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“He flew the coop,” Lula said when we got back to the front door.
I took a moment to look around one last time. “Where’s the cat? Susan had an indoor cat. Where is it? And where’s the kitty litter? I think Susan split and took the cat with her.”
“If I had a Yeti hiding in my closet I’d take the cat and go someplace else too,” Lula said.
We left the house and sat in the Buick, eating cookies, thinking about where to go next.
“I can’t shake the feeling that the clue to Cubbin is in the hospital,” I said. “There’s got to be something we missed. If we could find out how he got out of the hospital, we might be able to find out where he went.”
“Yeah, and you could find that out on your own because I don’t want to go back into the hospital and get more cooties. Besides, I might need to go shopping. I heard Junior Moody got some new merchandise last night, and he’ll be open for business in the projects this afternoon.”
“What kind of merchandise?”
“I don’t know, but he usually has good stuff.”
Junior Moody was a small-time opportunistic vendor who operated out of the trunk of his Cadillac Eldorado. Depending on what had been hijacked, robbed, or shoplifted, Junior might be selling cubic zirconia earrings, Cuisinart toasters, Hello Kitty watches, or Izod shirts.
“I’ll drop you off at the office. Call me if he’s got evening purses.”
TEN
“BE CAREFUL OF Tiki,” Lula said when she got out of the Buick. “Don’t listen to him when he tells you to order a extra pizza.”
“No worries.”
I put the Buick in gear and slid a glance at Tiki in the backseat. “Well?” I said.
Nothing. No pizza advice. No requests to be returned to the volcano. No complaints that the seat belt was too tight.
I took Hamilton to Greenwich, turned onto Joy, and swung into the hospital garage. I told Tiki under no circumstances should he open the car doors to strangers, locked him in, and headed for the building. I walked through the lobby and went straight to Randy Briggs’s office.
“Oh jeez,” he said when I walked in. “Now what?”
“I want to talk.”
“I’m working.”
“Looks to me like you’re surfing porn sites.”
“A lot you know. I’m doing research.”
I sat in the chair opposite him. “Tell me about Geoffrey Cubbin. How’d he get out of the hospital?”
“You’re trespassing in my office.”
“If you don’t talk to me I’m sending Grandma back here.”
Briggs closed his eyes and groaned. “Don’t do that.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I’ve got a good job here. I don’t want to lose it. Give me a break.”
“Aren’t you curious about Cubbin?”
“No.”
I looked past Briggs to his bulletin board. The two missing-patient pictures were still posted there.
“Who’s the other missing patient?” I asked.
He turned and looked at the picture. “Floyd Dugan. He was a boxer. Trained out of the gym on Stark Street. He got caught with a pound of heroin in his car. He said it was planted. I’m surprised you don’t recognize him.”
