by M. Z. Kelly
“Too bad our guy doesn’t follow his example.”
My phone chirped. It was a message from Lieutenant Oz, asking me how I was feeling. I texted him, telling him that I was still feeling under the weather and would be in touch. I felt guilty about what I’d done, but justified it by telling myself that at least I was working the case, instead of listening to a news conference.
I then got back to the issue at hand, telling the others, “I’m feeling like we need to summarize things. Sometimes it helps me put things in perspective.”
“I’m the same way,” Rose said.
Joe exhaled. I had the impression he thought this was another waste of time.
“Let’s hear it, Buttercup.” He looked at Castillo, explaining my nickname. “A term of endearment.”
I smiled and took a moment to gather my thoughts. “About ten years ago, a man known as the Interstate Killer began picking up girls along the highways and murdering them. We know from a DNA match to one of those early victims that our killer was Joshua Brown. He worked as a truck driver at the time and found easy pickings along Interstate 40 where he operated.”
“Around that same time, April Lynn Thomas was taken,” Joe said. “Macy’s torture party lasted about six months before he was caught and put in the nut house.”
“And we have to consider the possibility that Macy was already working with Brown during that same time period.”
Joe agreed with me, adding, “After that, Brown’s method of operation began to change, something that probably confirms he was partnered with Macy, even while he was hospitalized. The killings continued, but the victims were now being posed, some of them dressed up and heavily made-up.”
Rose held up a couple of photographs of the later victims who were posed. “If someone didn’t know better, they would think these later victims were the work of a different killer.”
I agreed with her and said, “That’s why it seems likely that Macy was behind what Brown did, even while he was in the hospital.”
Joe nodded. “Macy was the dominant and Brown was the submissive, acting as his surrogate.”
I agreed. “Macy, no doubt, encouraged his killing partner to eventually become a security guard at the hospital where he’d been committed. After Brown was hired, they eventually came up with a plan for Macy to escape, using Dr. Moore and the clinical trials to facilitate things.”
I saw that Joe’s gaze had drifted off. “What’s on your mind?”
“I think we’re missing something.”
“As in?”
He took a breath and released it slowly, gathering his thoughts. “We think Macy and Brown bonded years ago, when Macy was on the outs. Then Macy gets arrested and is hospitalized. Despite that, they somehow stay in touch, with Macy probably orchestrating the killings, before Brown went to work at the hospital. If Brown did continue the murders at Macy’s direction, how did they communicate while our nutty buddy was in lockup?”
“You’re thinking there’s someone else involved?”
He nodded. “This was a three-way, and I think we’re missing someone who’s been at the party all this time.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Rose said. “As we know, Macy was in the hospital.”
Joe regarded her. “We know the guy’s manipulative, and smart as hell. Maybe he threatened a staff member and used them as a go between.”
“Or maybe it was a visitor, someone who was having regular contact with Macy.” I picked up my phone. “Let me see if Selfie and Molly can get the visitation records.”
A half hour later, the visitation logs going back to Macy’s initial hospital commitment were in my phone. I found that his mother had visited him at least once a year, along with a couple of cousins, and his attorney, but nothing looked remarkable.
“I think it’s a dead end,” I said.
“Then maybe it was somebody already on the inside, a staff member at the hospital,” Joe said.
I was frustrated and agreed. “I think we’re out of options. Let’s go visit the looney bin.”
FORTY-SEVEN
“I believe this is what you might call your lucky day, Marianne.”
The girl the man called the Reaper had taken from the convenience store parking lot tried to respond, but her cries were muffled by the gag in her mouth. Long shadows were starting to descend on the street outside the abandoned garage where Marianne Dolan was being held prisoner. Hollywood Boulevard was being closed for some kind of event. It all mattered little to Quinton Macy. All that mattered was that his display achieved perfection and notoriety.
“It’s some kind of Mardi Gras party,” Joshua Brown said after coming back into the garage. “I don’t like this.”
“It’s perfect,” Macy said. “What are you worried about?”
Brown met his ochre eyes. “Let me spell it out for you: The cops, the press, and the public.” He motioned to the horse. “When they see that and the girl, all hell will break loose.”
Macy walked over to the pale horse. He’d arranged for it to be delivered from a local stable several hours earlier. The animal had a pallid, yellowish hue. But it wasn’t the horse that held his interest. It was the life-sized puppet-like figure that he’d placed in the saddle. It was designed to carry a rider’s weight, and had been fashioned from leather, with openings for arms, legs, and someone’s head.
“It should leave quite the impression,” Macy said to his killing companion. “As you probably know, the pale rider is the last of the four horsemen, symbolizing death. It prophesizes an apocalyptic final judgment that is coming to the world.”
Brown seemed unimpressed. “Very interesting.” Macy’s companion rolled his eyes. “I’ll say it again. There are too many people around. This is a mistake.”
Macy’s only response was to turn back to the ashen horse. He picked up the instrument next to the animal. “According to legend, the pale rider carries the scythe as his killing instrument.”
