Not the police... No one would send a grizzled old man to chase an escaped murderer.
Dean thought for a moment, then tentatively asked, "Barton?"
"Sorry, I don't know any Barton. The police have already blockaded the entire neighborhood. If you, Mr. Dean, wish to leave here safely, you might need our help."
Outside the door, the elderly voice was steady and unhurried.
Dean understood instantly. This was a man who got things done. He was well aware of the government's power. Right now, he was just a sharpshooter in poor physical condition. Without external help, his chances of escaping were extremely low, so he didn't hesitate long.
Dean opened the door.
Outside, a ragged old man, who looked like some kind of vagrant performance artist, gave Dean a slight smile and held out a set of clothes. "Pharmacist Dean, put these on. Miss Catherine wants to see you as soon as possible. Then, the doubts in your heart will be answered."
