by Edwin Dasso
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Time of death?”
The Deputy Coroner glanced at the Sheriff, a tired expression on his face.
“First guess, I’d say about the same as the other body.”
“Any ID?” asked Carter.
“Just a minute.” Stan reached forward and unzipped the rest of the body bag. He checked the pockets of the clothing worn by the woman, finally extracting a plastic ID badge from beneath the body. “Seems she was a nurse here at Napa State. Psychiatric Department. Robin Ruan.”
“R. That completes C… A… R… T… E… R, Carter,” said Brandt.
“What the hell!” exploded Carter. Then, turning to Noah Adams, “Why did you say try an ‘I’, Doc?”
“Imola. This part of Napa is the Imola district. It was named after the Italian town with the racetrack, though that wasn’t why it got the name. It was originally called the Napa Insane Asylum. There was another Insane Asylum in Imola, Italy that was fairly well known at the time. In fact, there were two asylums in the town, though they are closed now. That’s where the name came from. Napa State Hospital is still called Imola by the locals.”
“Tobias, my brother, is here. In the psychiatric ward. He’s been here since we were eighteen.”
“That’s another connection, Carter. It’s like deadly breadcrumbs leading us here. With you at the center of it.”
Carter chose to deflect Brandt.
“How could he have killed two women so quickly?”
“He could have killed them before, or at least, one of them, frozen the body, perhaps, so he could have it available when he brought us here. When I was with the FBI we had a case like that.”
“I think there might be another explanation, Noah,” said Brandt. “We should check out if the two women knew each other or frequented the same places. If there is a link there, it could be the killer came looking for victim number five and got lucky finding her with someone who fit his game plan.”
“What makes you think that?” asked the psychiatrist.
“The way victim number five was killed. It was quick, urgent. The M.O. was also different. All of the others were suffocated or drowned, their air cut off until they died. Number five is different.”
“Not that much,” said Carter. “If the killer used a strike to the Vagus nerve, as the M.E. suggests, that would shut down the whole body, including the lungs. It’s the largest nerve bunch in the human body and connects the brain with most of the vital organs. So in a way, it is a form of suffocation, just instant.”
“Okay, but I suspect the reason for the quick kill was that he found the two women together and finished one as quick as he could before the other escaped. Big risk though. If the nurse had pepper spray or something to defend herself, we could have been looking at a different story.”
“Unless he knew enough about his victims to know when and where he could catch them both,” added Adams.
17
There was little for them to do in Napa. The Sheriff took upon herself the investigation of anything that linked the latest two victims, arguing her local knowledge would allow her to identify and follow up leads faster and more efficiently than the Bureau agents. Brandt agreed readily. He wanted to head back to their office to spend more hours puzzling over the enigmatic messages as data about the Napa victims came in. He and Carter headed back to their SUV.
“Dr. Adams says he would like to talk to my brother while he’s here. I wished him good luck on that. The hospital isn’t strong on unannounced visits. But he made one phone call to someone in the psychiatric department and obtained permission. That guy has some pull. Must be from all the years he spent with the Feds.”
“That, plus he is from these parts, so he knows people locally who can open doors for him.” Brandt put the car into Drive and started their journey back to Sacramento.
“How’s he going to get back?”
“No problem there. He’s probably going to talk a friend into giving him a ride. Hell, it’s only an hour, so he might even take a cab.” Brandt looked over at Carter, catching her stifling a yawn. “You look bushed. Why don’t I drop you at your apartment so you can get an early night. Come in late tomorrow too. I don’t expect anything new is going to crop up until later in the day, but if it does, I’ll text you.”
“Oh, thanks. I was going to be in late tomorrow anyway. I have an appointment with my doctor to see if this tiredness has some other cause. I probably won’t be in until gone midday. That okay?”
“Sure. Switch your phone off now, but put it back on tomorrow morning. If there’s a break in the case, I’ll get in touch. Though to be honest, Carter, other than you being linked to this case in some way, we have zilch leads. I’m hoping that there’s more hidden messages in the data we have; something that will give us a clue to the killer’s identity. You realize he could suddenly stop killing now and he would probably get away with it. We are no closer to catching him than we were after the first murder. It’s damned frustrating. This could be my last major case before retiring and I sort of wanted to close it. Leave the slate clean, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah. I don’t like the idea of going into retirement, when the time comes, with some case half solved that will continue to bug me until it becomes an obsession. It’s a cliché, Brandt, but it does happen so often in our line of work. When I’m out of this, I want to live life a little, perhaps do some traveling. Europe, maybe. Go see that insane asylum in Italy the doc mentioned.” She laughed. “See! No obsessions here.”
18
Noah Adams had called a fellow psychiatrist he knew in the Napa State Hospital. The guy was not Carter’s twin’s doctor but he said he could arrange a visit if Tobias’ medic had no objection, and the resident in question agreed too. Resident, an odd nomenclature for a criminally insane patient, but that was what they called their forensic cases there.
