The Suicide House

by Charlie Donlea

  “Agreed,” Gus said. “But there’s a problem with that theory. The foster kid said William Pederson got too close to the tracks and the train hit him. But the ME said in her autopsy report that the train hadn’t simply hit the kid, it obliterated him.”

  Gus pulled the autopsy report from the box, opened the file, and slid it across the table. Lane saw a photo of the kid’s body. He could barely recognize the lump on the autopsy table as human. He closed the file.

  “The train crushed his skull like a pancake and destroyed just about every organ in his body. Dragged him for two football fields before finally dumping his body on the tracks and leaving what was left of him behind.”

  “Looks awful,” Lane said.

  “It was awful. And that’s why I thought the kid’s story was bullshit. If William Pederson had simply gotten too close to the tracks, wouldn’t you figure the train would have hit him and thrown him away from the tracks? For the train to have impacted his entire body and dragged him so far, he would have had to be standing on the tracks, not just leaning over them. And I think the little shit pushed him there.”

  Lane looked out at the ocean and remembered Rory’s theory that the Westmont Prep kids hadn’t committed suicide.

  They’re not killing themselves, he remembered Rory saying. Someone’s pushing them in front of those trains.

  Lane felt a tingle in his chest, just below his sternum, as he sensed a connection between the cases.

  “Please tell me you tracked this kid down.”

  Gus took a sip of beer. “Of course I did. That’s why I asked you to come to Florida.”

  CHAPTER 87

  RORY HAD CONSIDERED THE BEST WAY TO TRACK DOWN GWEN Montgomery, and she decided a stealth approach was her only option. If the girl knew anything about Marc McEvoy, and why the man’s blood was on her hands the night of the Westmont Prep Killings, she certainly wasn’t going to tell Rory about it over the phone. And if she’d been hiding this secret for a year, Rory was going to need some help getting the girl to talk. A combination of trusted allies—the faculty and staff at Westmont Prep who taught and counseled her—along with an authority figure Gwen would think twice about lying to. To assemble this team, Rory did the only thing she could think of. She called Henry Ott. Rory hated tipping her hand on a case before she had all the answers, but she was far from home on this one and needed to rely on others in ways she was not accustomed to. Not to mention that confronting Gwen Montgomery would require access to the Westmont Prep campus. Rory had visited the campus with Detective Ott earlier in the week. The gates had been locked and opened electronically only after Ott had displayed his detective’s badge. If it had been a challenge for Henry Ott to gain access to this place, Rory had no chance of getting through the gates if she showed up unannounced.

  She parked on Champion Boulevard just outside the entrance to Westmont Prep. During her conversation with Detective Ott, Rory had covered all the things she learned over the last few days—the mysterious pennies that connected all the students and Charles Gorman, her suspicion that the suicide house was something much more ominous, and her findings that identified the source of the mysterious blood. If she had a few more days and access to all her usual resources, Rory would have played things out on her own. But in Peppermill, Indiana, teamed with a reporter who was surely itching to write her story, Rory had no choice but to bring others into the fray.

  When Rory headed to Westmont Prep, Ryder had gone off to work the Marc McEvoy angle and see if she could find any evidence that put him in Peppermill the night of the Westmont Prep Killings. Rory promised to call her later, when she knew more about Gwen Montgomery. Henry Ott had made a call to the school to speak with Gabriella Hanover and Christian Casper and bring them up to speed on this latest development. He told Rory that he’d meet her at the front gates. Together, and by the book, they would all track down Gwen Montgomery and find out what she knew about the missing man named Marc McEvoy. So, here she waited, sitting in her car, headlights on, and parked outside the gates of Westmont Prep. Her skin itched. Perspiration had the back of her neck sticky and damp. Her right leg vibrated, and the eyelets on her Madden Girls filled the car with a subtle jingle as she watched the dark road in front of her, waiting for Henry Ott’s headlights to appear.

  Instead, though, the gates to Westmont Prep rattled open. A figure stood in the darkness and waved Rory forward.

