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The receptionist glared when Ambrose and Pallas walked by her desk.
Ambrose closed his inner window and pushed open the front door. Pallas went past him, her strong features set in resolute lines. He followed her onto the front steps, feeling a sense of relief now that they were out of the dark, claustrophobic confines of the clinic. They walked through the gardens toward the quiet street where his car was parked.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Ambrose asked.
She shot him a fierce glare. “I’m fine. But I need to draw. That’s the only way I’ll be able to interpret what I saw in those two sleeping rooms.”
“What do you think you saw?”
“Bad stuff.”
“That’s not helpful. Can you be a little more specific?”
“No. I told you, I have to draw first. It’s how my talent works, damn it.”
“No pressure,” Ambrose said.
She gave him a derisive, sidelong glance. “Right. No pressure.”
He cleared his throat. “I told you Fenner was lying when he said he didn’t believe in the paranormal. He was lying about almost everything else as well.”
“Of course he was. He’s trying to conceal whatever happened that night.” Pallas paused. “You said he lied about almost everything else?”
“He wasn’t lying about the camera. Apparently it wasn’t working that night. But looking back, it occurs to me that the most interesting thing about that night is that I actually did sleep, and soundly, both before and after the sleepwalking incident.”
Pallas gave him a curious look. “So?”
“I can’t get past the fact that it is not normal for me to sleep so solidly, not these days. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since before San Diego, yet at the Institute I went out like a light.”
“Do you think you were drugged?”
“I’m almost positive Fenner gave me an injection to knock me out after the sleepwalking episode, but I know I wasn’t medicated earlier when I went to sleep. I would have remembered an injection. I think.”
“In fairness, Fenner did tell you that a lot of people who have sleep disorders do just fine during an overnight study,” Pallas said.
“I know, but it seems odd in my case. What’s more, my sleep issues got worse after the study.”
“I don’t know why you were able to drift off to sleep that night,” Pallas said, “but I can tell that there was a lot of anxiety around your bed.”
“Mine?”
“No, I don’t think so. Fenner’s, probably.” Pallas hesitated. “I can also tell you that something terrible happened in room B.”
He did not press her. He wasn’t going to get anything more out of her until she had a chance to draw.
They got into the car. Ambrose pulled away from the curb. Instead of driving straight back to the hotel, he cruised slowly down the street and turned the corner. The side street allowed a view of the rear of the mansion. There was a small employee parking area. A short flight of steps and a ramp led up to the back door.
Another memory flickered. The sound of swinging doors opening. A draft of damp, chilled night air wafting down the hallway.
“What is it?” Pallas asked.
“The person pushing the laundry cart took it outside through that door,” he said. “He must have loaded the body into the trunk of a car and driven it to wherever it was dumped.”
“You have to be pretty cold-blooded to haul a dead woman away in a laundry cart and toss the body into the back of a car.”
“Yes,” he said. “Very cold-blooded.”
Pallas fell silent.