He chose to walk through the State Hospital complex. A chance to stretch his legs after the car journey. It would also give him time to run through the curious conversation with Carter in his mind. Adams had already figured out his friend Jim Brandt wanted him to dig a little more into Carter’s backstory. What he was not too clear about, however, was if the motivation for the requested prying was related to this case, or there were other, deeper reasons.
He reached the building he sought. Two stories tall, long, low, uninspiring mixture of brick, concrete and dark brown railings. He could not see the entrance, however. It was somewhere the other side of the six meters of security fencing topped with expanded rolls of razor wire and adorned with large orange diamonds, warning of the dangerous zone beyond. A white staff shuttle bus was waiting, doors open, alongside a security hut, both inside the wire. He could see one of the Department of State Hospitals’ police officers standing, talking on a landline, in the security building. The man glanced toward him, then looked down at what Adams presumed was a console. With a jerk and a screech of metal on metal, the gates started to part. The security officer waved him forward.
Twenty minutes later, after passing through a metal detector, being photographed for an ID badge, receiving a wireless panic lanyard, equipped with GPS for quick location, to wear round his neck, and passing through two more fenced areas, Adams finally stood in front of the smiling face of his colleague.
“Been a while since that conference, Noah. How ya’ keepin’?” A hand offered. Shaken vigorously.
“Great, Gus. I’m out of the FBI now. Finally retired. Got myself a small private practice and do consulting work for the CBI and Feds now and again to fill my time.”
“I was sorry to hear about your wife. I remember her well from that conference.”
“Yeah, thanks. She was fine… until she wasn’t. It was fast. Two months after the diagnosis, she was gone. That’s when I turned my leave from the FBI into a permanent goodbye. I went to stay with the kids for a while, but we were all making each other miserable, too many memories, so I came back here.”
“Are you on a con
sulting job now?”
“Yeah, for the DOJ California Bureau of Investigation. I’m hoping the resident I asked to see will give me some insights into the case we are working.” Adams looked around. They stood in a corridor, off-yellow painted walls with large picture windows, floor so polished you could not tell the color under the reflection from the fluorescents, darker painted, solid-looking doors on both sides at regular intervals. Cameras everywhere. “Lots of security here, I notice.”
“It can be a dangerous place to be, Noah. That Personal Duress Alarm System you’re wearin’; all the staff have them and they get used every day by at least ten staff members, often many more. They work anywhere on the grounds, inside or out.”
“That bad?”
“We have over ninety percent forensic residents here, what in the old days were called the criminally insane. The other ten percent are civilian cases, but they are in another building complex outside the wire. Of the ones here, most are quiet, follow the rules, don’t get into trouble, and take their meds. There are a minority, however, that put them and us under constant threat. Just keep your eyes and ears open and if you feel even the slightest bit intimidated by a resident, don’t double-think, pull that lanyard and help will arrive in seconds.”
“And Tobias Carter, which group does he belong to?”
“Good question. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he’s in the bigger pool. Twice in all the years he’s been here, he crossed over. Both times the other inmate died. In both cases, the dead guy was the initial aggressor, so ya could say he acted in self-defense, but his reaction was total. Zero to a hundred in the blink of an eye.”
“When did the last incident happen?”
“According to his file, which is where I’m getting this info as he’s not one of mine, that was about eight years ago. Does that mean he’s ready to erupt again, or is he still dormant, I sincerely hope you don’t find out.”
“People aren’t volcanos, Gus. But, I’ll take your warning seriously. Where am I meeting him?”
“Here,” He pointed to one of the doors. “That’s my office. He’s being brought as we speak. You can talk to him there. There will be a police officer outside, and a camera will be on you at all times. Do you want me to stay too?”
Adams thought about this. He wasn’t sure where the conversation with Carter’s twin might go and if something were said that could compromise the agent, a witness was not a good idea.
“No, thanks, Gus. I’m sure you have better things to do. Can I see his file?”
“It’s on my desk inside. He’ll be here in about ten minutes, which should give you time to read the important bits. When you’re finished, just signal the officer through the window. He’ll advise me too and I’ll come see you. Good luck. See ya later.” He turned and walked a short distance down the hallway. “Oh,” Gus called back, “I’ve left you a chess set in my office too.”
“What?”
19
The office was very different from the clinical coldness of the hallway outside. It was as though Gus had some interior designer in to fill the square meters with furnishings, including two bookcases and a couple of brown leather wingback chairs, each sporting a large cushion in fall leaf tones, sitting at opposite sides of a low wooden coffee table. The chess set, a thin cardboard board and small wooden pieces, dumped haphazardly to one side, sat in the middle of the table. The rest of the room contained Gus’ desk, again wood, a ruby-red mahogany pedestal affair with an inlaid green leather top, and a matching high backed captain’s chair beyond.
At first glance, the room spoke of calmness, peace, comfort. It was only when Adams remembered where he stood, that his eyes picked out the sturdy bolts holding the entire furnishings firmly in place. The antique desk had seven drawers, yet their habitual tasteful brass fittings had been removed and thick metal padlocks refused entry to their contents. Even the two paintings on the walls were oils done on thick cardstock, no glass, no frames. The desk was bare, except for a thick folder, presumably Tobias Carter’s file; no computer or desk lamp, no pencils, pens, letter openers or anything else that could be turned quickly into a weapon.