  CHAPTER 88

  GUS REACHED BACK INTO THE BOX AND PULLED OUT ANOTHER FILE. Inside were photos of the scene. He handed Lane an eight-by-ten that captured the tracks where William Pederson had been struck. A high-top basketball shoe sat isolated on the rails.

  “The train knocked the kid out of his shoes,” Gus said. “Ray Brower style.”

  Lane pulled the photo close to him. “Truth is stranger than fiction. Who knew that was possible.”

  “The reason it’s significant is because the train taking the kid clean out of his shoes confirms the idea that he was standing on the tracks when the train struck him.”

  “But the foster brother never denied this, did he? He never said he was just leaning over the tracks?”

  “He only said that William got too close. That he was there one second and gone the next. He claimed that he didn’t see exactly what happened.”

  “Maybe he blocked it. It’s common with trauma. Could have been suffering from PTSD.”

  “No offense, Doc, but that’s a bunch of psychobabble. The kid knew goddamn well what happened. And he had everything he told me prepared well in advance.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the history. It was too perfect. He practically gloated when he told me that he and William had been to the tracks before. That they’d done the penny trick many times. That they’d been caught a few weeks earlier and written up by a patrol cop. That they’d been reprimanded by their parents. And he had that goddamn collection of pennies just ready to show me.”

  “Maybe he had the story prepared because it was the truth.”

  Gus shook his head. “No way. It was choreographed. But the little shit was so calculating that I could never prove it.”

  “What made you so sure he was lying about it all?”

  Gus pointed to the picture Lane was holding. “See that?”

  Lane looked back to the picture. “Yeah. It’s the kid’s shoe. We’ve already been over this.”

  “No. It’s not what’s in the photo that bothers me. It’s what’s missing from the photo.”

  Lane scanned the image. “What’s missing?”

  Gus leaned forward. “His fucking penny,” he said, pointing at the photo. “There’s only one in the photo. The kid said they laid two pennies on the tracks—one for each of them—just before William was struck. Then, after the train swept his foster brother away, the kid panicked and ran home to tell the Pedersons. But that’s not what happened. The little shit waited for the train to pass, then picked up his own penny before he went home. He still had it in his pocket when I arrived that night at the rail yard.”

  CHAPTER 89

  RORY SQUINTED THROUGH HER GLASSES AND OUT INTO THE DARKNESS as she slowly pulled forward. When she was close enough she recognized Christian Casper. Just as Rory passed the gates, he stepped forward and approached her window. Rory adjusted her glasses and rolled the window down. Dr. Casper leaned down.

  “Miss Moore,” he said. “Good to see you again.”

  Rory remembered the awkward meeting from Wednesday when Drs. Casper and Hanover had driven her and Henry Ott out to the abandoned boarding house. The memory of her refusal to shake Dr. Hanover’s hand reddened her face and sent butterflies floating in her gut. Dr. Casper clearly remembered the incident, Rory figured, because he didn’t offer a hand tonight.

  “I just received Detective Ott’s phone call,” Dr. Casper said. “He said he was on the way over. I thought you were him when I saw the headlights.”

  “He should be here any minute. I was waiting for him.”

  “He sa
id you two were looking for Gwen Montgomery?” Dr. Casper said.

  “Correct. We need to speak to her about... last year. Something’s come up.”

  “Does this stem from something you found during your visit to the boarding house?”

  “Partially, yes,” Rory said.

  “After I received Detective Ott’s call, I checked with my staff. I’m sorry to inform you that Gwen went home yesterday. The summer session ended yesterday morning. She left in the afternoon. She won’t be back until the fall semester begins in a couple of weeks. Is this an urgent matter?”

  “Possibly,” Rory said, not wanting to confess all she knew until Detective Ott was present. “Where is home for her?”

  “Michigan. Ann Arbor.”

  “Would it be possible to get her contact information? Phone number and address?”

  Dr. Casper paused and offered a tight smile. He was hesitant with his words. “I’d need to speak with Detective Ott before I could give out personal information about one of our students.”

  Rory nodded and adjusted her glasses again. “Of course.” She checked her watch. “I’m expecting him any minute.”

