Of Guilt and Innocence: Institute at the Criminally Insane (Virgil McLendon Thrillers Book 3)

by catt dahman

  “How did you feel, Naomi?”

  “Like a prized steer auctioned off to a high bidder. Shit-fire. But Mr. Hathcock was kind, and I had a big ole house, servants, too many dresses that I couldn’t wear but once or twice each. I liked him well enough. Hell’s bells, he was decent lookin’, smart, and was nice to me. I thought it was a good deal for my family, anyway. I loved the old fool.”

  “Mr. Hathcock adored Naomi, and they were happy for over twenty-five years. But her genetics also carried a bad side: all the women began to look very old and haggard about when they turned forty…almost all at once.” Redding patted Naomi’s hand and added, “It was as if time suddenly realized it had lagged far behind and made up for everything in the blink of an eye. Her other female relatives were already ugly and dumpy, so it hardly mattered to be a little more so, but for Naomi….”

  “I suddenly had wrinkles all over, and after six babies, my tits was a sagging, and my belly was wrinkled up. My teeth went bad, and I lost a lot of them. My hair started going grey and brittle, so I had to cut it off short. I looked eighty instead of forty-five, just ugly as sin. I knew Mr. Hathcock would never stay with an old hag like me.”

  “Now, Naomi,” Redding said, shaking her head, “he was devoted.”

  “Devoted enough for diseases?”

  “The autopsy didn’t show diseases,” Redding told Virgil, “but one day she took notice of her portrait that was painted when they were married, and she thought it was a picture of another woman above the fireplace. She took a knife to it.”

  “That was not me.”

  “Oh, Naomi….”

  “I heard my brother Jep saying it was fine to cut that old picture to bits. And Jep told me my husband was being unfaithful, so I chopped him up and was going to take care of the young gal that worked for him, but they caught me. All the doctors swarmed and asked silly questions. I had Jep help me though, and then they brung me here.”

  “Naomi has no urges to kill anyone here and no jealousy, right? Because she takes antipsychotic medicine, antidepressants, and sleeping pills to rest, and she plays softball, runs the library, organizes trivia contests, and more,” Dr. Redding said.

  “Yes, and I didn’t kill Leland Hoyt. I just killed my husband, and I chopped him up. Leland was a decent sort. I shouldn’t have killed my husband either, but it was one of those days, and Jep said to.”

  “Now, Naomi, Jep died when he was a young man. He didn’t talk to you.”

  Naomi winked and said, “Says you.”

  Virgil leaned in, “Was the history section in the library very popular?”

  “Only recently. No one used to care about the past. Literature, religion, and fiction are by far the most popular books to read. Science, too.” Naomi looked at Lynn Redding with guilt and said, “Don’t be mad for me not telling, but I heard Jep again one night. He was in the history section.”

  “Now, Naomi….”

  “What did he say?” Virgil asked.

  He said, “It was her child, Merry. It was wrath born. He made a record. Anyone would go insane. No one shall ever know about this. My love for gin.”

  Virgil took out a notepad and pencil and asked, “Can you say that again?”

  She did.

  “How odd. A child born of wrath? Insanity. A secret. And ‘My love for gin,’ Virgil repeated, “did Jep drink gin?”

  “Oh, naw, he was allergic to alcohol and got big welts all over his skin if he drank. I don’t know why he would say such a funny thing.”

  “And are you sure it was Jep?”

  “Who else could it have been?”

  “Indeed,” Virgil answered.

  Redding frowned, “If you’re having issues, we should tell Dr. Becket so he can adjust your medication.”

  Virgil held up a hand, “And when was this?”

  “Two weeks or so ago?”

  “Before the first murder?”

  “The night before, actually.”

  Virgil told Dr. Redding, “I think Naomi is fine unless she keeps hearing Jep.” He tore off two sheets of paper, wrote several columns of words on the first page, and folded it. Handing it to Naomi, he asked, “Can you locate any and all books relating to these topics? Quickly?”

