"Nothing from them either."
Jeff's face darkened. "The Hoffman Center," he said slowly. "He got into the Center, somehow. He must have."
"He'd have to have gilt-edged medical credentials to get in after hours. They don't mess around over there. And what would it gain him?"
Jeff peered at Bahr in the darkness. "Maybe he wanted to be thrown to the Mercy Men. Maybe he's figured that as a last resort, he'll go in and volunteer, make a stab at the Big Cash."
Bahr stared at the big man in horror. "Look—Conroe may be desperate, but he hasn't lost his mind. My God, man! He isn't crazy."
"But he's scared."
"Of course he's scared, but—"
"How scared?"
Bahr shrugged angrily. "He'd have to be on his last legs to take a gamble like that."
"But they'd take him. They wouldn't ask any questions. They'd swallow him up; they'd hide him, whether they knew it or not." Jeff's voice rose in excitement. "Look. We've hunted him down for years. We've never rested; we've never quit. He knows that and he knows why. He knows me. He knows I'm not going to quit until I get him. And he knows I will get him, sooner or later. I'm cutting too close; I'm undermining his friends; I'm always moving closer. Everywhere he goes, everything he does, I'm onto him. And he knows when I do get him, he's going to die. What does that add up to?"