  “Why don’t you pull into guest parking. We can wait in my office. I’ve called Gabriella Hanover, and she’s on her way over. I’ll pull Gwen’s file while we wait.”

  With the base of her neck wet with perspiration, Rory pulled past the wrought iron gate and into Westmont Prep.

  CHAPTER 90

  LANE CONTINUED TO STARE AT THE PHOTO OF THE LONE HIGH-TOP gym shoe sitting on the tracks and the single penny that accompanied it. Finally, he put the picture down.

  “Did you ever ask the kid about the pennies? Why they both weren’t on the tracks that night?”

  “No,” Gus said. “I figured I’d save it for later, but later never came because I could never get anywhere with my suspicions.”

  “Did you tell the foster parents?”

  “I never came right out and said it, but they were as suspicious as I was. They didn’t verbalize it, either, but the way they looked at me every time I came to the house told me that they were begging for help.”

  “What ever came of it all?”

  “Just another box that wound up in a storage unit. I was up to my eyes in homicides. This case was considered suspicious at first but eventually labeled an accidental death by the ME and stamped clear of the NYPD’s docket. There was nothing I could do.”

  Lane stared Gus in the eye. “Something tells me you didn’t simply let this die.”

  “I didn’t. Not for a while, anyway. I couldn’t peg that kid for William Pederson’s death, but something about him felt sinister. His eyes, maybe. His demeanor. I don’t know. But something about him had me on edge. So I looked into him. Researched how and why he entered the foster system.”

  “What’d you find?”

  “He was placed in state custody after his father hung himself from the bedpost in their home. The kid found him.”

  “Christ. Where was the mother?”

  “The day before the kid’s father killed himself, his mother suffered a mysterious fall down the stairs.”

  “The day before?”

  Gus nodded. “I pulled the case file on the incident. Looks like the ER docs indicated that the woman’s injuries were not consistent with a fall down the stairs. Someone had beaten the shit out of her.”

  Lane thought for a moment. “The husband?”

  “Maybe. He would be the most likely suspect, but he killed himself that night. The kid found him the next morning, called nineone-one.”

  “So the kid’s father beats the mother to death, makes it look like she fell down the stairs, and then he kills himself. With no other family, the kid ends up in foster care?”

  “No,” Gus said. “The kid’s mother didn’t die. She was beaten to within an inch of her life, but she lived. She spent half a year in a coma. When she woke up she was an invalid. She was never able to take care of herself again. With his father dead, and his mother in a near vegetative state, the kid became a ward of the state and went into the foster system. Six months after the Pedersons took him in, William died on the tracks.”

  “What happened to the kid’s mother?”

  Gus reached into the box and pulled out another file. “Like I said. That’s why I asked you down to Florida. I think our two cases might be linked.”

  CHAPTER 91

  RORY TURNED OFF THE ENGINE AFTER SHE PULLED INTO THE GUEST parking lot. She opened the door and climbed out into the night. Dr. Casper waited on the sidewalk. It was nine o’clock, the August night thick with humidity and ripe with mosquitos. Rory slapped one that landed on the back of her neck, drawn, she was sure, to the sweat that had collected there.

  “Was Detective Ott going to be long?” Dr. Casper asked

  Rory recognized the apprehension in his voice, as if he were talking to a child lost in the supermarket. Did your father say he would be gone long, sweetheart? Rory had heard this level of condescension her whole life. Of course, Christian Casper was a psychiatrist, and after their meeting on Wednesday, and the awkward encounter when Rory refused to shake Gabriella Hanover’s hand, she was sure Dr. Casper had created a working diagnosis for her antisocial behavior. It likely included an underlying fear of germs that produced her social anxiety, to go along with a touch of agoraphobia. He had surely placed her on the spectrum, and had considered a long list of medications that would fix all of her problems.

  A fat mosquito landed on her cheek, and Rory slapped it away, bringing her back to the present and taking her away from her distrustful thoughts.

  “Not long,” Rory finally said. “He told me he was heading right over.”

