file."
"Thank you, sir." Milo took it and handed it to me and resumed jotting notes. Inside were Claire Argent's job application, an abbreviated resume, and a headshot photo.
The resume was five pages thick. Several published studies. Neuropsychology.
Reaction time in alcoholics. Solid journals. A clinical appointment as a lecturer.
Why had she quit to come here?
The picture revealed a pretty, slightly broad face brightened by a shy half-smile.
Thick, dark hair, shoulder-length, flipped at the edges, feathery bangs, white
hairband, baby blue crewneck top. Clear skin, very little makeup, big dark eyes. The first adjective that came to my mind was "wholesome." Maybe a little too ingenue for someone her age, though she looked closer to thirty than the thirty-nine established by her birthdate.
No date on the photo, so maybe it had been snapped years earlier. She'd gotten her
Ph.D. ten years ago. Graduation shot? I continued to study her face. The eyes were lustrous, warm-her best feature.
Now mangled. Someone's trophy?
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much," said Swig. "We've got a staff of over a hundred, including more than twenty psychologists and psychiatrists."
"The others are psych techs like Mr. Dollard?"
"Techs, nonpsychiatric physicians, nurses, pharmacists, secretaries, cooks, plumbers, electricians, custodians."
"And you don't know if any of them had some kind of relationship with Dr. Argent away from work?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Did she work with any staff members consistently?"
"I'd have to check on that."
"Please do."
"Certainly. It will take a few days."
Milo took the file from me, opened it, flipped pages. "I appreciate your letting us have this, Mr. Swig. When I saw her she looked quite different."
As if warding off the comment, Swig turned to me. "You're a psychologist, Dr.
Delaware? Forensic?"
"Clinical. I do occasional consulting."
"Have you worked much with dangerous psychotics?"
"I rotated through Atascadero as an intern, but that's about it."
"Atascadero must have been pretty tough back then."
"Tough enough," I said.
"Yes," he said. "Before us, they were the toughest place. Now they're handling mostly MDSO's-sex offenders." His tone was dismissive.
"You have some of them, too, right?" said Milo.
"A few," said Swig. "Incorrigibles who happened to come up for sentencing when the law-of-the-week said hospitaliza-tion. Nowadays, they go to jail. We haven't accepted any in years."
That made the hospital sound like a college. I said, "Are the sex offenders housed with the regular population or up on the top floor with the 1368 !s?"
Swig touched one of his moles. "Regular population. The 1368's are a completely different situation. They're boarders, not residents. The court orders us to screen them. We keep them totally isolated on the fifth floor."
"Bad influences on the 1026's?" said Milo.
Swig laughed. "I don't think the 1026's can be influenced too easily. No, it's all the traffic and the escape risk. They come in and out on sheriff's buses-what they really want isn't treatment, it's out." He sat back, touched some of the moles on his face. Fingering them carefully, like a blind man reading braille. "We're talking about malingering criminals who think they can drool and avoid San Quentin. We evaluate them, ship them back."
His voice had climbed and his skin had pinkened.
"Sounds like a hassle," I said.
"It's a distraction from our main goal."
Milo said, "Managing the 1026's."
"Treating insane murderers and keeping them invisible. From the public. Every one of our men has committed the proverbial 'senseless crime.' On the outside, you hear nonsense like 'Anyone who kills has to be crazy.' Doctor, you of course
"Thank you, sir." Milo took it and handed it to me and resumed jotting notes. Inside were Claire Argent's job application, an abbreviated resume, and a headshot photo.
The resume was five pages thick. Several published studies. Neuropsychology.
Reaction time in alcoholics. Solid journals. A clinical appointment as a lecturer.
Why had she quit to come here?
The picture revealed a pretty, slightly broad face brightened by a shy half-smile.
Thick, dark hair, shoulder-length, flipped at the edges, feathery bangs, white
hairband, baby blue crewneck top. Clear skin, very little makeup, big dark eyes. The first adjective that came to my mind was "wholesome." Maybe a little too ingenue for someone her age, though she looked closer to thirty than the thirty-nine established by her birthdate.
No date on the photo, so maybe it had been snapped years earlier. She'd gotten her
Ph.D. ten years ago. Graduation shot? I continued to study her face. The eyes were lustrous, warm-her best feature.
Now mangled. Someone's trophy?
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much," said Swig. "We've got a staff of over a hundred, including more than twenty psychologists and psychiatrists."
"The others are psych techs like Mr. Dollard?"
"Techs, nonpsychiatric physicians, nurses, pharmacists, secretaries, cooks, plumbers, electricians, custodians."
"And you don't know if any of them had some kind of relationship with Dr. Argent away from work?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Did she work with any staff members consistently?"
"I'd have to check on that."
"Please do."
"Certainly. It will take a few days."
Milo took the file from me, opened it, flipped pages. "I appreciate your letting us have this, Mr. Swig. When I saw her she looked quite different."
As if warding off the comment, Swig turned to me. "You're a psychologist, Dr.
Delaware? Forensic?"
"Clinical. I do occasional consulting."
"Have you worked much with dangerous psychotics?"
"I rotated through Atascadero as an intern, but that's about it."
"Atascadero must have been pretty tough back then."
"Tough enough," I said.
"Yes," he said. "Before us, they were the toughest place. Now they're handling mostly MDSO's-sex offenders." His tone was dismissive.
"You have some of them, too, right?" said Milo.
"A few," said Swig. "Incorrigibles who happened to come up for sentencing when the law-of-the-week said hospitaliza-tion. Nowadays, they go to jail. We haven't accepted any in years."
That made the hospital sound like a college. I said, "Are the sex offenders housed with the regular population or up on the top floor with the 1368 !s?"
Swig touched one of his moles. "Regular population. The 1368's are a completely different situation. They're boarders, not residents. The court orders us to screen them. We keep them totally isolated on the fifth floor."
"Bad influences on the 1026's?" said Milo.
Swig laughed. "I don't think the 1026's can be influenced too easily. No, it's all the traffic and the escape risk. They come in and out on sheriff's buses-what they really want isn't treatment, it's out." He sat back, touched some of the moles on his face. Fingering them carefully, like a blind man reading braille. "We're talking about malingering criminals who think they can drool and avoid San Quentin. We evaluate them, ship them back."
His voice had climbed and his skin had pinkened.
"Sounds like a hassle," I said.
"It's a distraction from our main goal."
Milo said, "Managing the 1026's."
"Treating insane murderers and keeping them invisible. From the public. Every one of our men has committed the proverbial 'senseless crime.' On the outside, you hear nonsense like 'Anyone who kills has to be crazy.' Doctor, you of course
Similar Books
Neptune's Ring
Ali Spooner
Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done."
Bad-Boy Storyteller
Crashland
Sean Williams
Torn (Demon Kissed #3)
H.M. Ward
Missing Lily (Tales of Dalthia)
Annette K. Larsen
Turn Around Bright Eyes
Rob Sheffield
A Minute on the Lips
Cheryl Harper
The Boss's Pet: Sharing Among Friends
Tonya Kinzer
Daughters
Elizabeth Buchan
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
Henry Farrell