had plans for his patients, Steve, big plans. Don't forget, some of them were wealthy and important, and all of them had influential connections. He could send them back to their homes, control them through his post-hypnotic sugestions and pseudo-memories and plant observers at their sides, too. He'd recruit his own staff of nurses and attendants for the job.
"And it wasn't murder and robbery he had in mind—there were bigger things. Some of these people of his had access to estates, trustfunds, controlling interests in banks, insurance companies. There'd be ways of making millions, in the end, without risk or bloodshed involved.
"I could have shared that, Steve. But instead, when I came here tonight and picked up that scalpel, I killed him. And saved you."
"Because you knew it was too late, then. If he killed me there'd be an investigation and both he and you would eventually be implicated. So you got rid of him instead, hoping that I'd take pity on you and let you save your own neck."
"I—"
"Don't lie to me, Roxie. Not now."
She couldn't meet my gaze any more. And the flush rose to cover the pallor.
"All right, Steve. It's true. I thought maybe you'd let me go."
I sighed and put the gun in my pocket.
"You're a smart girl, Roxie."
"Ohh—then you mean—?"
I turned away and faced the desk, staring down at the phone. "I'll give you ten minutes. Just ten minutes. Then I'll have to make the call."
She didn't say anything and I didn't look at her, but I knew that she'd opened the door and backed out of the room, retracing her steps, running down between the coffin-like rows where the screaming people slept like vampires in their native earth.
And I stood there in the soundproofed silence of the room and my heart beat a requiem and the watch on my wrist brought me ten minutes closer to my own death.
Then I called the police.
It didn't take them long to come—perhaps five minutes more, so that it was just fifteen minutes in all since Roxie had departed.
Only she hadn't departed, and fifteen minutes was quite long enough.
