facility has played no small part in her progress. The welcoming and intellectually stimulating atmosphere of Mount Mercy has made a huge difference. In my opinion, it’s helped turn a very guarded prognosis into a rather more optimistic one.”
Ostrom, sitting in a nearby wing chair, inclined his head. He was more reserved than Felder, and—though clearly interested in the case—not obsessed with it. Esterhazy had to treat him with great care. But flattery was universally effective.
Esterhazy flipped through the chart Ostrom had provided, trying to pick out any nugget that might assist him. “I notice here that Constance seems to react to two activities with particular favor: library hours and recreational time spent on the grounds.”
Ostrom nodded. “She seems to have an almost nineteenth-century attraction to outdoor strolls.”
“It’s a positive sign, and one I believe we should foster.” Esterhazy put the folder aside. “Have you thought of arranging a day trip away from Mount Mercy, such as a walk through the botanical gardens, perhaps?”
Ostrom glanced at him. “I must confess I haven’t. Off-site trips normally require court approval.”
“I understand. You say ‘normally.