  “Sure.” She took her plate and cutlery to the counter and hurried off to do a job. “I likes me to get those books. I wish I could read them all.”

  On the other paper, he wrote on a while and folded it and turned to Vivian and said, “I look forward to interviewing you, Miss Swanson. Can we plan a meeting in an hour or so? Maybe a walk outside?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Vivian said.

  “And would you be so kind as to deliver this to Dr. Kenshaw, and get his answer, please?”

  “Right away.”

  At the bottom of the note, he had instructions for Vivian, one of which was to destroy the note she carried after letting Kenshaw read it. Virgil felt like a coon dog on a trail, sniffing and smelling the prey, but unable to see it. He could see perplexing puzzle pieces lining up, but for all his piano playing in his head, he couldn’t make anything fit or find the damned raccoon he was hunting. All he knew was that someone had a secret worth killing for, and it related to a book in the thousands in the Fordham library; his gut told him this wasn’t a simple secret, but one that was huge.

  “Dr. Redding, would you be so kind as to get me a copy of every patient here, the date admitted, diagnosis, and employment or family business?”

  “Dr. Becket would have to get that, but I will ask him at once. It might take a few days since…well Mr. Hoyt…and increasing medications….”

  “I understand, but as soon as possible.”

  “I’m on it,” Lynn Redding walked away.

  “So am I,” Virgil whispered.

  Chapter Six: Murder Justified

  Matty Goldstein was a beauty with big, amber-flecked-chocolate-colored eyes and shiny black hair cut in a bob and had full make-up on and a fashionable outfit. She scooted closer to Virgil, having listened to the conversation. “How can I help, Doctor? I want to play detective, too.” She breathed in a sexy way, pouting her red lips provocatively and sitting so her breasts thrust forward.

  “Oh, I’m not a detective, but I’d sure like to know who is killing some of our patients. I am naturally curious about that, of course, considering the nature of our patients. I don’t think I’ve heard your story, Miss Goldstein.”

  She gave a throaty chuckle, licking her lips. “I have only a short one, Doc. I accidentally killed a fellow contestant in a state beauty pageant.” She let a peel of laughter loose and waved her hands dramatically, batting her eyes.

  “Accidentally?”

  “Of course. The silly thing, her name was Ginger, if you can imagine such a horrid name for anything but a cat. She was a complete pain in the ass, wore false eyelashes in the pool, never ate a morsel of food, and constantly flipped that long, silky blonde hair she was so proud of. We were on a tour; contestants do that, and sadly, the places we go aren’t always glamorous; some are boring places that sponsor the pageants. I know…hard to believe, isn’t it? Beautiful girls touring boring, drab places, and some are even dirty! The places. Not the girls, I mean.”

  “Of course.”

  “In this big laundry facility in Las Vegas; that was the place, and it was so steamy that it made my hair flat. Well, I accidentally pushed her into the industrial laundry machine.” She mimicked the action of pushing the girl in with a great deal of wiggling of her body.

  “I see. Into the machine?”

  “Yes, that long hair of hers was sucked right in, and so was she. The machine I am talking about steams the sheets with super-hot steam, irons them, and folds them. It was a terrible mess with all the blood and broken bones. The workers turned the machine off as fast as they could, of course.” She made exaggerated moves to show herself being folded, laughing.

  “And she was dead?” Virgil was hopeful she was dead because the story was horrifying but told happily by Matty.
>
  “Oh no, not at all. She was bleeding a lot, and she was scalped,” Matty said as she frowned prettily. “The steam really cooked her…gah…I can still smell her. It was nauseating, and many of the girls vomited. They got Ginger out, kind of in pieces, and then, her biggest pieces, her head and torso, came out burned. I’ve never seen so much blood and heard so much screaming before. Everyone there was screaming, but mainly she was the one screaming.” She silently mimed different reactions of screaming and gasping in fear.

  “And what did you do?” Virgil asked.

  “I watched. I mean have you ever seen anyone scalped? It was interesting.”

  “Afterwards?”

