The Face-Changers by Thomas Perry Page B

the emergency room to examine him.”
    “What was his condition?” Folger’s eyes weren’t on Carey’s. He seemed to be glancing at the man in the dark suit across the table. What was his name again?
    Carey sensed that some kind of trap was being prepared.
    “He had a bullet wound in his left shoulder. As I said before.”
    “Yes, but I was wondering if there was anything else. I mean, was he unconscious, delirious, anything like that?”
    “He was weak, and in quite a lot of pain. The wound had bled profusely, but the E.R. doctors had it pretty well stopped by the time I arrived. He was conscious. He’s a surgeon, so he was acutely aware of his condition and knew already that he would need to undergo a surgical procedure.”
    “What did you talk about?”
    “That’s about it.”
    “You were alone with him for a time, right? And you knew him personally. All of a sudden he shows up with a bullet wound. You didn’t ask him how that came about?” So there it was. They already knew.
    “Well, no,” said Carey. “He told me that much. He said he had been wanted for murder and the police – one of the officers who brought him in – had shot him.” Carey thought about it, and decided that if there was a record being made, then there was no reason he could not use it to preserve Dahlman’s denial. “He said the whole thing was a terrible mistake. He had not killed anybody, and the person who had done it had framed him. I couldn’t imagine Richard Dahlman as a murderer.”
    “Why?” This time Carey was sure. The captain was watching the man in the dark suit for a reaction, maybe for unspoken instructions of some kind.
    “He’s a distinguished surgeon and teacher of other surgeons who has never in the past committed a crime and, as far as I know, never lied about anything. I admit I haven’t seen or heard any of the evidence against him. I assume it’s pretty compelling, or we wouldn’t all be here. But I think when you look into it, you’ll find he didn’t do it.” The captain was watching the man in the suit throughout Carey’s answer. But who was he? Had Folger said “marshal”?
    Carey had a vague notion that marshals were the people who transported prisoners, or took them into formal custody in court or some such thing. But why would a police captain be deferring to somebody like that?
    “Do you know this building well?” Was he just giving Carey a chance to lie about something?
    “I ought to. I was born here,” said Carey. “When I finished my residency I came back. I’ve been here nearly every day for a couple of years.”
    “Do you know how he got out of the building?” Carey stared at the grain of the wood of the table. This was the question, he thought. It was best to ignore the implication, to pretend the word “know” had not been used. “If I were to guess, I would guess that he didn’t get out: that he hid somewhere in the building and found himself too weak to go on, or fell asleep.” It occurred to Carey that he might very well have made a terrible mistake. What if that had been Jane’s plan? It would explain why her car was still parked behind Carey’s office. It made perfect sense to put him in bed in another unoccupied room, slip a different bracelet on his wrist, and let him rest until the police had left the hospital. They had told him they’d searched, but why should they tell him the truth?
    The captain shook his head. “No, that was what we thought too. But Mr. Pankowski’s staff took officers into every room, every broom closet and storeroom in the building. We even searched every laundry bin and garbage can big enough to hold a man. He has definitely left the building. It’s too bad you weren’t here when it happened. They were beeping you, but –
    ”
    Carey was ready for this one. “They were?” He took out his pager and looked at it. He flipped the switch off and on a few times. “I wonder how…”
    The man in the dark suit leaned forward and held