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“That’s good.” He smiled at Henry. “Otherwise we’d be looking for pirates.”
               
                Henry continued. “The ME thinks they were preserved in formaldehyde before they were dumped in the tank.”
               
                Archie continued to rotate his palm over the orb of clay on the table. “Match anything?” he asked. He kept his face neutral and his eyes on his hand, trying to focus on the clay.
               
                “Nothing in the regional database. We’re looking wider. You thinking we’ll turn up some corpses to match?”
               
                “Gretchen never took out anyone’s eyes.”
               
                “Gretchen never did anything,” Henry said, “until she did.”
               
                Archie rubbed his eyes with his hand. They’d given him a sedative when he’d gotten back the night before, and he still felt groggy from it. “Beef up Debbie’s protection detail,” he said with a sigh. He didn’t think Gretchen would go after Debbie and the kids again. She had already terrorized him once with that trick, and she didn’t like to repeat herself. But the protection might buy his family some peace of mind.
               
                “Already done,” Henry said. “Vancouver PD’s got a car outside her house. The kids get escorts to school. Everything we talked about.” Henry spread his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “I want you to consider leaving town.”
               
                “Boca Raton’s nice,” Frank said.
               
                “Gretchen will find me anywhere I go,” Archie said. There was no emotion to it. It was merely a fact.
               
                Henry folded his big arms on the table and leaned forward. “But the press might not,” he said. “You don’t know what it’s like out there. The city council is considering a curfew. There’s a company that gives goddamn Gretchen Lowell tours.” His neck reddened as he talked. “They’ve got these buses with her face painted on the side. Why do you think Debbie moved to Vancouver? Property taxes?”
               
                On Animal Planet, a vet was trying to save a cat who’d been hit by a car. Archie had seen the episode eight times before. The cat ended up dying.
               
                The killing wasn’t going to stop until Gretchen wanted it to.
               
                “I want to help,” Archie said. “I’ll consult from here.”
               
                Frank hunched over the table across from Archie, working his clay into a two-foot-long roll the width of a thumb.
               
                “Leave town. I’ll find another bughouse for you, if you want. In New Hampshire.Somewhere far away.”
               
                The truth was, New Hampshire sounded nice. Far away sounded nice. But no one knew the Beauty Killer case files like Archie did. Henry needed Archie. And Archie knew it. “Call me if anything develops,” Archie said. “I’m around.”
               
                “The last time I called,” Henry said, “some woman told me she was going to get you and then wandered away and never came back.”
               
                There was only one phone patients were allowed to use. Incoming calls only. When it rang, everybody lunged for it.
               
                “They shouldn’t let crazy people answer the phone,” Henry said.
               
                Frank looked up from his clay roll and smiled.
               
                “Crazy people are the only people here,”