  “Well, I thought that with her dead, because she did die after about ten minutes of that wailing, I would go and win the title, but nope. I was arrested. Arrested, I tell you! Can you believe it? I mean it was mostly an accident. It’s not like I thought she would really die so much as….”

  “Just be scalped?”

  “Yes!”

  “So how did you land here?”

  “Oh, they say it’s Histrionic Personality Disorder.” She made her eyes big, and asked, “Isn’t that a fancy title?”

  Virgil pretended he knew what that was, and he asked, “What were your symptoms…according to them?”

  “I am too sexy, try to get attention all the time, and want to win the beauty pageants, and oh, they called me shallow.” She laughed loudly and over exaggerated her sexiness with a wiggle of her body. “And I simply had no sympathy for anyone. Ginger looked funny with her hair ripped off, and I still haven’t thought of a reason I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “You would be free…and in your pageants.”

  She laughed loudly and replied, “I am way past my prime, but let me tell ya that I am the most beautiful murderer in the world,” she said as she winked.

  Virgil was repulsed, but since he hadn’t been with any of the other patients long enough to compare her to them, he just couldn’t find an ounce of compassion for this woman although he accepted she was ill. It was hard to show mercy for the wickedly disgusting person; he felt she knew right from wrong although maybe she wasn’t able to care about it.

  He made a mental note to ask more about her illness as soon as he could because he couldn’t eliminate her as a suspect. Looking at her again, he asked, “Why do you want to be a detective? Do you have a suspect in mind?”

  “No, but wouldn’t it be exciting to solve the case? And If we solved the case, I could be a hero. I’d be famous, and I do know how to properly pose for newspaper and magazine pictures.” She cocked her head and shifted her body to the side to look more attractive, posing.

  “Well, if I investigate, I’ll keep you in mind,” he said as he shuddered at the thought. She wasn’t so much disgusting because she was a murderer as she was disgusting because of her lack of any regard for anyone else, and like many people Virgil had met over the years, she refused to associate with anyone.

  Her eyes betrayed hurt, “I thought we’d work together.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Virgil tried to ignore her. He had no more questions for her.

  As Virgil was thinking about when he first met Vivian, his wife now, he remembered that he had loved her within days; not only was she beautiful, more so than Matty Goldstein, but also she had a good personality. Vivian was smart, dependable, challenging, funny, and always positive. But more than all that, her compassion and love for people made her amazing.

  When Virgil met Vivian, she took to his deputies quickly, treating them as family, and when Virgil was left to adopt his deputy’s daughter, Charlie, Vivian was more than eager to be a mother to the child; she loved Charlie and treated her as her own and was like a mother bear with protection. The circumstances of meeting Vivian during a murder case were hard, but he felt blessed to know her and doubly blessed to have her love.

  Too bad all people weren’t as special as Vivian Swanson McLendon. Vivian had a prettier face than Matty, and Vivian’s hair was long and gorgeous, her eyes bright green. Matty was an idiot in Virgil’s mind.

  Bobby Andrews, another patient, smiled and introduced himself. “But I may forget you tomorrow, and you will never exist for me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Lacunar amnesia. We like titles here. They…the doctors love me because I am an unusual case, see. My brain just tosses out memories, and it’s as if the people or events never were there. I was teasing you about forgetting you. I have short term memory. I remember my father well, every detail actually, and the doctors say I have a mother; of course, I do, but I have no memory of her. They say I was married and had children, but I’m blank on all of that. I remember my high school prom though.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Virgil said.

  “Me, too. I looked silly in a tuxedo, and my date was a pale, pimply and a skinny weasily girl who was taller than I was.”

  Virgil chuckled with Bobby.

  “I would be sad, but I don’t know anything in order to miss it and be sad. It’s like Swiss cheese. Holes. It just goes in a flash, and I never know it. How can I miss what I never knew?”

  “Is it frustrating?” asked Virgil, for this man, Virgil felt compassion.

  Matty Goldstein rolled her eyes and ate ice cream as provocatively as possible, licking and slurping as she tried to get attention. Both men ignored her.

