Roses Are Red

Cavalierre reached me on the ward. I took the call in the small staff room at the rear of the nurses’ station. “Betsey? What’s up?”
    “Alex, something very strange has happened,” she said, and sounded rattled. I asked her what, and her answer gave me a nasty shock.
    “Mike Doud is missing. He didn’t come in to work this morning. We called his wife, but she said he left at the usual time.”
    “What is the Bureau doing about it?” I asked.
    “We don’t think he was in an automobile accident. It’s too soon to put out an APB. Except this isn’t like Doud. He’s a really straight guy, family man, totally dependable. First Walsh,” she said. “Now this. What the hell is going on Alex?
It’s him, isn’t it?
”

Chapter 102
    WAS HE HUNTING US? First Agent James Walsh dead, now Doud missing. There was no way to tell if the events were connected, but we had to assume they were.
It’s him, isn’t it?
    I had set up time to interview Dr. Cioffi at the hospital’s administration building, so I kept the appointment. I’d done some background work on Cioffi and a few of the other psychiatrists at Hazelwood. Cioffi was an army veteran himself; he’d done two tours in Vietnam, then he’d worked in seven veterans hospitals before this one. Could he be the Mastermind? He certainly had the background in abnormal psychology. But then again, so did I.
    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