Roses Are Red - James Patterson [78]
When I was shown into his office, Dr. Cioffi was writing at a pinewood partner’s table. His back was to the window. He sat in a cane-and-wood chair covered with a yellow striped fabric that matched the drapes.
I couldn’t see him very well, but I knew he could see me. Oh, the games we play — even we doctors of the mind.
Eventually, he looked up, pretending to be surprised that I was there. “Detective Cross, I’m sorry. I guess the time got away from me.”
He shot his cuffs, then rose from his chair and indicated a general sitting area against the far wall. “Dr. Marcuse and I were talking about you the other night. We realized we were pretty tough the day that you and the other detective arrived. I guess we found the idea of the police wandering around the wards a little troubling. Anyway, I’ve heard rumors that you’re an excellent mental health counselor.”
I refused to rise to the bait. He was a doctor; I was a mental health counselor I told Cioffi about the list of suspects I had compiled. He took the list from me. Quickly looked over the names.
“I know all of these patients, of course. I’m sure that some are angry enough to be violent. Anderson and Hale have actually committed murders in the past. It’s still hard to imagine any of these men organizing a series of daring robberies. And then, of course, why would they still be here if they had all that money?” He laughed. “I certainly wouldn’t be.” Is that so, Dr Cioffi? I had to wonder.
Next, I spent nearly an hour with Dr. Marcuse, who had a smaller office right next to Cioffi’s. I enjoyed his company, and the time flew by. Marcuse was energetic, bright, and trying to be cooperative with the investigation. Or so he made it seem.
“How did you wind up here at Hazelwood?” I eventually asked him.
“Good question, complicated answer. My father was an army pilot. Lost both his legs in the Second World War. I spent time around veterans hospitals from the time I was seven. Hated them with a passion, and with good reason. I guess I wanted to make them better places than what my father knew.”
“You succeeding?” I asked.
“I’ve been here less than eight months. I took over for Dr. Francis, who transferred to another vets hospital in Florida. The money just isn’t available for these places. It’s a national disgrace, and nobody seems to care. Sixty Minutes and Dateline should do stories every week on veterans hospitals — until somebody does something about them. Alex, I don’t know what to tell you about your killer.”
“You don’t believe he’s here, do you?” I asked.
Marcuse shook his head. “If he is, he really is a mastermind. If he’s here, he’s got everybody fooled.”
Chapter 103
I SEE YOU, DR. CROSS. I see you, but you don’t have a clue who I am. I could walk up and touch you.
I’m a lot smarter than you — and also a lot smarter than you think I am. It’s a simple fact. It’s also verifiable. There have been batteries of intelligence tests. Lots and lots of the finest psychological tests. Have you seen my test scores? Were you impressed?
I was sitting exactly one chair away from you in the recreation room the other morning. I studied your face. My eyes rolled over your well-exercised body. I was thinking that maybe I was wrong — and that you weren’t really Alex Cross. We were so close I could have jumped up and grabbed you by the throat. Would that have surprised you?
I’ll admit, your being here certainly surprised me. I’ve seen your picture — you’re well known — and then there you were. You made all of my paranoid dreams and fantasies come true.
Why are you here, Dr. Cross? Why, exactly? How the hell could you have found me? Are you that good?
That’s the question I ask myself over and over, the litany playing inside my head.
Why is Alex Cross here? How good is he?
I’m going to work on a surprise for you now. I’m making a special plan in your honor.
I’m watching you