"So," said Milo, scanning his notes. "With so few men released, it should be easy enough to track those who've gotten out."

Swig clapped his hands together very softly. "Yes, but that would require a court order. Even our men have rights-for example, we can't monitor their mail without clear evidence of infraction."

"You can dose them, but no snooping?"

"The difference is that dosing them is for their own good." Swig wheeled his chair forward. "Look, I'm not trying to make your job difficult, Detective, but I really don't get this line of questioning. I can understand your initial assumption: Dr. Argent worked with dangerous individuals, and now she's been murdered. On the face of it, that's logical. But as I said, it's probably safer at Starkweather than on your beat."

"So you're telling me I need to file papers to find out who's been released."

"I'm afraid so. Believe me, if there was some obvious risk, don't you think I'd let you know? If only for our sake. We can't afford errors."

"Okay," said Milo with an ease that made me glance at him. "Let's move on. What can you tell me about Dr. Argent's personality?"

"I didn't know her well," said Swig, "but she was competent, quiet, businesslike. No conflicts with staff or patients." He picked up a folder and scanned the contents. "Here's something I can give you. Her personnel file."

"Thank you, sir." Milo took it and handed it to me and resumed jotting notes. Inside were Claire Argent's job application, an abbreviated resume, and a headshot photo. The resume was five pages thick. Several published studies. Neuropsychology. Reaction time in alcoholics. Solid journals. A clinical appointment as a lecturer. Why had she quit to come here?

The picture revealed a pretty, slightly broad face brightened by a shy half-smile. Thick, dark hair, shoulder-length, flipped at the edges, feathery bangs, white hairband, baby blue crewneck top. Clear skin, very little makeup, big dark eyes. The first adjective that came to my mind was "wholesome." Maybe a little too ingenue for someone her age, though she looked closer to thirty than the thirty-nine established by her birthdate.

No date on the photo, so maybe it had been snapped years earlier. She'd gotten her Ph.D. ten years ago. Graduation shot? I continued to study her face. The eyes were lustrous, warm-her best feature.

Now mangled. Someone's trophy?

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much," said Swig. "We've got a staff of over a hundred, including more than twenty psychologists and psychiatrists."

"The others are psych techs like Mr. Dollard?"

"Techs, nonpsychiatric physicians, nurses, pharmacists, secretaries, cooks, plumbers, electricians, custodians."

"And you don't know if any of them had some kind of relationship with Dr. Argent away from work?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Did she work with any staff members consistently?"

"I'd have to check on that."

"Please do."

"Certainly. It will take a few days."