Chapter 26

Dr. Bernard was in her office, doing nothing as far as I could tell. She was behind her desk, with nothing on the desk but the phone, her hands folded on the blotter. Davey announced me and left, going back – somewhere, perhaps to the break room. I really didn't think she'd want to wander up front just yet.

I sat down in front of the desk, looking at the doctor. Apparently her political science training hadn't prepared her for the ugliness of the real world. In my opinion academic knowledge rarely does. Some of those who come out of universities knowing the least about how to deal with reality are those you'd expect would know the most – philosophers and those who've studied politics. Of course my experience isn't terribly vast – counting Dr. Bernard I could only think of three people I'd ever met who'd studied either discipline in a formal setting.

"I'm here," I said after a few seconds, "to consult on police involvement."

"Excuse me?"

I grinned. "I can speak fancy English when I want to," I told her. "It's a pretty simple deal, though – do you want to report this to the cops?"

"Would it do any good?"

I shrugged. "If nothing else it would get this into the file. Maybe having something actually happen would get the detective who's got the case – a lady named Sauceda – to admit that it's more than some nutball spouting hot air."

"Would there be more than that?"

"I'd have to check the criminal code," I said, "but I suspect that tossing a bucket of red paint onto the carpet is a misdemeanor – criminal damage to property or some such charge. Even if we catch the guy, and charge him, and convict him, he'd probably just have to pay a few hundred bucks and time served."

She nodded, almost visibly pulling herself together. Having to actually deal with someone was getting her away from political incompetencies and into something she could do. "Do you think the man who did this is the same man who's been harassing us?"

"That's my working theory, though it could be a random jerkwad. It doesn't do me any good to assume this is a different person, so I'll proceed as though it's the same guy until I have reason to believe otherwise."

She nodded again. "It's a different world in which you operate."

"Yeah. I deal with hard realities – drugs, death, squalor, prostitution, all the nastiness of which human beings are capable. PoliSci might address the why of such things, although I think philosophy would be closer to that mark, but I see it face to face."

"I'm beginning to think I ought to have stayed in academe. Teaching doesn't subject one to attacks like this. Scholars use words and political in-fighting."

"Yeah. Me, I'm more like the preacher in The Virginian. He wasn't real admirable in most ways, but he said one thing that's true – there are worse evils than war. I hate war ... or fistfights, or buckets of red paint through the door. But at least it's more or less honest. It doesn't pretend to respect you while putting a knife in your back."

Dr. Bernard smiled. She was returning to some semblance of her normal self. "I think I shall disagree with you, while understanding your position." She sighed. "I shall notify the police, if only to put this matter on record. What do you need me to do beyond that?"

I stood. "I need a plastic bag large enough to fit over the outside door handle, and a rubber band or some such thing to hold it in place. And I'll need to take Davey into a private room and interview her again. I got some info from her out front, but she'll be calmer now, and I think I can get some more out of her memory."

"A plastic bag?"

"It's probably not going to do any good, but the cops are going to want to dust that handle for prints. A bag will preserve whatever prints might be there, though I don't expect there'll be many. The surface is out in the weather, who knows what's on it that'll make prints iffy, everyone and his brother grabs holt of that door handle and so there'll be a whole lot of smears if there's anything at all, and our guy probably wore gloves – everyone knows that, even idiots, thanks to TV. But we gotta try."

"All right, have Davey find something for you." She reached for the phone. "I am not looking forward to the rest of this day." It was a dismissal, and I was tempted to stay put just to make the point that I wasn't a servant. But I had stuff to do, so I went.

I thought I remembered where the break room was, and with just one wrong turn I found it. But it was empty, so I headed back toward the front. When I got there Davey was there, in the doorway – though there wasn't a door – between the waiting area and the rest of the clinic. She had her fists on her hips and was staring at the paint on the carpet, which by now was beginning to dry.

She noticed me coming to a halt beside her, and said, "Do I clean it up now, or do I wait?"

"You'll need to wait – Dr. Bernard's calling the cops."

"It'll be pure -- to clean up."