one, and the lack of interest in physical evidence had been my greatest frustration at the department.
“But you might have given it a chance,” I argued. “There may have been other physical evidence to link him to the crime that was preserved. It could have been reexamined in light of what you knew.”
“You are missing an important point,” Alistair said, going on to explain. “There were discrepancies between Michael’s account and certain details about the Shea murder. He convinced us of his motivation, and certainly Moira Shea’s death was consistent with his choice of weapon. But he kept changing the details: the time of day the attack occured; what Miss Shea was wearing. These are important details the murderer should have known. It was established that she had taken a one o’clock train, and she had worn a yellow shirtwaist and dark skirt. Michael should have been clear about these details—and yet he was not. That led us to doubt the veracity of his confession.”
But it was Alistair who missed the most important point. I said, “So you were reluctant to act because Michael’s confession may have been false. Still, it was not your call to make; didn’t it occur to you to speak with the police? Or even your old friend Judge Hansen might have reminded you of your responsibilities. To keep quiet was nothing short of obstruction of justice.”
He flushed ever so slightly. “My other concern involved the importance of our work. To make an issue of Michael’s guilt would be tantamount to throwing away significant research that could do tremendous good. To risk that was virtually unthinkable.” His tone was firm. “At first, I was despondent, believing all our work had been for naught. We had believed Michael was a criminal-in-the-making, not yet fully formed, which offered us a chance to test rehabilitative measures in a way never before done. Suddenly, our research risked being invalidated—for if Michael had crossed the line and committed murder, then what good was our research? Our efforts had been directed toward preventing him from acting on his violent fantasies.”
He paused a moment, and then continued with growing excitement. “Then it occurred to me: It was only our research premise that had to change. We could begin with the assumption that Michael Fromley may have been a murderer when we commenced work. How much more impressive, then, if we rehabilitated him! We would have every prison program in the country clamoring at our door for information about rehabilitation. Every psychologist would come to consult Fred about what treatment approach worked. Every jurist would analyze the implications for sentencing. Sociologists would be able to reframe questions about how the criminal is shaped, and economists might begin to analyze the cost savings to society of lower crime rates. We might have achieved something truly groundbreaking, if only—”
Here, I interrupted with my own sentiments. “If only you hadn’t lost track of this confessed murderer and let him loose on an unsuspecting public. How could you think, even for a moment, that your research was more important than such a risk to human life?”
He replied quietly, “Of course I did not. I never expected it to come to that.”
“And putting aside your decision to keep quiet when you first learned of Michael’s confession, you didn’t even report the danger he posed when he went missing two weeks ago.”
“We sincerely believed he was on his way to a successful rehabilitation. We did not think he posed a substantial risk.”
I shot back, “But you were worried enough that you contacted the police each day, simply to reassure yourself that no criminal incident in the police blotter could be attributed to him. You did that much, yet you could not sound the alert that would have required the police to search for him and perhaps keep him out of trouble in the first place.”
“If you’re not going to listen to reason, there is little point in continuing this conversation,” he said.
“I am listening,” I said. “Listening attentively, and with a great desire to understand. But the choices you’ve made strike me as so reckless that it is difficult to do so.”
Both of us sat in silence, thinking. We were at an impasse.
“I need to know just one more thing,” I said quietly. “Had you known about Moira Shea from the beginning, would you still have facilitated the dismissal of charges against Michael Fromley and accepted him into your custody?”
His answer was important to my judgment of him, for in