Alex Myers took one last drag from her cigarette and stubbed it out in the over-full ashtray. "So let me get this straight. You're saying there's white medicine and black medicine - just like there's white magic and black magic. Right?"

Nash grinned at his inquisitor from behind the bulletproof glass. "Hallelujah! You catch on real fast, Doc. White medicine is science devoted to healing the sick and preserving life. Black medicine is the exact opposite - it's science devoted to maiming and killing folks quickly and effectively." The killer was clearly warming to his theme; Alex noted how he paused more for dramatic effect than for breath as he continued lecturing her. "You know, there are over one hundred vital points of human anatomy which can be targeted to achieve maximum and rapid physiological destruction. There are just as many parts of the body that can be thought of as natural weapons. And almost any object can be used to hurt someone real bad if you know how."

"Yes, if I remember correctly at least 15 people died proving the point," Alex replied a little too sarcastically. She tried to imagine the thoughts of Nash's victims as they sat bound and gagged in his basement. To him they were little more than laboratory animals to be used in the pursuit of his warped science. Men like Nash needed to be studied. That's what Governor Clarke and Warden Tibbs and the rest of those idiots couldn't understand. When they looked at Nash all they saw was a skinny little runt in prison fatigues who deserved to fry.

"Tell me again about Lydia Hartman," she said.

"Come on, Doc. I already told you I fucked her then strangled her. What more do you want?'

Alex sighed. She wasn't fooled by this apparent lack of remorse - Hartman was the closest thing to a soulmate Nash had ever had. She'd been a high school cheerleader before falling in with a Goth crowd and getting up to all kinds of weird shit. And it was evident from her diaries and erotic poetry that she'd been infatuated by "Doctor Death" from the moment she first set eyes on him. Under Nash's tutelage Hartman had developed a taste for erotic asphyxia and lust murder. She'd known all about the 'experiments' and had proved to be a willing partner in Nash's evil work.

"The girl's death was an accident then. Is that what you're saying?" The way Nash told it, Hartman had lured some unsuspecting guy to a motel on the promise of a three-way. She'd straddled the poor sap as he lay on the bed, then rode him while Nash suffocated him with a pillow. According to Nash, he'd been so charged up he couldn't wait for Hartman to get off the corpse before balling her ass and had simply applied too much pressure to her windpipe.

Nash leaned closer, like he was about to take her into his confidence, then he snickered. "How's that ear of yours?"

Alex reddened as recalled their first meeting. She was lucky she was still living to regret it, the sonofabitch! Nash had bided his time. Moving like greased lightning, he'd suddenly leaned across the desk and grabbed her hair; pulled her close enough to bite off half of her left ear before the guards could come to her rescue...

She slapped the counter hard all of a sudden and spoke in a low voice so the guards couldn't hear: "Now look here, you little cocksucker. I'm all that's standing between you and that goddamned chair. If I fail to convince the Governor you're insane then your ass will burn. Get it?"

"You think I give a shit? Honey, anything's better than hanging out in this joint - it's so boring." Nash's snake eyes glinted as he regarded Alex with cold amusement. "Get me a transfer out of here. Someplace nice, with a library and a garden and some decent chow. Do it and I'll tell you whatever you want to know ... I could make you famous."

Alex smiled. "No way. I don't have to bargain with you."

"Then fuck you, bitch! I ain't talking to you no more." He started hollering for the guards to take him back to his cell.

Shit! This case was her big break - a once in a lifetime chance and she couldn't afford to blow it. Aware that time was running out for them both, Alex said in desperation, "Okay, okay..."

Nash grinned triumphantly: "We have ourselves a deal?"

"All right," Alex said, meeting his gaze squarely while nodding her head. "Talk to me and I promise I'll get you moved to a secure hospital ... I know just the place."

Alex woke up with a scream on her lips, her body drenched in cold sweat. When she opened her eyes it was pitch dark. It took her brain a few seconds to register that she was in her own bed and had been having another of her nightmares.

Damn you, Nash! she thought, groping for the lamp on her bedside table and switching it on.

She sat up, lit a cigarette with trembling hands, and quickly inhaled. Rubbing her tired eyes, she glanced at the LCD clock; 02:47 it said. Lying next to the clock was a hardback copy of her latest book, Black Medicine: The Science Of Death. She picked the book up, feeling justifiably proud as she flicked through its pages. It had proved sensational, topping the true crime bestseller lists for weeks. In it she'd quoted Nash extensively, describing in chilling detail how he'd dispatched his victims with such mundane objects as a pencil, a rolled up newspaper, a bar of soap... For Christ's sake, in Nash's hands, even a matchbox could be used to the detriment of anyone unlucky enough to be on the receiving end! She finished her cigarette, put the book down, switched off the lamp, and lay her head on the pillow. But she couldn't sleep - she kept thinking about Nash and his demented research.

He'd selected his 'subjects' carefully, trawling the clubs and streets for desperate young men, always going for persons least likely to be missed. He befriended them, took them back to his salubrious apartment on 43rd Street, doped them, trussed them up in his basement laboratory, then conducted his experiments. Afterwards, he disposed of their bodies and wrote up his findings. The really scary thing was, it had been just sheer luck the way Nash was eventually caught. He was driving out to the woods when stopped by a couple of highway patrolmen who'd noticed the broken tail light on his station wagon. He managed to cripple one of the cops but was unable to prevent the other from drawing his gun. Even Nash wasn't prepared to risk a bullet and so he surrendered. The bodies of Lydia Hartman and the John Doe were discovered hidden under a blanket in the back of the vehicle...

No longer feeling sleepy, Alex got up to use the bathroom.

As she washed her hands, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror cabinet above the sink, grimaced when she noticed the dark hollows under her eyes. Then she opened the cabinet and stared at the pills and potions she'd accumulated since she began working on "Dr. Death." She considered swallowing a couple of ludes to help her relax but decided not to. After all, she had a busy day ahead of her tomorrow and she needed to be bright and fresh.

Nash had finally got his way. She'd certified him insane in exchange for his co-operation. He was now languishing in his own private sanatorium, which she had secured at great personal expense just for him. The walls of his cell were padded and sound proofed. The male nurse she employed solely to take care of Nash was good at his job and his discretion could be relied upon. You could say he was personally motivated, seeing as he'd once been a lover to one of Nash's victims.

Alex smiled. She was looking forward to giving Nash some more of her own black medicine... Purely in the interests of science, of course.

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