Mirror Image by Dennis Palumbo

thing almost never happens. Few patients ever do any physical harm, except maybe to themselves.”
    “So this must be my lucky day, right?”
    I pulled him away from the others. “Harry, just think about it. They’re confined, bored, agitated…with pretty much nothing to do between getting pumped full of meds. You don’t think they’re going to boil over, get into fights?”
    “Maybe. But, still, any of these crazies got a grudge against you?”
    “Not that kind of grudge. Besides, if you think the killer could be someone from my professional life, why just consider patients? I’ve got colleagues, former teachers—”
    “Don’t worry. We’ll get to ’em all, sooner or later.”
    Polk looked down at his muddy shoes, growled something unintelligible and stomped off toward the building.
    I held back a moment as Bert Garman came over, hand over his face to shield it from the rain.
    He bristled with anger. “Jesus Christ, what happened?” He craned his neck around. “And where’s Dr. Riley?”
    “Knowing Brooks, he’s probably having tea in the staff lounge,” I said. “He sure as hell isn’t going to get his designer threads dirty wrestling with patients.”
    He managed a smile. “You’re probably right.”
    I saw him visibly trying to calm himself. “By the way, is this your first encounter with Lucy?”
    “Is she a new patient? She looks familiar, somehow.”
    “Only been here two weeks.”
    As we walked through the building’s double doors, he told me her last name, and I realized why she’d looked so familiar. Her older sister was a major pop singer, an MTV diva with two Grammys to her credit and a steady stream of gangsta boyfriends.
    “Lucy’s got to be handled carefully, as you can well imagine,” Garman was saying as we headed down the hall. “The other one—Helen Frazier—she’s been here over a year. Never had any trouble from her before. I mean, I just don’t understand this.”
    I could only nod. Because despite what I’d told Polk, neither did I.
    ***
     
    Within a few minutes, staffers were going into patient rooms, carrying little paper cups. After a major incident like this one, there’d be Thorazine cocktails all around.
    Just then, a clatter of heels on the linoleum made me turn my head. Dr. Nancy Mendors, small and dark-haired, was hurrying in our direction.
    A year or so older than me, her body was still trim and compact. But her face was drawn, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. Her worn white coat and faded ID badge were testimony to the many years she’d been on staff.
    “Nancy,” Garman said tersely, raking his wet hair down with a slender hand. “You missed all the excitement.”
    “Sorry, Bert,” she said, catching her breath. “I was in the ladies’ room when the alarm went off.”
    She touched my arm. “Hey, Danny.”
    “Hey.”
    Garman gave us a guarded look, then smiled grimly. “I better go check up on Lucy. We don’t want some over-eager intern putting our newest VIP in restraints.”
    Nancy and I watched him walk away, our shoulders just touching as we stood together.
    A thick silence hung between us.
    Finally, I made a gesture that took in all the hurried activity in the hall. “Another day at the office, eh?”
    She spoke without turning. “Let’s hope it doesn’t start a trend. By the way, how’s Noah?”
    “Okay, I think.”
    “Good. I adjusted his meds a couple weeks back. Put him on Adnorfex. Did he tell you?”
    “Nope.” Adnorfex was a promising new anti-psychotic.
    “Oh.”
    We always handled these first awkward moments by talking about Noah, his meds, the bar.
    “So.” She finally faced me. Those dark eyes. Always so frank, so solemn. “How’re you handling everything?”
    “I guess you’ve heard, eh?”
    “Who hasn’t? Hell, you’re all over the news.” She lowered her eyes. “Sorry about your patient.”
    “Thanks. Me, too.”
    “Speaking of which, I want to check up on Richie. I’m his case manager now.”
    We