‘What kind of crap?’

Juarez: ‘They don’t know. But the first report was that it coulda been acid or something like that.’

‘Fucker. Acid?’

‘Naw, it wasn’t. Just preservative.’

Sellitto asked, ‘Hospital’s secure?’

‘Lockdown, yeah.’

The final word of that sentence prompted a glare at Juarez. He got it this time. ‘Yessir. That’s right. But they’re pretty sure he’s in the building next door. Detective Sachs saw him get out through the access tunnel. Only one place to end up. There, the doctors’ office building.’

‘And ESU thinks he’s still there?’

Juarez said, ‘He’d have to be fast, real fast, to get out. Detective Sachs called it in right away. Had the place sealed two minutes after the attack. Possible he got out, Detective, but real unlikely.’

‘Two minutes.’ Sellitto brushed at his wrinkled tie, as if that would iron the cloth flat as steel, then forgot about it. Pulling out a battered notebook, he stepped into the hospital room.

He identified himself.

The man in bed said, ‘I’m Matthew Stanton. Don’t they have security here?’ His dark eyes bored into Sellitto as if the detective had held the door open for the psycho.

Sellitto could understand but he had a job. ‘We’re looking into that.’ Which didn’t really answer the question. Then he turned to the woman. ‘And you’re—’

The man said stiffly, ‘My wife. Harriet. That’s my son, Josh.’

The young man rose and shook Sellitto’s hand.

‘Could you tell me what happened?’ the detective asked Harriet.

Matthew rasped, ‘She was just walking down the corridor, coming to visit me. And this—’

‘Sir, please. Could I hear from your wife?’

‘All right. But I’m talking to my lawyer. When we get home. I’m going to sue.’

‘Yessir.’ An eyebrow raised to Harriet.

‘I’m, I’m kind of flustered,’ she said.

Sellitto didn’t feel like smiling but he did anyway. ‘It’s fine. Take your time.’

Harriet seemed numb as she explained that the family had come to town several days ago with their son and his cousin. It was a toss-up between the Big Apple and Disney. But New York, closing in on Christmas, had won. Yesterday, on the way to toy shop at FAO Schwarz, her husband had suffered what turned out to be a minor heart attack. She’d come to visit this morning and was here, on this floor, when she’d heard the policewoman calling out stop or something like that.

‘I didn’t know anybody was there. He came up real quiet. I turned around and, goodness, there was this man. Do you think he was going to, Detective? I mean, going to attack me?’

‘We don’t know, Mrs Stanton. The individual fits the description of a suspect in a prior attack—’

‘And,’ the husband said, ‘you didn’t warn people about him?’