He was no expert in using everyday objects as weapons, yet even the chess set did not seem to offer potential in the hands of an aggressor. He had been told to leave practically everything except his handkerchief on a metal tray in the security hut. Subconsciously he fingered the lanyard hanging round his neck.
Adams reached over and retrieved the file. There was no way he would have the time to read through it before the resident arrived, but, thoughtfully, Gus had affixed little colored stickers at various points in the three inch thick volume. He quickly discovered that red highlighted the two attacks Gus had spoken about and related follow up sessions with Tobias; yellow corresponded to pages of therapy sessions where something of note, marked also by a yellow highlight pen, had occurred. Green he presumed would be used for moments when Tobias showed improvement that put him on the road to eventual release. There were no green stickers, though yellow abounded.
With a glance at his wrist to check the time on the watch that he had left in the security hut, he quickly read the yellow sections immediately before the red stickers, looking for triggers that perhaps he should avoid in his meeting with Carter’s twin. There did not seem to be anything that stood out as a subject or comment that could predict an ‘eruption’, in Gus’s analogy. Not even the red-tagged pages hinted at anything before the fatalities had occurred. It was, as his colleague had stated, like throwing a switch. Zero to one hundred in a microsecond.
He placed the file back on the desk, then thought better of having it so visible; he dropped it on the captain’s chair seat. It would be difficult to see from a standing position and, when they were seated, the desk would effectively serve as a wall to probing eyes.
Adams chose the seat facing the wall with the large panoramic window. Easier to signal to the police officer when he needed to. He also hoped that, with his back to the guard, Tobias would feel more secure, more free to talk.
He had lost track of time. Tobias still had not been brought to the office. Adams closed his eyes and performed a deep breathing exercise he had often used to calm his own anxiety before going into potentially dangerous situations when he was with the FBI.
His attempt at relaxing his mind was abruptly cut short by a sharp, loud rap on the door.
20
There had been a photo in the file folder; the typical head and shoulders mug shot. It must have been taken when Tobias had been transferred here originally. The photograph reflected a clean-shaven youth, thick hair the color of dark corn, even darker eyebrows that hooded penetrating eyes set in a full face, slightly plump, and broad, well-muscled shoulders and upper arms.
The man before him had little resemblance to that image.
The figure who entered, shuffled his way to the low table. Adams glanced down, half expecting leg restraints, finding none. Thin to the point of emaciation, gone were the muscles, replaced by wiry sinews that moved like snakes under a semi-translucent skin. The hooded eyes were still present, blue, the same shade as Carter’s, though the eyebrows and short-cropped hair were a dirty white. His back was bowed, the neck protruding slightly such that his head entered the room first, then the body followed. He was Carter’s twin, therefore the same age, but he looked like Carter’s grandfather.
“Doctor Adams. It’s so nice to meet you. I don’t get visitors, so today is special for me.” The voice, quiet, soft, mesmerizing.
Adams was a little taken aback. He was not aware anyone had told the resident his name.
“Please sit, Tobias. Can I ask you how you know my name?”
Slowly, like cold molasses, Carter’s twin poured himself into the chair opposite. He did not speak until he had adjusted the large cushion at his back.
“My sister told me. She said you are a psychiatrist. You used to be with the FBI but are helping her now.”
“But, I only met her for the first
time this morning… Did she call you?”
“Oh, we talk all the time, Doctor Adams. It’s a twins’ thing.”
“By ‘talk’ you mean in your head?”
“Yes. Have you not read the papers published on the subject? I have. I thought you had specialized in twins at one time. I’ve read your paper too. Nothing that new, was there? Telepathy between twins. A psychic connection. Mind reading. I prefer to think of a less esoteric, though more exotic explanation. Entanglement. Do you know quantum physics, Doctor Adams?”
“Er, quantum physics, no. That’s not my field…”
“It’s easy enough to understand. Think of it like a small block of ivory that has been split to form two, perfectly identical die. The atomic structure of both is the same and they have a peculiar property which makes them very useful in Las Vegas. When you throw them, the total of the spots on both is always seven. You clean up on the craps table. Now you take one of the dice and fly over to the other side of the world, let’s say, Manila in the Philippines. You leave the other die with a friend here in Vegas. Now when both you and your friend throw the dice, here in Vegas and thousands of miles away in Manila, the total still adds up to seven because the dice are each entangled on a quantum level with each other. Distance doesn’t matter. That’s not quite exact.”
“What isn’t?”
“My explanation. Normally if a particle is ‘on’ here, its entangled twin is ‘off’ wherever they happen to be. The opposite, you see. So the dice explanation isn’t really a good example.”
“Okay, I get the picture though. What does…?”
“Erin, Toby and me. We are entangled, like the dice.”
“But that’s three. If one is ‘on’ the other ‘off’, what state does the third have?”
“That’s a very intelligent question, Doctor Adams. Do you play chess?”
