The hospital director’s front teeth danced together briefly with several short taps. “The men after him’re experienced dog-trackers. More efficient than a dozen troopers just wandering around in the dark.”

“He’s in Watertown?”

“He was. He seems to be going north. He is going north, I should say.”

From outside, the sound of hammering boomed. Owen recalled that entering the hospital grounds he’d seen workmen carrying sheets of plywood toward large plate-glass windows in what seemed to be a cafeteria.

“Have they actually spotted him?” Owen asked curtly, and watched the doctor’s dislike become active hatred. But Owen was a lawyer; he was used to this.

“I don’t think so,” Adler said. “But they’re very close.”

Owen believed posture was a man’s most important attribute. He could have hair or no hair, be shaven or stubbled, tall or short, but if he stood up straight he was respected. Now, at attention, he stared down this doctor, who may have believed that Hrubek was harmless but on the other hand was here late on Sunday, looking like death itself, with an officer of the state police at his side.

He asked, “He escaped in Stinson?”

Dr. Adler glanced at the far ceiling. He nodded impatiently toward Haversham, who strode to the desk and with a capped Bic pen touched a location on the map. “Here’s why your wife’s got nothing to worry about. We’re tracking him here.” He touched a spot near the intersection of Routes 236 and 118. “He escaped…” The doctor’s eyes bored into Haversham at this choice of word. The captain paused then continued. “He wandered off here, just over the Stinson line.”

“And how did he get to Stinson?”

Adler plucked a sentence from inventory and responded quickly, “There was a mix-up. He took another patient’s place in a transport van.”

Haversham took a moment to detach his gaze from the hospital director’s serene face and continued, “Then he eluded two orderlies here. In Watertown, here, he asked a driver for a ride to Boston. Oh, and he dropped a map of Boston while he was running. He’s on Route 118 now.”

“ Boston? What kind of lead does he have?”

“Just a half hour. And our people are gaining fast. We should have him within twenty minutes.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Adler said, “we’ve got some work to do.”

Owen had the pleasure of staring the troubled man down once more and said to the state trooper, “I hope you’ll do my wife and me the courtesy of keeping the Ridgeton sheriff informed about what’s happening here.”

“I’ll do that, sure.”

Nodding to the trooper and ignoring Adler, Owen left the office. He was walking down the dank, murky corridor when the captain stepped into the hall and caught up with him.

“ ’Scuse me, sir? A question?”

The trooper was a big man though Owen was bigger and Haversham stepped back a pace so that he wasn’t looking up into Owen’s eyes at so steep an angle. “You out doing some camping when you heard about this?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The reason I ask is, you’re dressed like you’ve been camping. Or hunting.”

“I just threw on some clothes and drove over here.”

“All the way from Ridgeton?”

“It’s straight down the highway. I’ll confess. I didn’t obey the posted.”

“You might’ve called.” When he received no response the captain continued, “You armed, by any chance?”

Owen asked if Haversham wanted to see his pistol permit.

“That won’t be necessary, no. What line of work you in?”

“I’m an attorney.”

“Lawyer, huh?” This seemed to please Haversham. “What sort?”

“Corporate mostly.”

“The doctor back there, he’s got a pretty low opinion of this Hrubek. And I suspect you and your wife do too. Now this fellow may be criminally insane but in the eyes of the law he isn’t no dog. He’s a human being and if somebody was to shoot him down they’d be guilty of murder just the same as they’d shot a minister. But I don’t need to tell you that, being a lawyer and all.”

“Let me ask you something, Captain. Have you ever seen Michael Hrubek up close? You ever faced him?”

“I sympathize with you, sir. But I’m telling you, we find him dead somewhere, I personally’ll be coming to talk to you. Even if you get off with manslaughter, that’ll be the end of your legal practice.”

Owen looked back into the calm eyes of the captain, who finally said, “Those are just some things to consider.”

“Duly noted, Captain. Good night to you now.”

From the corner of his eye Michael Hrubek-running through tall grass-noticed headlights on a service road that paralleled his path along the highway. The car was keeping pace with his speed and he believed it was following him. The vehicle stopped suddenly, made a sharp turn and headed in his direction. “Conspirators!” he crowed. Amid the panic that enveloped him like a cloud of hornets he tripped and fell forward onto the shoulder. Cinders, pebbles and bits of glass embedded themselves in his palms and blood appeared. He screamed briefly, picked himself up and ran forty feet into the forest, crashing through a line of low brush then dropping onto the ground. A few moments later the green cube of a car drove past slowly and stopped.

A door slammed and a man climbed out. The conspirator walked in a slow circle near the perimeter of the forest. Hrubek curled up on his side. He closed his eyes and prayed that he might fall asleep so that he’d grow invisible.

“Michael!” the man called tentatively, as if undecided whether to shout or whisper. “Are you there?”

Something familiar about the voice.

“Michael, it’s me.”

Dr. Richard! the stunned patient realized. Dr. Richard Kohler from Marsden!

Or was it? Careful here. Something funny’s going on.

“Michael, I want to talk to you. Can you hear me?”

Hrubek opened his eyes and gazed out from between two ferns. It looked like Dr. Richard. How did those fuckers do it? Hrubek nervously scooted under a bush. His eyes flicked up and down suspiciously as he examined the man, studying the doctor’s thin frame, dark-blue suit, black penny loafers and Argyle socks. His backpack the color of old blood. Sure, this looked just like Dr. Richard. Identical! Hrubek gave the conspirator credit for disguising himself so cleverly.

Smart fucker, make no mistake.

“They told me you’d run off. Michael, is that you? I thought I saw you.”

The footsteps grew closer, crushing leaves beneath the dainty feet. Hrubek pulled his own backpack to his side. It was heavy and clinked with the sound of metal and chains. He froze at the noise then rummaged inside quietly. At the bottom he found the pistol.

“Michael, I know you’re scared. I want to help you.”

He aimed the pistol at the shadowy form that approached. He’d shoot the impostor in the head. No, that’d be too merciful. I’ll aim for the belly, he thought, and let him die like a battlefield soldier, slowly, with a gut wound from a.54 Minié ball.

… for I love the bonnie blue boy who gave his life for me…

The footsteps came closer. The beam from a tiny flashlight swept the ground, lit a patch of grass two feet from his foot, then moved on. Hrubek held the gun close to his face. He smelled oil and metal. As he gazed back into the clearing, a dreadful thought came into his mind: What if this wasn’t an impostor. Maybe this really was Dr. Richard. Maybe he was a conspirator too! Maybe he’d been a traitor all along. From the first fucking day they’d met. Four months of betrayal!

“I’ve been looking all over for you. I want to give you some medicine. It’ll make you feel better.”

How do you feel better when you’re dead? Hrubek responded silently. How does poison make you feel better? If I were a bettor, I’d say you were a bad bet, you fucker.