Kelly nodded.
Peterson held up with a thumb and forefinger the plastic sleeve that hung from his neck on a strap. It contained a card—on it a photograph, his name, and a barcode; it was barely bigger than a driver’s license.
“It was like this one.”
It was a piece of black plastic, nothing more than that, and yet what Madison saw was Ronald Gray rushing through his apartment, grabbing clothes and packing them in his wheeled suitcase. The police had combed through the apartment and the suitcase, through drawers and cupboards and the desk, and not one single item would have led them to Vincent Foley. They wouldn’t even have known about him if Peterson hadn’t called, because, as he was running for his life, Gray had likely dug out every letter he’d ever received from the Institute, every medical report, every scrap of paper, and every picture taken in the last however many years and had turned them into ashes, including his own volunteer staff card, now a melted plastic lump in the bottom of a saucepan on a table in the lab.
Ronald Gray’s body had been found as life had left him, cowering in a corner of a desolate building, and yet his last act had been to shield and protect another human being.
“If you want to meet Vincent, I should first check how he’s doing today. I haven’t seen him yet. I’ll be right back.”
They were left alone in the office. Kelly stretched his legs, rested his head on the back of the leather chair, and stared at the ceiling. Madison went to the window; beyond the trees and Lake Washington, Kirkland would be getting itself ready for the evening.
The heavy clouds had finally let go, and the rain fell in sheets. Madison’s gaze followed the line of trees. This must be the worst time of day for Foley. It was possible that he actually knew something, but the man had been inside these walls for a very long time, and the only thing he might conceivably know something about was what had happened to him before he was admitted. Maybe there had been more to it than a mugging of a vulnerable individual? Still, the paint flakes linked Ronald Gray to Warren Lee, and whatever threat had panicked Gray into leaving town also connected Lee and Vincent Foley.
She turned; Kelly was still staring at the ceiling, without any apparent inclination to share his thoughts.
“We need a time line,” she said.
“We have it,” he replied without looking at her. “It still starts with the Lee home invasion.”
“If Foley is connected, and he’s been here this long, it must start way before then.”
Chances were that it was the news of Lee’s murder that had scared Gray.
“If Foley has been here this long,” Kelly said, “and he wasn’t that bright to start with—after all the meds, his brain’ll be mush, and you’ll get more out of talking to a lampshade.”
Madison wanted very badly to disagree, and yet, however crudely put, Kelly had a point.
“Maybe so,” she said. “All the same, Gray is dead, and there’s a significant chance that Foley is in danger, too.”
“Right now, he’s nice and snug in his white straitjacket. I wouldn’t worry about him.”
“What would you worry about?”
Kelly didn’t get a chance to reply.
“Vincent is okay; not his best day but not his worst, either,” Dr. Peterson said, standing in the doorway. “If you want to meet him, I have to ask you not to say anything about Ronald’s death or anything that might upset him in any way.”
“Would he even understand it if we told him?” Kelly said.
Madison hoped that the doctor had not heard Kelly’s earlier comments.
“We don’t know exactly how much he understands or how much his mind is able to process. Vincent understands about fear, about pain. That’s all you need to know.”
Dr. Peterson’s eyes measured Kelly and clearly found him lacking, and Madison knew then for sure that he had heard him.
Kelly stood up.
“And you’re going to have to check your weapons,” Eli Peterson said as he turned away.
Madison wrapped the leather strap around the holster, its weight so familiar in her hand, placed it in the locker, and turned the small key in the lock. Kelly was doing the same. The visitors’ room had rows of cubbyholes; most of them stood empty, the doors open.
“Doctor, when was the last time Ronald Gray visited? The last time you saw him?” Madison asked as Peterson led them down a corridor.
“I saw him a couple of weeks ago, but I don’t know if it was the last time he was here. I’ll have to check.”
“Do you remember anything unusual about that visit?”
“No, I’m sorry. We might have exchanged a couple of words, but I can’t remember anything strange or different about that day. I thought about it after I heard the news.”