"I know they are," he said.

"Oh," Mrs. Mikulka said. "Where are you?"

"In front of the building. Where is Mr. Howard?"

"He's missing," Mrs. Mikulka said, her voice tight with apprehension. "He wasn't feeling well these past few days, so he stayed home sick. He came back just this morning, before all this happened. Now he's missing and the police are saying- Oh, Dr. Smith, I hope he's all right."

Mrs. Mikulka was clearly distraught. Smith was surprised at himself for the level of concern he felt for his young protege. But there were matters more important than Mark Howard or Harold Smith. "Which patient was it?" Smith pressed.

"One of the ones from the special wing," Mrs. Mikulka said. "They're saying he must have gone berserk. He killed a doctor and two nurses before he disap-"

Smith didn't give her the chance to finish. He clicked his phone shut and dropped it into his briefcase.

He knew exactly which patient it was.

With wooden movements he put his car in gear and continued up the driveway. Skirting the emergency vehicles, he steered around to the side of the building. He parked his car in his reserved space in the employee lot.

He left his suitcase in the back seat. Taking his briefcase in hand, he ducked inside the side door of Folcroft's executive wing. With calm, deliberate steps he climbed to the second floor.

When Smith stepped into her office from the hallway, Mrs. Mikulka's broad face brightened with relief. There was a man waiting in his secretary's office. "Dr. Smith," Mrs. Mikulka said. "Oh, thank goodness. This is a detective with the Rye police. I'm sorry," she said to the man, "I forgot your name."

"Detective Ronald Davic," the policeman replied, offering Smith his hand. "I'm glad you're back, Dr. Smith."

Even as he shook the detective's hand, Smith was gesturing to his office. "I understand there has been some difficulty," Smith said. "Please step inside."