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Cutter was certain there was no connection between the truck driver and Patrick。
Statistically； there was strong evidence that the disappearances of Pepper and Patrick were related。 If； by some chance； Patrick didn't perish in his Blazer； Cutter and Sweeney were now almost positive Pepper did。 This evidence； of course； was much too speculative to be admitted in a court of law。 Patrick could've picked up a hitchhiker from Australia； a hobo from parts unknown； a drifter from a bus station。
They had a list with eight other names； ranging from an elderly gentleman in Mobile who was last seen driving errantly out of town； in the general direction of Mississippi； to a young prostitute in Houston who told friends she was moving to Atlanta to start a new life。 All eight had been declared missing months and even years before February of 1992。 Cutter and the Sheriff had long since declared the list worthless。
Pepper remained their strongest prospect； they just couldn't prove it。
Neldene； however； thought she could； and she was quite anxious to share her views with the press。 Two days after Patrick was caught she went to a lawyer； a local sleazeball who'd handled her last divorce for three hundred dollars； and asked his assistance in guiding her through the media maze。 He quickly obliged； said in fact he'd do it for free； then did what most bad lawyers do when presented with a client with a story…he called a press conference at his office in Hattiesburg； ninety miles north of Biloxi。
He displayed his weeping client to the media； and said all sorts of vile things about the local Sheriff down there in Biloxi and the FBI and their lame efforts at locating Pepper。 Shame on them for dragging their feet for over four years while his poor client lived in sorrow and uncertainty。 He ranted and raved and made the most of his fifteen minutes of fame。 He hinted at legal action against Patrick Lanigan； the man who obviously killed Pepper and burned his body to hide the evidence so he could make off with ninety million bucks； but he was vague on specifics。
The press； disregarding whatever caution it may have collectively possessed； if any； ate it up。 They were given pictures of young Pepper； a simple…looking boy with nasty peach fuzz around his mouth and unkempt hair。 A face was thus given to the faceless victim； and he became human。 This was the boy Patrick had killed。
THE PEPPER STORY played well in the press。 He was properly referred to as the 〃alleged victim；〃 but the word 〃alleged〃 was invariably mumbled under the breath。 Patrick watched it alone in his dark room。
Shortly after Patrick disappeared； he learned that Pepper Scarboro was rumored to have been lost in the fire。 He and Pepper had hunted deer together in January of 1992； and had eaten beef stew over a fire late one cold afternoon in the woods。 He had been surprised to learn that the boy practically lived in the forest； preferring it to home； which he spoke of sparingly。 His camping and survival skills were extraordinary。 Patrick offered the use of the cabin porch in the event of rain or bad weather； but to his knowledge the kid had never used it。
They had met several times in the woods。 Pepper could see the cabin from the top of a wooded hill a mile away； and when Patrick's car was there he would hide nearby。 He enjoyed tracking behind Patrick as he took long walks or made his way into the woods to hunt。 He would toss pebbles and acorns at him until Patrick would yell and curse。 They would then sit for a short talk。 Conversation was not something Pepper thrived on； but he seemed to enjoy the break in solitude。 Patrick took him snacks and candy。
He wasn't surprised by the assumption； then or now； that he had killed the kid。
DR。 HAYANI watched the evening news with great interest。 He read the papers and talked in great detail to his new wife about his famous patient。 They sat in bed and watched it all again on the late news。
The phone rang as they were turning off the lights and preparing for sleep。 It was Patrick； full of apologies； but in pain； and scared； and just needing someone to talk to。 Since he was technically a prisoner； his calls were restricted to his lawyer and his doctor； and only twice a day each。 Did the doctor have a minute？
Of course。 Another apology for calling so late； but sleep was impossible now； and he was deeply upset by all the news and especially the suggestion that he killed that young kid。 Did the doctor see it on TV？
Yes； of course。 Patrick was in his room with the lights off； huddled in his bed。 Thank God those deputies were in the hallway because he was scared； he had to admit。 He was hearing things； voices and noises that made no sense。 The voices were not ing from the hall but from within the room。 Could it be the drugs？
It could be a number of things； Patrick。 The medicine； the fatigue； the trauma of what you've been through； the shock both physically and psychologically。
They talked for an hour。
Seventeen
HE DIDN'T WASH his hair for the third straight day。 He wanted the oily look。 He didn't shave either。 For his outfit； he switched from the light cotton hospital gown he'd slept in back to the aqua surgeon's scrubs； which were very wrinkled。 Hayani promised to get him new ones。 But for today； he needed the wrinkles。 He put a white sock on his right foot but there was a nasty rope burn just above his left ankle； and he wanted people to see this。 No sock there。 Just a matching black rubber shower sandal。
He would be displayed today。 The world was waiting。
Sandy arrived at ten with two pairs of cheap pharmacy sunglasses； per his client's instructions。 And a black New Orleans Saints cap。 〃Thanks；〃 Patrick said； as he stood before the mirror in the bathroom and admired the sunglasses and prepared the cap。
Dr。 Hayani arrived minutes later； and Patrick introduced one to the other。 Patrick was suddenly nervous and light…headed。 He sat on the edge of his bed； ran his fingers through his hair； and tried to breathe slowly。 〃I never thought this day would happen； you know；〃 he mumbled to the floor。 〃Never。〃 His doctor and his lawyer looked at each other with nothing to say。
Hayani ordered a strong depressant； and Patrick gulped down both pills。 〃Maybe I'll sleep through it all；〃 he said。
〃I'll do all the talking；〃 Sandy said。 〃Just try and relax。〃
〃He's about to；〃 Hayani said。
A knock on the door； and Sheriff Sweeney entered with enough deputies to quell a riot。 Stiff pleasantries were exchanged。 Patrick put on his Saints cap and his new shades； large dark ones； and held out his wrists to be handcuffed。
〃What are those？〃 Sandy demanded； pointing to a set of ankle irons a deputy was holding。
〃Ankle irons；〃 said Sweeney。
〃I don't think so；〃 Sandy said harshly。 〃The man has burns on one ankle。〃
〃He certainly does；〃 Dr。 Hayani said boldly； anxious to enter the fray。 〃See；〃 he insisted； pointing to Patrick's left ankle。
Sweeney pondered this for a moment； and his hesitation cost him。 Sandy charged ahead： 〃e on； Sheriff； what are his chances of escape？ He's injured； handcuffed； surrounded by all these people。 What the hell's he gonna do？ Break and run？ You guys aren't that slow； are you？