Walter ignored the questions. Instead, he asked, “How many people have died here in the past year?”

  Dr. Frazer replaced the handset, dropped the cell phone back in the drawer, and slumped angrily down into his chair. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “How many?”

  “Fourteen.”

  This came from Sister Mary Susan, not from Frazer. The doctor shot her an angry look.

  “How many the year before that?”

  “Three,” she replied before the doctor could stop her.

  Frazer’s face grew stiff. “That’s meaningless. There was no foul play. The county coroner autopsies anyone who dies in our care. If he’d found anything remotely suspicious or problematic, I would have heard about it from a half dozen different people.”

  “Tomorrow’s headline could easily read ‘Federal Authorities Investigate a 400 Percent Increase in Death Rate at the Bakersfield Psychiatric Facility.’”

  Dr. Frazer didn’t miss a beat. “And you’d be sued for libel.”

  Walter shrugged. “Maybe. But it will take a couple years for all that to play out in court. What happens to this place in the meantime? Think the government, the one you want to sue, will continue to send you checks? How about your donors? How many of them will want their name attached with a cloud like that hanging over the place?”

  “You’re insinuating the woman you’re looking for is killing patients like some angel of death,” Frazer said. “I can assure you every death on record has been natural.”

  “So are all the others we’ve attributed to her.”

  This wasn’t exactly true, but it was true enough.

  “Only Larson has seen her,” Frazer reasoned. “I use the term ‘seen’ loosely because patients like him tend to see a lot of things. Presuming she’s real and not some figment, how do you explain her movements around the hospital? Completely unnoticed by staff and all others. This is a secure facility. Everything and everyone accounted for at all times.”

  Because she can alter her appearance at will, Walter thought. Appear different to different people.

  If he told the truth he might just earn a room in this place.

  Walter tried a different angle. “I’m going to ask you something very specific, and I need you to be honest with me. If you lie, I’ll know. Understand?”

  The administrator didn’t reply, only stared at him.

  “Have you ever found patients secured to their beds and tortured? Maybe over an extended period of time?”

  A disgusted look washed over the man’s face. “Half the patients here have been secured to their bed at one time or another. But tortured? No. Of course not. And if you leak something like that to—”

  Walter cut him off. “Would you know?”

  “I know everything that happens here.”

  “What about missing fingers?”

  “Missing?”

  “Bitten off.”

  He was clearly taken aback by this, too stunned to answer.

  The nun’s mouth was hanging open slightly, but when Walter glanced at her, she quickly shook her head. “He’s telling you the truth. The deaths we’ve had were heart attacks, several late-stage diseases. I recall a stroke. Nothing as horrible as you’re suggesting. Certainly no foul play.”

  “What about cancer?”

  “Certainly.”

  Walter recognized that these people wouldn’t know what to look for. Not if she was being careful. She hadn’t survived this long without knowing how to hide when she needed to.

  Walter rested one hand on Frazer’s desk. The top of his cane dug into his other palm as he leaned closer to the man. “The warrant is coming. Give us a head start on the search. Let us get in front of her. We can’t allow this woman to escape. If you help us, tomorrow’s headline could just as easily read ‘Local Administrator Instrumental in the Capture of Serial Murderer.’ The ball’s in your court, Doctor.”

  Walter could see the gears working behind Dr. Frazer’s eyes when someone knocked on his door.

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  “What?” Frazer blurted out.

  When nobody responded, Walter hobbled over and opened the door.

  Dressed in black with a gun on his hip and a badge hanging around his neck, a member of their team was speaking softly to Sealey in the hallway. Both of them turned, and Sealey said, “We’ve got something. Staff quarters upstairs.”

  Frazer rose from his desk, his face somehow growing redder. “Who gave you permission to look upstairs in staff quarters? I want all of you out of my facility immediately!”

  Sealey raised his hand and waved his cell phone at the administrator. “The warrant’s been approved. They’re faxing you a copy. Who does room 27 belong to?”

  Dr. Frazer ignored him and crossed his office to the fax machine on a table in the far corner. When he didn’t find anything in the tray, he picked up the receiver, frowned, and held it toward Sealey. “This line is dead, too. I can’t honor a warrant I haven’t seen. Why is your cell phone working and mine isn’t?”

  Sealey dropped the phone back in his pocket. “Mine is satellite based. It doesn’t rely on local towers for a signal.”

  “We haven’t touched your phone lines,” Walter told him. Actually, most likely, Sealey had had the lines cut and activated a cellular blocker, just as Frazer suspected, but Walter certainly wasn’t going to tell him that. “If she knows we’re here, there’s a good chance she did something.”

  “Room 27, Doctor,” Sealey repeated. “Who does it belong to?”

  The nun let out a frustrated sigh. “For heaven’s sake, testosterone will be the end of us all.” She went to a tall file cabinet against the wall and tugged open one of the drawers. “Room 27, you said?”

  Sealey nodded.

