Paramour (40 page)

The bodies weren't there.

****

TWENTY-SEVEN

"This is where it happened," Powers said. "Someone must have moved the bodies."

The cops and agents exchanged "told you so" glances with one another. The plainclothesman turned to Capizzi.

"Check the trees," Powers said. "I know at least one of the slugs hit a tree."

"Sure," Capizzi said, taking him by the arm.

Powers pulled away from his grasp, "I need to talk to the President. "

Capizzi grabbed his arm again. "C'mon, Jack. We have to go back now. "

"The President is in danger!" Powers shouted. "You've got to tell him! Listen to me, goddammit!"

The cops and agents moved closer.

"Take him!" Capizzi shouted. From behind, a policeman's arm slid around Powers's neck and he was pulled backwards off his feet. He was being choked. Then his feet were lifted and the group carried him roughly down the steps to the car. Someone opened the trunk of the radio car and took something out.

Powers was forced face down on the hood of the sedan. With each arm and leg secured firmly by a policeman, he felt his handcuffs being unfastened. He was pulled upright. His arms were forcibly extended and shoved into canvas sleeves ... a straitjacket! With a mighty effort, he freed his right arm and punched Capizzi squarely in the jaw. Then he himself was being punched and kicked. His wind was knocked out, and as he tried to catch his breath, he was manipulated into the straitjacket. It was pulled closed, restricting his arms tightly across his chest.

Someone opened the back door of the sedan, and he felt himself being lifted, then tossed into the back seat, hitting his head sharply against the opposite door. He saw black for a moment and felt a twinge of nausea as the front doors were opened and men climbed inside.

He sat up on the seat as the car was pulling out of the parking lot. There was reinforced steel mesh extending from the front seat backrest to the roof. Capizzi was sitting in the passenger seat.

"Where are we going?" Powers said, leaning forward in the seat. No answer.

Capizzi ignored him during the trip back to DC. Powers began to suspect where they were taking him as they drove past the downtown area. And he knew for sure as they reached the southeast. Passing blocks of brick-front row houses, the driver steered into the driveway of St. Elizabeth's Hospital, a large mental health facility operated by the District of Columbia Department of Health and Human Services. They pulled up to the John Howard Pavilion situated in the heart of the compound. The only maximum-security section of the hospital, it was where the "White House cases," lunatics arrested at the White House, were taken. Powers knew the man who'd shot President Reagan was housed on the seventh floor.

"Who told you to do this?" Powers said angrily. "I'm not crazy, and you're not going to commit me."

The policeman showed something to the uniformed guard at the gate and the gate opened electronically. Its rollers grated loudly on the asphalt. The driver pulled up to the front of the John Howard Pavilion and he and Capizzi climbed out. Capizzi opened the rear passenger door and he and the policeman pulled Powers from the car. Capizzi had a swollen lip, which pleased Powers. They led him up the steps.

Inside, Powers was met by the strong warm odor of mental illness. Though there was no way to quantify or determine whether such a smell actually existed, among themselves all Secret Service agents acknowledged it. Over the years, when investigating persons making threats against the life of the President, Powers had searched hundreds of motel rooms, cars, houses, and trailers looking for weapons and other evidence. Though some places were more pungent than others, each had at least a hint of the scent ... best described by Ken Landry once as a combination of nervous perspiration and dead human skin: the odor of schizophrenia.

Capizzi led him to a reception counter. A hulking, blotchy-faced young man standing behind the counter handed them some forms, and Capizzi filled them out.

When he was finished, a Filipino attendant rose from a desk and examined the completed forms. He asked Capizzi a few questions in broken English and made some notes. Then he stapled the papers together. Coming from behind the counter, he led Powers to a heavy metal door.

"You're making a mistake, Capizzi," Powers said.

Capizzi and the policeman were walking out the door.

The attendant took Powers down a hallway to a small interview room. He sat him down on a bench jutting from the wall and picked up an open handcuff attached to a chain bolted to the floor. He affixed the cuff to the chain joining Powers's leg shackles. Then, without a word, he lumbered out of the room.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged man wearing a white nylon doctor's smock came into the room. His face was thin and he had an extremely sharp nose and graying goatee. He was holding an unlit stubby pipe. Obviously, he was the intake officer.

"I'm Dr. Porkolab," he said in broken English. "I understand you've been having some disturbing thoughts."

"I'm not mentally ill, Doctor."

"Do you know where you are?"

"I've committed scores of people here myself. I was a special agent of the United States Secret Service until three weeks ago--"

"Why do you think you've been brought here?" Porkolab interrupted.

"They said I made a threat against the President, but that's a lie. So help me God, it is a lie."

Porkolab nodded. "I see."

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I am asking you to give me any test to determine I am sane. I shouldn't be here."