  “Let’s head inside. It’s much cooler and mosquito-free. Dr. Hanover will be joining us, and Security will notify us when Detective Ott arrives.”

  Rory followed Dr. Casper to Teacher’s Row and up the steps to the number eighteen duplex.

  CHAPTER 92

  “I DID SOME RESEARCH ON THE KID’S MOTHER TODAY,” GUS SAID, opening the file he had pulled from the box. “The family had no money and no insurance. She spent six months in the hospital after her injuries, and when she came out of the coma and it was determined that she would need long-term care, she became a ward of the state. Her kid went into the foster care system; she went into a state-run adult care facility in upstate New York. Spent twenty-three years there.”

  “And then what?” Lane asked. “She died?”

  “No. Two years ago she was transferred to a hospital in Indiana. About an hour outside of Indianapolis.”

  Lane’s mind began to churn. There was a connection there waiting to be made, but he couldn’t straighten it out.

  “But here’s the catch,” Gus said. “I put a call in to the hospital today to see if I could find out anything about her condition, and apparently... she’s missing.”

  “Who’s missing?”

  “The kid’s mother.”

  “What do you mean missing?”

  “They can’t find her. I talked to the local police department,” Gus said. “They’re checking security footage right now, but it looks like someone dropped her in a wheelchair and pushed her through the front doors.”

  Lane blinked a few times. “When was this?”

  “Last night.”

  Lane shook his head. “Who would abduct an elderly vegetative woman?”

  “My guess? Her son.”

  “The Pederson kid?”

  “Yeah, but his name’s not Pederson. That was the foster family’s name. He never used it. He kept his own name.”

  “Which was?”

  Gus looked down at the file. “Casper. The kid’s name was Christian Casper. He was fourteen in 1994 when his foster brother was killed. Best I can tell, he’s now a faculty member at Westmont Prep. Co-director of student counseling, in fact.”

  “Holy shit.” Lane reached for his phone.

  CHAPTER 93

  DR. CASPER WALKED UP THE STEPS AND KEYED T
HE FRONT DOOR OF his duplex. Rory followed him inside, adjusting her glasses and reaching to make sure the top button of her windbreaker was clasped as she crossed the threshold of the doorframe.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Dr. Casper asked.

  “No thanks,” Rory said.

  To the left of the entryway was Dr. Casper’s office. Rory noticed an executive desk sitting proudly in the center of the room, cluttered with papers and folders. Next to the desk were two chairs that faced each other across a coffee table. Rory’s skin burned with eczema-like irritation at the thought of sharing her deepest secrets while sitting in one of those chairs. She had pulled a dust cover over the secrets of the past year of her life, secured the corners with anvils, and planned never to speak of them again. The idea of sharing the most intimate parts of her life with someone she barely knew but for once-a-week appointments made no sense to her. She had been taught other means of handling the inner workings of her mind.

  “So what is this all about?” Dr. Casper asked. “Detective Ott sounded anxious to speak with Gwen.”

  “We came across some new information and wanted her . . . feedback on it.”

  “Anything for us to be concerned about?”

  “I... don’t think so,” Rory said, but the hesitation in her voice betrayed her.

  “It’s unfortunate timing, with the summer term just ending. Otherwise we could simply walk to her dorm room for a chat. And I apologize.” Dr. Casper pointed into his office. “I’m afraid my office is a mess as we finish up summer report cards and prepare for the new school year. We’ve temporarily moved the student records to the lower level.”

  Dr. Casper glanced at his watch.

  “Gabriella will be here any moment. Come down with me and I’ll grab Gwen’s file.”

  Lower level. The phrase stuck in Rory’s mind. She wondered for an instant, just a fleeting second, why he would use that term. They weren’t in the grand library building Rory had passed on the way through the front gates, where a basement could be considered a lower level. They were in a two-story duplex that doubled as Christian Casper’s office. Any stairs downward led to a basement. Rory forced a smile and adjusted her glasses again. She pulled the beanie hat down on her head, trying to hide behind the brim. She didn’t like basements, the one in her own Chicago bungalow or anyone else’s.