  She thumbed through several files, pulled one out, and opened it across the others. “Room 27 belongs to Sister Mary Daria. She came to us four years ago as a novice. She’s twenty-five years old, real name is Madelyn Johnson.”

  The name meant nothing to Walter, and by the look on Sealey’s face, he didn’t recognize it, either. “Do you have a photograph?”

  The nun frowned. “It should be clipped to the inside flap of her file, but it’s gone.”

  “Let me see that.” Dr. Frazer stomped over, took the folder from her, and flipped through the contents. “Almost everything is missing. Photograph is gone, so is her résumé, background check, and references. There’s nothing in here but her last few evaluations.” His eyes narrowed. He pulled out several more folders, growing increasingly frustrated. “Somebody’s gone through all of these. All the photos are gone, personal details, it’s all been removed.” He looked up at Walter. “My office is always locked when I’m not in here. Only a handful of people have access.”

  Why would she take the photographs? She’s never been captured on film. Did someone finally manage to get a shot of her?

  Then the answer came to him—if they used photographs to eliminate everyone else, leaving only her, she’d be the only one without a photograph. This confused the issue.

  Walter glanced at Frazer. “You’d recognize her, right? You could point her out to us?”

  “Of course.”

  Walter knew that was probably meaningless, too, but at least the man wasn’t arguing with them anymore.

  Sealey turned back to the man dressed in black. “Show us what you found in her room.”

  Several nuns watched them as they quickly made their way through the facility. A few brazenly followed. Sister Mary Daria’s room was on the second floor, about halfway down a long hallway. The door stood open, a second man dressed in black standing guard. He moved aside as they stepped into the small space.

  There was a single bed, the sheets and quilt free of wrinkles, made with military precision. A small wooden cross hung above the headboard. A table and single chair occupied one wall, and a large armoire stood against the other. The armoire had been pulled away from the wall and several clear plastic bags sat on the floor in a neat line.

  “Those were hidden behind,” the man in black told them.

  The nun gasped and covered her mouth. “Is that…?”

  Sealey bent to get a better look.

  Walter hovered above him, not willing to test his knees right now. His grip tightened on the cane.

  There were four bags in total—teeth, hair, fingernails, and brown clumps that might have been skin. Unlike the jars found in Earl Golston’s apartment all those years ago, the items weren’t separated here—each bag contained a mix, the clear plastic marred with brown stains, inside and out, most likely blood.

  Walter hadn’t known it at the time, but Sealey’s team had recovered the jars from Golston’s. In recent years they’d analyzed them and compared the DNA, determined everything came from the same source, not multiple victims. She was keeping pieces of herself.

  The color that had been so prominent on Dr. Frazer’s face was gone. He was stark white.

  “If you’re going to throw up, please step outside,” Sealey said before taking a pen from his breast pocket and using it to turn one of the bags on its side. Without looking up at the man who’d led them to the room, he asked, “Anything else?”

  “No, sir. Nothing else in this room. None of the other staff rooms, either. Just those.”

  “Where is Sister Mary Daria now?” Walter asked.

  “She’s on cafeteria duty,” the nun replied.

  They headed to the cafeteria where another nun told them that Sister Daria hadn’t reported yet. None of the people in the kitchen had heard from her.

  “We’ve got this place locked down,” Sealey told Walter and the others. “She couldn’t have gotten out. She’s here somewhere.”

  Looking around the large cafeteria, Walter only half heard him. He had an idea. “Do you have an intercom or PA system?”

  Frazer nodded.

  “We need you to gather all the nuns and your staff together in this room. Everyone who’s not a patient. Now.”

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  It took about fifteen minutes and three announcements over the PA system to gather everyone. Seventy-two employees at this time of day. Dr. Frazer called it a staff meeting in an attempt to avoid raising suspicion. Sister Mary Susan’s idea. There were hushed conversations as the group eyed Walter and Sealey warily.

  Dr. Frazer stepped over to them, tugging nervously at his tie. “Warrant or not, I’m not comfortable leaving my facility unstaffed like this. We have patients to tend to. Do what you need to do quickly, so I can return these people to their posts.”

  Sister Mary Susan leaned close to Walter and spoke softly, her breath warm on the side of his face. “Sister Mary Daria isn’t here. At least six others are not accounted for.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  The orderly, Canton Brown, stepped into the cafeteria then. He held the door open with one arm and guided Red Larson with the other. Although he was still in restraints, Larson moved with more purpose and agility than he had earlier. The shuffle was gone, and he stood upright. The nun had told them he’d last been given his medication three and a half hours earlier. He was due again in thirty minutes.

  Canton Brown led Larson to where Walter and Sealey stood and held him there with one hand resting on Larson’s shoulder.

  “How are you feeling, Red?” Walter asked him.

  Larson’s head swiveled toward him, his eyes following on a slight delay. “I’ve got the worst hangover. Are you my new doctor?”

  Walter shook his head and offered a smile. “I’m just a friend.”

  A spark lit then as he remembered more. “Oh, Walter O’Brien. Her…her…”

  Walter gestured toward the line of nuns against the wall on their left. “I need you to point out Lilin to us. Can you do that for me?”

