By Reason of Insanity by Shane Stevens Page A

desk.
    “Okay,” said the sheriff energetically. “What we’re looking for is a nut crazy enough to kill in a rage for no reason but sane enough to escape from a prison—”
    “This is a hospital,” corrected Baylor.
    “—prison hospital in a way we can’t even figure out—”
    “Yet,” suggested Lang.
    “Yet!” roared Oates, at the end of his patience. “Now, is that a fair summation?”
    Dr. Baylor sighed, an audible sigh that carried with it, at least for Oates, a premonition of disaster. He fancied himself as having a nose that could smell trouble, and he had a lot of experience at it. Here it comes, he thought to himself, here comes the curve that’s always there.
    “There’s one more thing, gentlemen,” Baylor said slowly. He looked at each of them in turn. “The body, you see, had one of the fingers hacked off.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose a moment before focusing on them again. “And I’m afraid that the finger is missing.”
    Nobody said a word.
    The sheriff closed his eyes. He swore softly to himself. This just wasn’t going to be his day. Here he was in a nuthouse looking for a maniac who had a thing against faces, and now he’s told about fingers being chopped off. It all began to sound like a cult killing to him. He wondered what else was going on at Willows, and he made a mental note to do a little checking on the staff, including Dr. Baylor. He also wondered if he should take his vacation now.
    John Spanner cleared his throat. “Doctor Baylor, when you say the finger is missing, could one of the guards have taken it for evidence?”
    “They’ve all been checked,” said Lang hastily. “It’s just gone.”
    “Maybe it was valuable,” Spanner said with a smile. Lang stared at him as though he were mad. “Perhaps a ring,” Spanner continued. “A ring that the killer couldn’t get off the finger.”
    The sheriffs ears perked up.
    “Yes,” said Lang, reflecting. “Bishop did take to wearing a ring recently, a birthstone ring, I think it was. But it couldn’t have been of any value.”
    “Maybe the killer didn’t know that. Was it on the body?”
    Lang thought a moment. “No, and neither was Bishop’s watch,” he cried excitedly. “He always wore a wristwatch. That was gone too.”
    Oates was beginning to see reason again. A motive. Always look for a motive, even in a nuthouse. Good boy, John, he said silently. Aloud he asked for descriptions of the ring and watch. Lang promised to get them for him.
    “So we got a motive,” he said to the group. “Mungo gets this Bishop to go with him on the escape—”
    “How do you know it was his idea?” interrupted Spanner. “He was only here a short while. How would he know where to get out? Bishop was here—how long?”
    “Fifteen years.”
    “That’s a long time. Maybe Bishop knew a way out and was just waiting for something.”
    “Waiting for what?”
    “I don’t know,” Spanner admitted. “But you don’t know that it was Mungo’s idea.”
    “So say the escape came from Bishop, what’s the difference? The point is they’re out of the building and Mungo turns on the guy suddenly, without warning, and kills him and takes the watch. He can’t get the ring so he chops the finger off and takes that too.”
    “Only one thing wrong with your theory,” said Spanner softly.
    “What’s that?”
    “Say it was Bishop’s idea. Did you ever hear of a prisoner planning a break and telling the others beforehand where it would be?”
    “They weren’t prisoners,” Oates shouted. “They were nuts.”
    “Why would Mungo kill him before he knew how to get out?”
    The sheriff felt his anger rising. “Number one, you’re just guessing. You don’t know it was Bishop’s plan. I say it makes more sense coming from Mungo. Why would a man wait if he knew how to get out? But Mungo comes in fresh, spots it right away, and it happens. That makes more sense to me.”
    “Could be you’re right.” Spanner smiled.