Those were strong words for Phil. He wasn’t someone who typically took charge. But he was right.

With a nod, Amarok picked up the phone to give Beacon Point Mental Hospital in Minneapolis another try. He’d left three messages before he exited the prison, but the person on duty kept insisting that, what with HIPAA laws these days, she couldn’t even confirm if they still had a Lyman Bishop at their facility.

He’d explained his situation and asked to speak to her superior, and she’d promised he’d be hearing from someone soon, but, probably because it was three hours later there, so after ten, it wasn’t happening soon enough.

“Hello?”

He recognized the woman’s voice. “Sarah? It’s me again.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to get a hold of someone who can tell me what to do, but the on-call doctor hasn’t responded yet.”

Amarok struggled to keep his voice from rising. “I just need to know if Lyman Bishop is there. That’s it.”

“I understand. But I’ve already told you—”

“I’m a police officer.”

“That’s what you say, but how do I know it’s true? Anyone can call up and pretend to be a police officer. You need a search warrant or a court order to get medical information—”

He could hear Makita lapping up the water in his dish after the time they’d spent outdoors. “I’m not asking for medical information.”

“This is a mental hospital. I can’t share any information, not unless you have the patient’s written permission or private code.”

“I don’t have Bishop’s permission or his private code because I’m no friend of his. And I can’t get a search warrant, because I don’t have probable cause for believing a man who’s been ravaged by a severe brain hemorrhage and is being fed through a tube in Minneapolis might’ve just committed a crime in Alaska. I’m merely trying to get a lead on a woman who’s been abducted. He’s attacked her before, so I need to rule him out.”

“I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Her life could hang in the balance—her life and the life of her unborn child. You don’t want to be responsible for their deaths, do you? Please, tell me if he’s there.”

She’d been adamant in her refusal, completely unresponsive to his entreaties, but when she didn’t answer right away, he got the impression she was finally softening.

“Please?” he said again. “Rules are just rules. Sometimes doing what’s right—what’s most humane—requires breaking them.”

“I agree, but—”

“This isn’t just any woman who’s gone missing. It’s Dr. Evelyn Talbot.” He’d been reluctant to mention that before, to start up the media circus that would result. Those who didn’t believe in what Evelyn was doing tried to capitalize on any setback in order to shut her down. But now that she hadn’t turned up as he’d hoped, he was beyond trying to protect her work at Hanover House. “You’ve heard of her, haven’t you?”

“I have. Anyone who works in a psych-related field has heard of her. She researches serial killers.”