"So Peake's just one of the guys."

"No one at Starkweather's one of the guys. These are dangerous men. We treat them as individuals."

"Okay," said Milo. "Thanks for your time. Now, may I please see Peake?"

Swig flushed. "For what purpose? We're talking barely functioning."

"At this point in my investigation, I'll take what I can get." Milo smiled.

Swig made the puffing sound again. "Look, I appreciate your dedication to your job, but I can't have you coming in here every time some theory emerges. Way too disruptive, and as I told you yesterday, it's obvious Dr. Argent's murder had nothing to do with Starkweather."

"The last thing I want to do is disrupt, sir, but if I ignored this, I'd be derelict."

Swig shook his head, poked at a mole, tried to smooth the fluff atop his bald head.

"We'll keep it short, Mr. Swig."

Swig dug a nail into his scalp. A crescent-shaped mark rose on the shiny white skin. "If I thought that would be the end of it, I'd say sure. But I get a clear sense you're hell-bent on finding your solution here."

"Not at all, sir. I just need to be thorough."

"All right," Swig said with sudden anger. He seemed to hurl himself upward. After fiddling with his tie, he took out a chrome ring filled with keys.

"Here we go," he said, jangling loudly. "Let's peek in on Mr. Peake."

On the ride up the elevator, Milo said, "Heidi Ott's not in any hot water, is she, sir?"

"Why would she be?"

"For telling me about Peake."

Swig said, "Am I going to be vindictive? Christ, no, of course not. She was doing her civic duty. How could I be anything other than a proud administrator?"

"Sir-"

"Don't worry, Detective Sturgis. Too much worry is bad for the soul."

We got out on C Ward. Swig opened the double doors and we walked through.

"Room Fifteen S&R," he said. The halls were still crowded. Some of the inmates moved aside as we approached. Swig paid them no attention, walked briskly. Midway down the hall, he stopped and inspected the key ring. He was wearing short sleeves, and I noticed how muscled his forearms were. The bulky, sinewed arms of a laborer, not a bureaucrat.

Double dead bolts fastened the door. The hatch was also key-locked.

Milo said, "Fifteen S&R. Suppression and Restraint?"

"Not because he needs it," said Swig, still shuffling through the keys. "The S&R rooms are smaller, so when a patient lives alone we sometimes use them. He lives alone because his hygiene's not always what it should be." Swig began shoving keys up the ring. Finally, he found what he was looking for and stabbed both locks. The tumblers clicked; he held the door open six inches and looked inside.

Swinging it back, he said, "He's all yours."

Six-by-six space. Unlike the hallways, generous ceilings- ten feet high or close to it.