Porkolab licked the stem of the pipe. "Why do you think all this is happening to you?"

"I know this will sound illogical and unbelievable, but I have been sent here as part of a political plot. Someone wants to keep me from telling the President what I know."

Porkolab's teeth clacked on the pipe. "What is the valuable information you want to share with the President?"

"I can't tell you because the information is secret and you aren't cleared."

Porkolab shrugged. Powers could tell by his vacant expression that nothing he was saying was having any effect.

"I understand you struck Mr. Capizzi."

"Mr. Capizzi is an asshole and arrested me illegally."

"Do you still feel angry?"

"No," Powers said after a long pause, realizing nothing he could say was going to free him.

"Would you like some medicine to calm you down?"

"No. And if you try to shove pills down my throat like you do the rest of the lunatics in here I'll bite your fingers off. Now I'm asking you, man to man, to believe me and take off this straitjacket."

Pipe jutting, Porkolab met Powers eye to eye as if, by virtue of his training and experience in dealing with the insane, he could predict whether Powers would become violent when unrestrained. Then, with Powers still shackled to the bench, he stood up.

Powers came to his feet, turned, and allowed Porkolab to carefully unfasten the straps on the straitjacket-which was no real risk because, even if Powers was a lunatic and became violent, he was still shackled to the bench and all Porkolab had to do was step back out of arm's reach and stand there until he could summon the asylum's goon squad to choke Powers into unconsciousness.

"I'd like to speak with an attorney."

"I will relay your wishes to the Administrator."

"May I make a telephone call?"

"Maybe later."

"I insist on making a call at once."

Porkolab extended a key from a rollback chain attached to his waist and unlocked the door. He sucked his pipe loudly and walked out the door.

"Where are you going?" Powers shouted. "I want out of here!"

Powers spent the remaining hours of darkness in his bare-floored cell, sleeping intermittently, pacing, and sitting on the edge of the bunk considering the possibilities of escape. By morning, his options seemed clear. He could feign illness and try to overpower a guard, but even if it worked, his chances of making his way out of the institution were nil. Besides, he might end up killing the guard and, after all, the guard--or Porkolab, for that matter-was just doing his job. On the other hand, he had to warn the President ... and what if Susan left the room looking for him and was spotted by surveillants?

He decided to try to escape.

Powers started at the sound of a key entering the door lock. He came to his feet, his fingers tingling with anticipation, telling himself this was as good a time as any. He would tell whoever it was he was sick. At the infirmary, which he knew was closer to the building's only exit, he would make his move.

It was Porkolab. "There is an attorney here to speak with you."

Porkolab led him out of the cell and down a long hallway toward the reception area. He stopped, unlocked a door, and held it open. Powers entered a room containing a sofa and chair. Porkolab told him to take a seat on the sofa. He complied.

Porkolab moved to a door on the facing wall and unlocked it.

Susan walked in, wearing a stern expression that told him not to say a word. "I'd like to interview Mr. Powers in private, if I may."

"I should stay in the room while you conduct your interview. This is a rule," Porkolab said.

"I understand," she said curtly.

"I'm Susan Fisher," she said, offering her hand to Powers.

Powers shook hands and felt slightly weak at the knees.

"Please sit down," she said. "We can't really speak freely with this doctor here, but perhaps we can figure out the best way to have you released."

"Can you get me out of here?" he said, searching her eyes for signals.

"I'm afraid we can't do that, but we can notify your relatives if you so desire."

"I'd appreciate that."

Her thumb undid the fastener on her purse. She reached in and took out a pen and notebook. "May I have the name of the person you want notified?"

"Mr. Mattix. Mr. Otto Mattix," he said.

She swallowed. "Yes," she said. "And the address?"

"In DC. Four-two-three Flee Street."

"Is there any message I should give him?"

"Ask him for transportation when I'm released."

"My law firm can provide for that," she said, glancing down at her purse. She got to her feet. "That should be about it," she said. As if to replace the pen and pad, she opened the purse with one hand and allowed him to see the butt of the automatic inside.

Porkolab moved to the door and inserted his key in the lock. Catlike, Powers grabbed the gun and swung toward Porkolab. "Keep your mouth shut and I won't have to kill you," he said, touching the revolver to the back of Porkolab's head. "You're walking us out of here."

"You will never get out. The others will see."

"Then this nuthouse will be looking for a new shrink."

"Please don't kill me."

"Where's the car?" Powers said.

"In the parking lot beyond the front gate," Susan said.

"Lead us there," Powers said to Porkolab.

Porkolab opened the door carefully. There was no one in sight. He stepped out of the room. As he moved down the hallway, Powers was next to him with his hand holding the gun inside his jacket pocket. Susan feigned friendly chatter with him as they passed two nurses walking in their direction. Porkolab, his voice thick, greeted them and they kept walking.