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mixed up in this."
    "What else does he want?"
    "A helicopter."
    "What did he say would happen if his demands aren't met?"
    "He didn't.  We've evacuated the rest of the building, but there are three nurses, two social workers and a dietician up there on the unit."  She shook her head.  "One of the nurses is pregnant."
    "Jesus."
    "The orderly said there was also a visitor."
    "Any idea who?"
    "The description fits Elmonte, and nobody's been able to locate her.  That makes seven people at risk up there."  She paused.  "Actually, eight.  The unborn child."
    "Not to mention the patients."
    "Yeah, right, the ‘patients.’  Like Gray Kaminsky, the lowlife who kidnapped and raped that little girl on Elm Street, then claimed voices made him do it.  And he's not the worst of them, Frank.  Peter Zweig is up there."
    Zweig was a nineteen-year-old black man who had killed his mother and father, then brought their remains to a local church to offer them as sacrifices.  "He's very sick," I said.
    "My heart bleeds for him," she scoffed.  "He's as guilty of multiple homicide as Lucas."
    I shuddered at that truth.  "You could be right."
    "I know I'm right.  If it weren't for the staff and Elmonte, I'd seal of the building and come back next spring for proper burials."
    "That's very Christian of you."
    "It's a lot more Christian than letting demons walk the earth."
    The man in the trench coat walked up to us.  He wore a black goatee and was carrying a bullhorn.  He looked about forty-five years old.  "Dr. Lawrence Winston," he said, staring into my eyes.
    We shook hands.  "Frank Clevenger."
    "Dr. Winston is a psychologist working with the State Police," Hancock said.  She glanced at me and rolled her eyes.  "We have additional resources because the hospital is a state facility."
    "Glad for the help," I told him.
    "The majority of my time is spent teaching at Harvard," Winston offered.  "But fieldwork is still fascinating to me.  I understand you work in the community full-time."
    I glanced at his tie — shiny red silk with embroidered Harvard crests.  "That's right."  I winked.  "I'm a full-time field hand."
    "I always tell my students how important it is to have the perspective of a local psychologist."
    I heard local loud and clear.  "Psychiatrist," I countered.  "I went the medical school route."  I paused.  "Do you have an M.D. supervising you?  Maybe I know him?"
    His face fell.  "You might not.  He spends most of his time at Harvard, too."
    "Try me."
    "Abraham Hodges."
    Hodges and I had closed a few bars in Cambridge together.  He was book smart and street smart, a rare combination.  "Abe's a good man," I said.  "You're lucky.  You can learn a lot from him."
    Winston cleared his throat.  "Commissioner Hancock and I were discussing Dr. Lucas’ character structure before you arrived."
    "Dr. Winston feels that giving in to Lucas’ demands would be the wrong move," Hancock said.  "It plays into his narcissism."
    "If we stand firm, Lucas will fold his hand," Winston smiled.  "No pun intended.  Alien hand , what a crock."  He turned serious again.  "The only way people are going to get hurt is if we let ourselves be manipulated."
    I thought about that.  I didn't make sense.  "Your theory would be correct if we were dealing with a pure sociopath," I said, "but I'm not sure Lucas is in control of his behavior anymore.  I think he may be truly psychotic.  You can win a game of tug-of-war with somebody insane and end up with a rope around your neck."
    "Are you familiar with the latest study on hostage situations in the American Journal of Forensic Psychology ?  Grovner and Waznoff, et al.?"
    "Quoting scientific literature is a warning sign of an expert with no intuition. "I don't read the journals a lot," I said.
    "I won't bore you with the details.  I found the study design a bit cumbersome myself.  But the conclusion was illuminating.  In nineteen hostage crises involving barricade, eighty-four