  Canton Brown glanced at Dr. Frazer, who was standing beside Sealey.

  Frazer gave a dismissive wave. “It’s fine, Mr. Brown. Just keep an eye on him.”

  Larson worked his way across the room, with the orderly at his side and Walter one pace behind them.

  Standing side by side, the nuns went quiet as they approached. Some clasped their hands; most averted their eyes and looked down at the ground.

  Walter and Sealey had walked the line twice while they waited for Larson. Neither of them recognized Amy Archer among the faces; neither of them expected to. All the women wore full habits, their hair and bodies completely covered. That didn’t make things any easier, but Walter knew it was of little consequence. He only needed to remind himself of the several times he’d been unable to identify her himself to realize she could be standing right there, and he wouldn’t know. Under most circumstances, she appeared differently to everyone, as their ideal woman, something that could (and often did) change over time. That was her natural state. When she needed to, she could willfully alter her appearance. They’d learned that much, too.

  Walter wasn’t sure what this meant for Red Larson—the man might point her right out, or he might walk the line as they had and not see her. They had to try, though. They had nothing else.

  Larson reached the start of the line, gave the first woman a quick glance, then continued on. She was older, probably in her late sixties. The second woman was Asian, and he moved by her quickly, too. Walter remembered the note from the soldier back at the Garden, the one he’d written to his mother. He’d seen her as a Black woman. The cop who had pulled her over back then, just a day earlier, thought she was from Guatemala.

  To those who have seen us at our best and seen us at our worst and can’t tell the difference. We, the misfits of the world.

  The toast Amy/Velma gave at dinner in 1997 came back to him for some reason. The little smirk on her lips as she said it.

  Walter shook the thought away.

  “Take your time, Red. She may look a little different than you remember.”

  When Larson reached the fourth nun, Walter realized he wasn’t just looking at them; he was smelling them. Larson leaned close to each woman and inhaled deeply. Several of the nuns seemed taken aback by this; others eyed him curiously. Others still grew tense, whispered uncomfortably to one another. One opened her mouth to object, but a look from Frazer silenced her.

  When Walter had chased her back at the brownstone, when he’d cornered her in the taxi, she’d smelled like lavender. Fresh flowers. That wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the scent, either. At the time, he wasn’t sure if his mind was just playing tricks on him, but he’d be damned if he didn’t smell lavender way back in Alvin Schalk’s apartment, when he’d first found her huddled under that sink. In the taxi with her. In his apartment. Even in the dream after the accident—tied to that bed as she hovered over him, damp and freshly showered.

  Our place, Walter. Don’t you remember it?

  Scent might be her only tell.

  Walter reached into his pocket and gave the dog collar a gentle squeeze. “There you go, Red,” he said softly, barely aware he’d spoken.

  The orderly wasn’t sure what to make of all this. He grew visibly tense every time Larson leaned toward one of the women.

  When Larson reached the end, he started back the way he’d come, checked again. He would have doubled back a third time, if Walter didn’t put an end to it.

  “She’s not here, is she, Red?”

  He shook his head. “I want her to be, but that’s not enough.”

  Walter patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, you did good. Wait here.”

  He went back over to Sealey, Sister Mary Susan, and Dr. Frazer. The three of them huddled together near the door. To Frazer, he said, “Are you sure this is everyone?”

  “We’re missing four orderlies.”

  “Four?”

  He nodded. “Hernandez, Galloway, Morton, and Bloomington. All four clocked in this morning, but they didn’t report in with everyone else. I could see maybe one staying behind, but not all three, and not without at least checking in.”

  Sealey still had one hand in his pocket; the other was clutching his phone. “Nobody’s left the building. I sent Gorman up to try and track them down, and he’s not answering now. It could be the building, reception is bad, even with the sats, but—”

  “Where were they last?”

  “Third floor,” Dr. Frazer said.

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  When the ancient elevator groaned to a stop on the third floor and opened, they found the security desk deserted with no sign of the three men.

  Larson tensed. A small vein throbbed on the side of his neck, and his head moved ever so slightly with a fast mechanical tick—right, left, then back again. His breath caught.

  “Take off his restraints,” Walter said softly.

  “I wouldn’t advise you—” Frazer began.

  “Take them off. We need him. Take them off now.”

  There was something in the air. Something not right. The orderly must have noticed it, too, because he didn’t wait for Frazer to give him the okay. Instead, he fumbled the keys from a clip on his belt and quickly released the various clasps on Larson’s bindings.

  As they fell away, Larson rubbed at his wrists and shucked the thick leather from his ankles. “Thanks for that,” he said softly to Walter, his eyes still fixed on the empty hallways.

  The six of them stepped out of the elevator, Walter and Larson first, Sealey last. He took the gun from his holster and held the weapon at his side. Both Dr. Frazer and the nun saw it, but neither said anything.

  A mechanical whir hummed somewhere off in the distance. There were soft pings and beeps; machines keeping time, nothing else.