  “At times, like when I remember something and then nothing…then years later, I wonder about the Swiss cheese hole and what was there. It’s like reading a book and having pages torn out. I wonder at times. The good part is that one day I’ll forget everything, and then I won’t have to wonder.”

  Virgil felt a wave of sadness.

  “He’s special because he’s so rare,” Matty Goldstein snarled and continued talking, “try being in a beauty contest and having to show off talent, smiling even if your high heels hurt your feet, and keeping your hair perfect; pageants are hard work.”

  “I’ll forget you too, Matty; I can’t wait for that,” Bobby said with false bravado, “and you’re so full of yourself that you are overstuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

  “Asshole.”

  “And, Bobby, do you know why you’re here?” Virgil asked. He hoped it wasn’t something horrible because he liked this man.

  “I don’t remember it, the event itself, but they have explained it, and I remember their explaining it and telling me: they said I was barricaded in a room at our lake house for a few weeks, maybe stressed over what was happening in my brain because that’s what it is: a brain problem. My wife and brother came to the lake house to get me and make me go to the doctor because I was losing memories so fast.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “They came to the lake house and were worried sick about me, but I guess I didn’t know how sick I was because I couldn’t remember things to worry about. Evidently, since I didn’t know them, I panicked, and I thought they were robbers or something, and I shot both of them with a hunting rifle. To me, they were strangers coming into my house and trying to take me away. Although I can’t remember it, I am sure I was terrified.”

  “How dramatic,” Matty said as she rolled her eyes.

  “Matty, please,” Virgil said, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

  “I don’t remember shooting anyone, just know what they said. Even if I did remember that, it wouldn’t have had a big effect because I already had forgotten them and wouldn’t mourn them as a wife and brother. That’s all empty for me. It’s a hard concept to get around, even for me. I have a rare disorder, and I don’t even know why I have it. I am sorry I killed anyone, though.”

  “Do you recall coming here or anything recent?”

  “No,” Bobby said, “I mean no I don’t remember their bringing me here. I remember one day that I was walking in a hall and wondering why. I was scared, but Dr. Kenshaw was wonderful, calming me and helping me understand. I remember a lot from the last three years and have mostly intact memories, but bef
ore that…Swiss cheese.”

  “I hope they can help you.”

  “They experiment,” he winked as he said it, “but I take it day by day. Maybe holding on to bad memories is far worse than having no memory.”

  “Did you notice anything about the murders here? Hear anything? See someone with a bloody cuff or anything that stands out?”

  “I’m sorry, but no. I was asleep during all the action and didn’t see or hear a thing.”

  “Mr. Andrews, thank you for sharing.” Virgil looked around at Patricia Springsteen and greeted her.

  She was dressed modestly, wore no make-up, and was very calm. She looked very normal and acted very sane, but she was so straight to the point and honest, chilling Virgil to the bone.

  “I am diagnosed with fictitious disorder by proxy or Munchausen by proxy.”

  “Yes,” Virgil said, with no idea what that was, “and what led you to be here?” He decided he should get a list and look up all these illnesses. There sure were a lot of odd ones, as Kenshaw had said.

  “Dr. Becket has me on a regime of all kinds of medications, and I feel very normal now, but before I came here, I was crazy. I was sick. I killed my three children.”

  “Yes.”

  “My son Bert was three, and I was starved for attention and hungry to be noticed and to feel special.” She cut her eyes to Matty who ignored her and continued, “I fed him little bits of rat poison, Dr. McLendon, causing him to have stomach pains. That was wrong, and I am very sorry and regret it. I can’t image why I did such a thing, but I have accepted it.”

  “That’s good.”

  “The doctors and nurses were sympathetic, and Bert and I were inundated with attention and help, but, of course, they didn’t know what I was doing and thought the entire illness to be a mystery. They were fascinated. I know that was wrong now and….” She stopped talking but continued crying and wiping her face with a napkin. She showed intense remorse.