“First of all,” Lou went on, “there was no alcohol in his system. Tests for other drugs of abuse are pending, but alcohol was always the one for him—the trigger for his outbursts. Secondly, it seems as if he kept repeating ‘no witnesses’ during the attack. What did he mean by that?”

Stone’s expression was puzzled. “We know all this, son,” he said. “Our detectives and the staties are the ones who are conducting the investigation and doing the interviews.”

“Except it doesn’t make any sense,” Lou countered. “Did anyone ask Carolyn Meacham or any of their friends if he had been acting weird lately? Stange thoughts? Unusual mannerisms? Any neurologic signs—a tic, perhaps? How about Roberta Jennings? What did she have to say? What did she see that afternoon in the office?”

“A man killing his neighbors and coworkers makes no sense at all, I agree. But what’s your point?”

“Let’s say Meacham was worried about there being witnesses because he knew his behavior would cost him his medical license—possibly for good.”

“So, you’re claiming that’s why he shot all those people?”

“Exactly—to keep there from being any witnesses. Except, he never went after the most important witness of all—Roberta Jennings herself.”

Stone just frowned. “Crazy is just that,” he said. “Unpredictable. Inconsistent. Maybe the bubble just popped and he saw all that blood and all those bodies, and just like that came to his senses—took his own life before he could do any more damage.”

“That’s exactly my point. He waited until Roberta Jennings had left the building before he acted. If his real motivation was to eliminate all witnesses, he should have started shooting before Roberta got out the front door. Check with any profiler who knows about workplace violence. I’m sure they’ll agree. First kill the object of your rage; then go after the others. Something was going on in the chemistry of Meacham’s brain. It may not be something physical like a tumor or blood vessel malformation, but something had disrupted the delicate balance of transmitters connecting the neurons of his brain.”

“I suppose we could look into that,” Stone said. “I appreciate you sharing your theories with me.” Stone looked as if he were about to end their session.

“But I told you there’s more,” Lou said. “I was there at the hospital for a few hours before John officially died. Some of the doctors and nurses treating him were not following standard protocol for a gunshot victim. Some of their actions were poorly thought out to the point of actually being dangerous.”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Stone said. “You can slander my dog, and even my children, but don’t you go disparaging our hospital. We take a lot of pride in that place. As a doctor, I’m sure you know its reputation.”

Lou saw that he had hit a nerve and immediately backed off. But he did tell Stone about Prichap’s odd fishing expedition into Meacham’s brain.

“Dr. Prichap is pretty new here,” Stone replied, “but I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about him. I have a cousin the man operated on—a disk, I think, or a spur of some sort. She’s dancin’ around like a chicken now.”