Chapter 29 Chapter Twenty Seven

He glanced at her quickly. "Are you kidding me? There's no prognosis in this case, and there never will be. Physically, there's nothing else to do but keep him alive. Intellectually, though I'm not Psychiatrist, but I'm pretty sure his mind has gone blank and he'll never have a moment of lucidity and peace. His only hope is that we give him an anesthetic so that he dies without knowing who he is, and For his own good, we should all wish him an early death." Dr. Spielman glanced at his watch, it was a very beautiful Rolex. "Do you have a lot of questions? I'm on duty today."

"Is there any drug left in his blood?" Deborah asked. Spielman snorted. "Residual? Hell, that guy's blood is like a cocktail. I've never seen anything like this before, all in order to keep him awake while keeping him physically pain-free, lest So many enucleations cost him his life." "Is there anything special about the cut?" I asked him. "That guy's trained and pretty good at what any medical school in the world could teach him." He breathed a sigh of relief, and an apologetic smile flashed across his face. "Some wounds have healed."

"Approximately what time frame?" Deborah asked. "From start to finish, four to six weeks, it took him at least a month to do the whole thing, one part at a time. I can't imagine anything more horrific than that." "He did it in front of a mirror," I said, "so the victim could see the whole thing." There was a look of horror in Spielman's eyes. "My God, I'd love to help you guys, but I can't really help. The gentleman, uh, Chesney?" "Chutsky," Deborah said. "Yes, that's the name. He was here and suggested that I get a retinal scan and compare the results to some database in Virginia to find out who this person is. I got a fax yesterday with the victim identity. I’ll get it for you right now.”

He stood up and walked into the aisle.After a while, he came back with a piece of paper. "This is, the name is Manuel Borges, his ancestral home is El Salvador, and he is engaged in import business." He put the paper in front of Deborah. "I know it doesn't give much context, but trust me, that's all there is to it." An intercom speaker in the ceiling said something, as if calling for a doctor.Spielman tilted his head, frowned, and said, "I've got to go, hope you catch him." He walked out the door and disappeared down the hallway. I glanced at Deborah, who didn't seem particularly encouraged by the names of the victims.

She shook her head. "Not much is better than nothing." She looked at the fax. "El Salvador has connections with an organization called Franco." "That's our side," I said, "that's the side supported by the United States. I checked it online." "Great, so we just found out what we already knew." She stood up and walked to the door, so fast that I chased her all the way to the parking lot door before catching up with her.