His companion was still not impressed. “There are far easier and more painful ways of killing someone.” He looked at the girl. “Let’s get it over with.”
Macy left the horse with the strange death-puppet that sat upon it and walked back over to Brown. “What’s your hurry? It’s not even dark yet. The festivities aren’t scheduled to begin until midnight.”
“There are cops on the street and hundreds of people. I don’t like this.”
Macy tilted his head, breathing in the scent from the crowd that drifted up from the street. “I believe you are correct in your assessment. It’s perfect.”
Brown leveled his eyes on his friend. “Listen to me. This has to end. Corinne is dead, you killed her. The girl that I took…”
Macy’s amber eyes flashed with anger and he cut Brown off. “I think you’re right about there being too many people here. Let’s reduce the numbers.” He pulled out a syringe and plunged it into his companion’s neck.
Brown grabbed his throat and stumbled back. He made a gurgling sound, his words becoming a garbled scream.
“What you’re feeling,” Macy said, “are the effects of a powerful neurotoxin, commonly known as tetrodotoxin. The dosage you’ve been given is just enough to cause paralysis until our main event begins.” Macy glanced over at the pale horse and laughed. “When it’s time, I promise you’ll have a front row seat for the festivities.”
He looked back at Brown and saw that his breath was shallow. His killing companion mumbled something as he continued to struggle for air.
“Why?” Macy said, levelling his eyes on his paralyzed companion. “Is that what you’re asking?” He laughed. “Because you are boring, predictable, and a ridiculous waste of my time and energy.” Brown was on his back, his eyes rolling back in his head. Macy bent over him. “How does it feel, knowing that you’re going to be the personification of death, the pale rider set loose upon the world?”
His friend lay there, unable to respond. Macy left him and walked over to Marianne Dolan. “I believe thi
s really is your lucky day, my dear. The fates have granted you a reprieve.” He turned, seeing that the pale horse was agitated, maybe sensing what was about to happen. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a little while longer for the show to begin. Then it will be a display for the ages.”
FORTY-EIGHT
It was late by the time we made it to Berkshire State Hospital. Rose Castillo told us she had a class to teach and was unable to make the trip. As we drove, I asked Joe about his relationship with the forensic anthropologist.
“Back when I started with the agency, it was said that Rosie had a sixth sense. She could put together facts about cases that eluded other profilers with twice her experience. The agents called her ‘the bloodhound’.”
“Not the most flattering nickname.”
He shrugged. “It never seemed to bother her. Rosie was as dedicated and hard-working an agent as I’ve ever seen. She’s a legend in some circles.”
I thought about her theories as they related to our killer, how Macy was re-creating death rituals and had forced Dr. Moore to murder his own mother. We knew his father had died when he was a boy. I mentioned that, adding, “What do you suppose happened in Macy’s childhood to push him into madness?”
“Maybe daddy was also a killer and he studied at the feet of the master. Who knows? Who cares? As I said before, all I care about is vaporizing the bastard.”
When we got to the state hospital, the same clerk we’d spoken with on our previous trip looked up and saw Joe. Before he could say anything, she picked up her phone and said, “Let me get Dr. Marlow.”
Joe’s wide jaw jutted out as he turned to me while the clerk called the administrator. “Tell me something. Do I look intimidating to you?”
“I think you’re a big pussycat.”
He smiled. “You just made my day, sweetheart.”
Ten minutes later, we met with Dr. Marlow in his office and explained why we were there. We told him how his one-time guard had gone on a killing spree, with Macy probably orchestrating those events. Joe then added, “Our working theory is that somebody with the hospital was acting as a go-between for Macy and Brown. That means you’ve got an employee working here who is complicit in murder.”
Marlow, who was in his sixties, with white hair and the tired eyes of someone who had seen his share of madness, shook his head. “All of our employees are thoroughly screened, and…”
“Just like Brown was screened. Somebody has been working with your patient.”
The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Patient contact with staff is minimized.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen,” I said as Bernie panted at my side. “We all know about the history of abuse and violence in the state hospital system.”
Marlow didn’t respond. He finally said, “I suppose I could give you the names of his therapists and the technicians that worked on his unit. It’s going to take some time…”
“We don’t have time!” Joe barked. “Who worked with Macy besides Dr. Moore?”
“Dr. Moore was his assigned therapist. There wasn’t anyone else…except…”
“What is it?”
“Mr. Macy had another therapist before Dr. Moore took over. His name was Dr. Martin Javier, but I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to speak with him.”
“Why is that?”
“He committed suicide. That’s why Dr. Moore was assigned to Macy’s case.”
Joe glanced at me, then back at the administrator. “I need to know Javier’s last address and if he has any family.” When Marlow didn’t immediately respond, Joe raised his voice. “NOW!”
***
I glanced at the information Dr. Marlow had provided, as Joe drove us to the address the hospital had on file for Martin Javier’s widow. “It says here that Christine Javier was a psychiatric social worker. She also worked at Berkshire, before retiring a couple of years back. The couple didn’t have any children.”
