That is all well and good, if it happens to be true, the young person allows, but Nurse Bond is not going to be doing any door opening and waving in today, for today Nurse Bond is off duty. Could it be that when Mr. Sawyer showed up to see Mrs. Marshall yesterday he was accompanied by a family member, say Mr. Marshall?
Yes. And if Mr. Marshall were to be consulted, say via the telephone, he would urge the young fellow presently discussing the matter in a commendably responsible fashion with Mr. Sawyer to admit the gentleman promptly.
That may be the case, the young person grants, but hospital regulations require that nonmedical personnel in positions such as the young person's obtain authorization for any outside telephone calls.
And from whom, Jack wishes to know, would this authorization be obtained?
From the acting head nurse, Nurse Rack.
Jack, who is growing a little hot, as they say, under the collar, suggests in that case that the young person seek out the excellent Nurse Rack and obtain the required authorization, so that things might progress in the manner Mr. Marshall, the patient's husband, would wish.
No, the young person sees no reason to pursue such a course, the reason being that doing so would represent a pitiful waste of time and effort. Mr. Sawyer is not a member of Mrs. Marshall's family; therefore the excellent Nurse Rack would under no circumstances grant the authorization.
"Okay," Jack says, wishing he could strangle this irritating pip-squeak, "let's move a step up the administrative ladder, shall we? Is Dr. Spiegleman somewhere on the premises?"
"Could be," the young person says. "How'm I supposed to know? Dr. Spiegleman doesn't tell me everything he does."
Jack points to the telephone at the end of the counter. "I don't expect you to know, I expect you to find out. Get on that phone now."
The young man slouches down the counter to the telephone, rolls his eyes, punches two numbered keys, and leans against the counter with his back to the room. Jack hears him muttering about Spiegleman, sigh, then say, "All right, transfer me, whatever." Transferred, he mutters something that includes Jack's name. Whatever he hears in response causes him to jerk himself upright and sneak a wide-eyed look over his shoulder at Jack. "Yes, sir. He's here now, yes. I'll tell him."
He replaces the receiver. "Dr. Spiegleman'll be here right away." The boy — he is no more than twenty — steps back and shoves his hands in his pockets. "You're that cop, huh?"
"What cop?" Jack says, still irritated.
"The one from California that came here and arrested Mr. Kinderling."
"Yes, that's me."
"I'm from French Landing, and boy, that was some shock. To the whole town. Nobody would have guessed. Mr. Kinderling? Are you kidding? You'd never believe that someone like that would . . . you know, kill people."
"Did you know him?"
"Well, in a town like French Landing, everybody sort of knows everybody, but I didn't really know Mr. Kinderling, except to say hi. The one I knew was his wife. She used to be my Sunday school teacher at Mount Hebron Lutheran."
Jack cannot help it; he laughs at the incongruity of the murderer's wife teaching Sunday school classes. The memory of Wanda Kinderling radiating hatred at him during her husband's sentencing stops his laughter, but it is too late. He sees that he has offended the young man. "What was she like?" he asks. "As a teacher."
"Just a teacher," the boy says. His voice is uninflected, resentful. "She made us memorize all the books of the Bible." He turns away and mutters, "Some people think he didn't do it."
"What did you say?"
The boy half-turns toward Jack but looks at the brown wall in front of him. "I said, Some people think he didn't do it. Mr. Kinderling. They think he got put in jail because he was a small-town guy who didn't know anybody out there."
"That's too bad," Jack says. "Do you want to know the real reason Mr. Kinderling went to prison?"
The boy turns the rest of the way and looks at Jack.
"Because he was guilty of murder, and he confessed. That's it, that's all. Two witnesses put him at the scene, and two other people saw him on a plane to L.A. when he told everyone he was flying to Denver. After that, he said, Okay, I did it. I always wanted to know what it was like to kill a girl, and one day I couldn't stand it anymore, so I went out and killed two whores. His lawyer tried to get him off on an insanity plea, but the jury at his hearing found him sane, and he went to prison."
The boy lowers his head and mumbles something.
"I couldn't hear that," Jack says.