He could see the hospital bed cranked up to sitting and he could see there was no one in it. His gaze swung to the chair where a loose-limbed orderly sat thumbing through a movie magazine.“Where’s Montgomery?”The orderly looked up. Spots on his once-white hospital smock said he’d had creamed spinach for lunch.“Montgomery. The man who’s supposed to be in that bed. What have you done with him?”The blank Third World face had no answer.Thoms knocked on the bathroom door and shoved. He flicked on the light. Montgomery’s toiletries were still there, jumbled on the glass shelf. The bath towel was damp to Thoms’s touch.He turned. “Who the hell speaks English around here?”There was no knock. Just a sound of feet banging into a chair, and when Cardozo glanced up, there was Harvey Thoms, faintly purple in the face and breathing hard.“Where’s Father Montgomery?”Cardozo slowly brought his chair upright, slowly rested an elbow on the desk top. “Last time I saw him, he was in Doctors Hospital.”“Not now he isn’t.”“So?”“We need him for questioning.”Cardozo’s eye went to the burly, bored cop in shirtsleeves standing by the cubicle door.
