“Why kill Courtenay Taggart?” Henry asked.
Archie looked out the window. If he hadn’t talked Courtenay into giving up the shard of Formica, she’d still be alive. She wasn’t going to hurt herself, not with that. She’d cut her wrists horizontally, for Christ’s sake. She just wanted someone to pay attention. He had to be the hero. And it had cost Courtenay her life. “I was nice to her,” he said softly.
“Archie,” Henry said. “You need to come clean right now. Has Gretchen contacted you?”
Archie glanced toward the floor, to see if the phone had fallen from the bed. It wasn’t there. “No,” he said.
Henry gnawed at his bottom lip, leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. The plastic groaned under his weight. “Debbie left town last night,” he said, raising an appraising eyebrow at Archie. “She and the kids.Extended vacation. She called me from the airport.”
“She could use a vacation,” Archie said.
“Right,” Henry said. “It’s a coincidence that she took off right after she came to see you.” He hesitated and then scratched the back of his neck. “What I don’t get is, it’s not all for you.” He looked up at Archie. “Whatever she’s doing out there. It doesn’t connect.”
Of course. Archie had been so focused on what was happening on the ward, that he’d lost sight of the bigger picture. The rest stop.PittockMansion.The abandoned house.Eyeballs and old bodies. Gretchen didn’t do anything without a plan. Maybe Archie was supposed to figure it out. Maybe that was the game.
“You ID the head?” Archie asked.
“Nope,” Henry said. “Male. His eyes were removed. DNA match will take a couple of days, but the blood type matches a set from the rest stop. Robbins thinks the guy’s been dead a few years. Thinks someone kept his eyes in a jar of formaldehyde.”
It didn’t make sense.
“The John Doe Susan found yesterday.” Henry paused. “Robbins called me yesterday. Someone removed his eyes, and replaced them. Apparently the ones in his sockets were a few years old.”
“Let me guess,” Archie said. “Soaked in formaldehyde.”
“Gretchen’s apparently got a little eyeball collection. Some people collect unicorns, belt buckles . . .” He spread his hands. “You were lucky all she took was your spleen.”
“You’re right,” Archie said. “She could have taken my unicorn.”
Henry didn’t laugh.
From the bed, Archie could see the sun now, a sliver of orange over the skyline. “They want me out, don’t they?” Archie said.
Henry stood. “They’re concerned about the safety of the patients. You included.” He folded his glasses closed, hooked them on the collar of his shirt, and slid his notebook into the pocket of his jeans. “You can stay with me. Temporarily.Until we figure something else out.”
A nice padded cell in New Hampshire, maybe.
Henry stepped in front of Archie and peered down at him, his broad chest expanding with a deep sigh. “Tell me we’re not playing right into her hands,” he said.
Archie knew what he was thinking: Gretchen manipulates George into killing Courtenay, knowing that the hospital would have to ask Archie to leave.
“I’m not the one in danger,” Archie said.
“Good,” Henry said. “Because I can’t protect you.” He crossed his arms and glared down at Archie for a long moment before continuing. “If you were in touch with Gretchen—if she had found some way to communicate with you, or had some other information that might be of use to the investigation”—Henry lowered his chin and raised an eyebrow—“that might allow me to reallocate some resources.”
Archie nodded. He had known Henry for fifteen years. Henry had helped nurse him back to health, had overlooked his pill popping, and had convinced him to go back to work. He’d been the one who drove Archie to the psych ward, and who’d sat with him while he was admitted. He’d put up with far more than he should have, and Archie knew it. Still, Archie didn’t say anything.
Henry glanced at his watch and looked out the window for a moment. “I’ve got to make some calls,” he said. “Rosenberg’s on her way to rubber-stamp your newfound mental clarity.”
Just like that. Back into the world. “What are you doing to find Gretchen?” Archie asked.
“When you want to get over your bullshit and be a cop again, I’ll be happy to brief you,” Henry said. “Until then, you’re a civilian. And your job is to stay alive.” He started to walk away, then seemed to change his mind, and turned back. “I know you’re keeping something from me,” he said.
Archie didn’t move.
Henry looked at him for another moment, and then turned and walked out of the room.
The second he was gone Archie dropped to his hands and knees on the floor and looked under the bed. No phone. He got up and ran his palms along the bedding, searching for a telltale lump. Nothing.
It was gone.