“Her insatiable need for drama and a sleep disturbance she’s suffered from most of her life,” Benton went on. “She was tested in the sleep lab at McLean and apparently has participated in a number of actigraphy studies over the years, clearly has a circadian rhythm disorder, suffers from chronic insomnia. The worse it gets, the poorer her judgment and insight, the more chaoic her lifestyle. Her fund of knowledge is extraordinarily good. She’s within the bright-superior range of intelligence.”

“Any improvement on the Risperdal?”

“Her mood was somewhat stabilized, not as hypomanic, reported that she was sleeping better.”

“If she’s stopped her medication, she’s likely getting worse. How old?” Dr. Clark asked.

“Fifty-six.”

“Bipolar? Schizophrenic?”

“Would be more treatable if she was. Axis-two personality disorder, histrionic with borderline and antisocial traits.”

“Lovely. And why was she prescribed Risperdal?”

“On admission last month, she seemed to be suffering from delusions and false beliefs, but in fact, she’s a pathological liar.” Benton went on to give a brief history of Dodie’s arrest in Detroit.

“Any chance she’ll accuse you of violating her civil rights, claim the hospitalization was against her will, that she was coerced and forced to take a medication that permanently impaired her?” Dr. Clark asked.

“She signed a conditional voluntary, was given a civil rights packet and notice of her rights to legal consultation and all the rest. At the moment, it’s not litigation I’m concerned about, Nathan.”

“I didn’t suppose you’re wearing examination gloves because you’re afraid of being sued.”

Benton returned the card and its FedEx pouch back inside the evidence bag and resealed it. He pulled off his gloves and dropped them in the trash.

“When was she discharged from McLean?” Dr. Clark asked.

“This past Sunday afternoon.”

“Did you interview her, talk to her before she left?”

“Two days earlier on that Friday I did,” Benton said.

“And she gave you no token of affection, no holiday greeting at that time, when she could actually have done so in person and experienced the gratification of watching your reaction?”

“She didn’t. She talked about Kay.”

“I see.”

Of course he did. He knew damn well the sorts of things Benton had to worry about.

Dr. Clark said, “Possible Dodie selected McLean because she knew a priori that you, the prominent husband of the prominent Kay Scarpetta, are on staff there? Possible Dodie chose McLean so she could spend some quality time with you?”

“I wasn’t her first choice.”

“Who was?”

“Someone else.”

“Anyone I might know?” Dr. Clark asked, as if he had a suspicion.

“You’d know the name.”

“Possible you have doubts that her first choice was really her first choice, since Dodie’s motives and truthfulness seem to be a question? Was McLean her first choice?”

“McLean was.”

“That’s significant, since some other first choices might not have privileges there, not unless they’re on staff.”

“Which is what happened,” Benton said.

“She have money?”

“Allegedly from all the husbands she’s been through. She stayed in the Pavilion, which is self-pay, as you know. She paid in cash. Well, her lawyer did.”

“What is that now? Three thousand a day?”

“Something like that.”

“She paid more than ninety thousand dollars in cash.”

“A deposit upon admission, then the balance in full when she was discharged. A bank wire transfer. Done through her Detroit lawyer,” Benton said.

“She live in Detroit?”

“No.”

“But she has a lawyer there.”

“So it appears,” Benton said.

“What was she doing in Detroit? Besides getting arrested.”

“Says she was visiting. On vacation. Staying at the Grand Palais,” Benton said. “Working her magic on the slot machines and roulette table.”

“She’s a big gambler?”

“She’ll sell you a few lucky amulets, if you’d like.”

“You seem to dislike her rather intensely,” Dr. Clark observed with the same keen look in his eyes.

“I’m not stating as a fact that I didn’t factor into her choice of hospitals. Or that Kay didn’t,” Benton replied.

“What I’m hearing is you’ve begun to fear it,” Dr. Clark said, taking off his glasses, cleaning them with his gray silk tie. “Any chance that events of late are making you anxious and disproportionately suspicious of those around you?”

“Any particular events you’re thinking of?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Dr. Clark said.

“I’m not paranoid.”

“Which is what all paranoid people say.”

“I’ll interpret that as your special vintage of dry humor,” Benton said.

“How are you doing? Besides this? Been a lot going on, hasn’t there,” Dr. Clark said. “A lot happening all at once this past month.”

“There’s always a lot going on.”

“Kay’s been on TV and in the public eye.” Dr. Clark put his glasses back on. “So has Warner Agee.”

Benton had been anticipating for a while that Dr. Clark was going to say something about Agee. Benton probably had been avoiding Dr. Clark. Not probably. He had been. Until today.

“It’s occurred to me that you must have a reaction to seeing Warner in the news, this man who sabotaged your career with the FBI, sabotaged your entire life because he wanted to be you,” Dr. Clark said. “Now he’s publicly playing the role of you-metaphorically speaking-taking on the persona of the forensic expert, the FBI profiler, at last his chance for stardom.”

“There are a lot of people who make claims that are exaggerated or untrue.”

“Have you read his bio on Wikipedia?” Dr. Clark asked. “He’s cited as one of the founding fathers of profiling and your mentor. It says during the period you were at the FBI Academy, the unit chief of Behavioral Science, and just beginning your adulterous affair, and I quote, with Kay Scarpetta, he worked a number of notorious cases with her. Is it true he worked with Kay? It’s my understanding Warner was never a profiler for the FBI or anyone else.”

“I didn’t realize you considered Wikipedia a reliable source,” Benton said, as if Dr. Clark was the one spreading these lies.

“I took a look because often the anonymous individuals who contribute alleged factual information to online encyclopedias and other Internet sites also happen to have a vested and not so unbiased interest in the subject they’re stealthily writing about,” Dr. Clark said. “Curiously, it appears that in the past few weeks, his bio has been heavily edited and expanded. I wonder by whom?”

“Perhaps by the person it’s about.” Benton’s stomach was tight with resentment and rage.

“I imagine Lucy could find that out or already knows and could have this misinformation removed,” Dr. Clark said. “But maybe she hasn’t thought to check on certain details the way I have because you haven’t shared with her what you’ve shared with me about your past.”

“There are better things to spend our time on than limited individuals desperately seeking attention. Lucy doesn’t need to waste her forensic computer investigative resources on Internet gossip. You’re right. I haven’t told her everything I’ve told you.” Benton couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this threatened.

“If you hadn’t called me this afternoon, it wouldn’t have been long before I would have trumped up some reason to talk to you so we could get it out on the table,” Dr. Clark said. “You have every reason to want to destroy Warner Agee. I have every reason to hope you’ll get over wanting that.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with what we were talking about, Nathan.”

“Everything has to do with everything, Benton.” Watching him, reading him. “But let’s return to the subject of your former patient Dodie Hodge, because I have a feeling she’s connected anyway. I’m struck by a number of things. The first being the card itself, the obvious suggestion of domestic violence, of a man degrading a woman by calling her a whore, the wife chasing the husband with the intent of beating him with a rolling pin, the sexual overtones. In other words, one of those jokes that isn’t funny. What is she saying to you?”