“What is it with these people? It’s not bad enough you go to work in a nuthouse, you marry one of the employees. No wonder Javier offed himself.”
A half hour later, Mr. Sensitive and I were standing at Christine Javier’s front door. Joe let me handle things, after me telling him that I thought Javier might be more responsive to a woman.
“We’re looking into one of your husband’s former patients,” I explained after introductions. “His name is Quinton Macy.”
Maybe it was my imagination, but Javier’s pupils seemed to grow wider at the mention of Quinton’s name. She was an attractive woman, probably in her late fifties, with long brown hair and hazel eyes. Despite her pleasant features, she seemed nervous and put off by the fact that we were there.
“I have nothing to say on the matter,” she said, trying to close the door.
I blocked the door with my hand. “Please. I’m sure you’ve seen what’s been happening on the news. Any insight you can give us into your husband’s former patient might help.”
She regarded me for a moment before her gaze moved off and her chest rose and fell. The door swung wider. “I’ve only got a few minutes.”
We followed her into the family room and took seats on her sofa. The room was expansive, with glass doors that opened into a wooded area behind the home. We were in a rural area outside of Pasadena, with expensive homes on large lots.
I thanked her for speaking with us and began with general questions, hoping I could gain her trust. “Can you tell me how long Mr. Macy was your husband’s patient?”
She hugged her sides, not looking at me. “A couple of years, I think. I’m not really sure.”
“Did he ever express any concerns to you about Mr. Macy’s behavior?”
She met my eyes, nodding. “Martin had concerns about a lot of his patients. They were all deeply disturbed. That’s why they were in the hospital.”
“I understand. But did your…did Martin ever tell you that Mr. Macy might have been engaging in inappropriate contact or behavior with a staff member?”
“Inappropriate contact? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“There was a guard. His name is Joshua Brown. We believe that he assisted Macy in escaping from the hospital.”
Javier dragged a hand through her hair. “Are you sure?”
“We believe that he and Macy used Dr. Moore, the psychiatrist who took over your husband’s patients, in their escape plan.”
She didn’t look at me, but slowly shook her head. She whispered, “I can’t.”
I glanced at Joe, my brows inching together. I looked back at her. “You can’t what?”
She clutched her sides and drew in a breath. There were tears in her eyes as she said, “I can’t stay quiet about this any longer, despite what Martin wanted.”
“Tell us what you know.”
She released a breath, found a tissue, and wiped her tears. “Martin…before…he died. He said there had been some threats made against him.”
“What kind of threats?” Joe asked.
“He just said someone at the hospital was trying to manipulate him into doing something wrong. He didn’t go into details, but, based on what you just said, I think it might have been Brown or Macy. I think Martin was worried about someone also trying to harm me and didn’t want me to say anything to anyone.”
“Tell me something,” Joe said. “Why did your husband kill himself? Do you think Macy and Brown could have had something to do with it?”
Javier’s body slumped forward. “To tell you truth, I don’t know.”
I softened my voice. “Tell us what happened.”
“Martin was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He had less than six months to live, but he wanted to leave on his own terms. He was planning to take drugs when it got bad.” She met Joe’s eyes. “I found Martin after he hanged himself in our garage. It just doesn’t seem like something he would do.”
“Do you think Macy and Brown might have been pressuring your husband into trying to help the
m with their escape plan?”
She took a long moment before answering. “I think it’s possible. All I know is that what Martin did…the way he died…it’s just not like something he would do.”
“What about Macy?” I said. “Did Martin ever express any concerns about his behavior or what he was capable of doing?”
She nodded. “Martin said that Macy had begun to confide a lot of things to him. I think what’s been happening might have something to do with his sister.”
“His sister?” I glanced at Joe and looked back at her. “I didn’t know he had a sister.”
She sucked in a watery breath. “From what I know, his sister died when Macy was a teenager. He told Martin that he believed his father killed her.”
My forehead tightened as I tried to make sense of what she way saying. “There are no records of Macy ever having a sister, or of her death, for that matter.”
“She was born out of wedlock, the result of his father having an affair. From what Macy told Martin…his father kept her locked up.” Her eyes were heavy again. “He repeatedly raped her, and then murdered her when she was still a child.”
I glanced at Joe, who whispered, “The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
I looked back at Christine Javier, knowing there must be more. “What else did Martin say?”
She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “He told me that Quinton Macy admitted to him that his father murdered his sister…I think her name was Corinne.”
I took a moment, trying to make sense of how what happened had effected Macy and turned him into a monster. I looked back at Javier. “Did your husband ever have a theory about what motivated Macy to kill?”
She fixed her hazel eyes on me and nodded. “Martin was very insightful. A week before he…before he died, he said he had a conversation with Macy about death. He told me that his patient was not only insane, but he thought he was suffering from a variation of something called Capgras Syndrome.”
