“If you see anyone behaving unusually outside the clinic, and especially if you see someone taking photos, let Luis know about it. I’m dead serious, people,” Florine said in a husky voice.
The room fell silent. The director’s poise was legendary. This was the equivalent of a normal person bursting into tears.
She recovered quickly. “That’s all I’ve got for you at the moment. The safety of our staff and patients,” she added （smoothly, in her TV voice）， “is, as always, our primary concern.”
WHEN CLAUDIA ARRIVED AT THE DELI, PHIL WAS WAITING.
“She lives,” he said, clasping her briefly. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Nowhere. I’ve been nowhere.” It was factually true. In the weeks since her visit to Maine, she’d been a stationary object. Except for work, she had scarcely left her apartment. Each morning she woke exhausted, as though the winter had finally caught up to her. There was simply nowhere she wanted to go. Holed up at home, she read trashy novels and watched Dateline. Occasionally she texted Phil to cancel lunch dates. Returning his phone calls seemed too complicated.
“Work has been crazy,” she said—her all-purpose excuse.
She explained, then, about the security video, the freak in the Sox cap taking photos with his cell phone. She talked and talked, aware of the hysterical edge in her voice. She sounded crazy. She felt crazy. If I didn’t know me, she thought, I would think I’d lost my mind.
Phil gave her his scrutinizing look.
“A website,” he repeated, frowning. “Claudia, you’re not making any sense.”
“Wait till you see it.” She pulled up the Hall of Shame and handed Phil her phone.
He scrolled and swiped, literally openmouthed. It was unsettling to see him at a loss for words.
“Wow. This is pretty elaborate,” he said at last. “One guy did all this?”
“I don’t see how. I mean, it’s pretty clear they were taken at different clinics. I counted six different locations, and there could be more. He keeps adding more photos.”
There was more she could have said. The dreams that woke her in the night, the hours—hours—she’d spent staring at the website. The hundreds of times she had refreshed that particular page.
“We know about one guy for sure, because we have him on video. He came back the other day, but the security guard scared him off.”
Phil said, “Have you talked to the police?”
“The police are aware. They’ve seen the video, they know what he looks like. Right now we’re just waiting for him to come back.”
“And then what?”
Claudia had been asking herself the same question.
“Well, that’s kind of the problem. As far as we can tell, he isn’t breaking any laws.” She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. “But, you know, it’s not harmless. There’s a reason we’re so careful about our patients’ privacy. People are crazy on this subject.”
The waitress arrived with a tray. Phil, as always, had ordered the special—today, a pastrami sandwich reeking of garlic. Claudia’s omelet looked slightly congealed. The smell of egg was mildly disgusting. She pushed away the plate.
“You’re not eating?” Again the scrutinizing look. “Claudia, are you all right?”
“I wish people would stop asking me that.” Her head felt a little swimmy. The room was suddenly too loud, too hot. “I’m fine. A little tired.”
“You need a break.” Phil took a slice of toast from her plate and buttered it. “A change of scene. Weren’t you supposed to go up to Maine?”