“Six men, two women. All holding a nineteen-year-old on the floor near the vitamin display. He really spun out of control.”
"What was the prescription for?"
"That's yet another weird part of all this. Sleeping meds, basically. He risked getting caught just for sleeping pills."
"Maybe he has trouble sleeping."
"Given what he did in that house, I hope he does."
“Anyone hurt?”
“A few bruised egos, but no real damage.”
“That’s good.”
“He calmed down right away, once they had him pinned.”
“When does the guy come in?”
“Tonight.”
“I’ll see him when I get in tomorrow, I guess.”
“We’re leaving it to Hannifin to sort out. But she knows that you’re the one for intake. She squawked about that, but there’s not much she can do. Brainard probably shut her up.”
“What’s his first name?”
“He goes by ‘Doc’.”
“What’s his real name?”
Chapter Four
1
At his home in Redlands, across the flatland of valley, Trey closed his cell phone.
Trey Campbell had only recently turned forty, and hadn't yet noticed age creeping up on him in any defining way. He felt as good as he had since as far back as he could remember. But he felt the years in one way: he now had basic fears about life that he hadn't had up to his mid-thirties. While he had been working with psychopathic killers at the Darden State Hospital for Criminal Justice since he was in his twenties, fresh from his studies in psychology, the effect of the terror that a man or woman in a psychotic state of mind could inflict upon others had begun to dig into him as it never had before. He had witnessed deaths and mutilations at the hands of a few of the worst killers that Darden State kept within its gates. He had seen the sorrow of victims – even of a child whose mother had been brutally murdered trying to save the boy.
And though he loved the work, and felt it presented a multitude of challenges that kept him on his toes and thinking and growing in some way – he had begun to feel genuine fear about life.
And yet, cell phone in hand, looking out the back kitchen window, it was an idyllic moment – twilight approached, the cries of the wild parrots among the palm trees in the field beyond their property. The late smell of orange blossoms that never seemed to leave the area, whether winter, fall, or spring. They had chosen Redlands as home because it seemed so separate from the rest of the area – it had avocado trees along its hillsides, and city orange groves throughout its park system. In the summers, there was local theater, and shows at the Redlands Bowl that the kids loved as they grew up. The house itself – an old adobe that had been one of the original ranch houses of what had once been miles of orange orchards. A one-story L-shaped adobe, with a beautiful Spanish-style courtyard filled with bird-of-paradise, bougainvillea, and even a plum try by its far, low wall.
And yet, the few times his job intruded – a call home, a vacation interrupted, a midnight emergency – he felt less safe. Less safe for his wife Carly, and their two children, Mark and Teresa.
He felt that the world itself was unstable, and that something – or someone – lurked in shadows.
He felt as if the bad guys who were out there – the ones who made him sometimes wonder if there were a God at all, given the way the human mind could create its own monsters – had stepped into the kitchen with him. At the glass table, right there, looking out on the backyard. Thinking now about murder, instead of the steak he had just finished marinating for the barbeque.
He glanced across the room to his wife, chopping onions near the sink. Her hands were a blur of movement; the smell of sweet onions in the air. From the open window, he heard the bickering of scrub jays and mockingbirds at the birdfeeder in the yard. It was an ordinary day. He knew from experience that it was the ordinary days that bit you in the ass and held on.
Carly grinned. “What’s up?”
“The son of one of Darden’s former patients. Back at Darden.”
“Second generation sociopath,” Carly said, a bitter edge to her voice. And then, “Come on, I’m joking. Who was the father?"
"Mother. Mary Chilmark. Bloody Mary. That's what they called her in the press. You remember the murders?"
"Was she one of the Manson girls or something?"
"Nothing that infamous. She was a nurse who murdered a couple of patients. I can't remember the particulars. I just remember hearing some things about her. She left before I got there."
"So Jane's bringing you back into something," Carly said, and it struck Trey that she said this almost as if she meant something illicit between the two of them. "I'm glad you've got this work, but I just wish sometimes you could do the nine to five and that'd be it."
“I’m being asked to consult. That's all."
“How’s that different?”
“It’s with the police. And apparently against Hannifin's wishes. But, in this case, they’re going around her. They want me to handle the intake interview.”
2
What had happened to Trey over the past months had shocked him. He had been sure after the incident with the Red Angel killer that he’d be demoted, fired, or worse, hidden.
But the opposite had occurred.
Officer Jane Laymon and the San Pascal County Sheriff’s office lobbied the state on his behalf, and a promotion had booted him up the ranks. He had already consulted on a case in Riverside, in the spring, and though there were administrators at Darden State who would’ve liked to get rid of him because of the ensuing scandal and lawsuit after the murder of a psychiatrist, he was exonerated of all blame, and wonder of wonders – at least to Trey – had had actually been asked to give monthly talks to the psychiatric community on the criminally insane mind. New title: Psychiatric Special Project Director. The title had come with only a slight bump in salary, an annoyance from some of the psychiatrists on staff, and the added bonus of being called into the field when a former patient of the Darden State Hospital for Criminal Justice escaped or when a potential future patient had been caught and needed what was called a “special circumstance intake” at the forensics hospital pending trial.
In the intervening months, he’d been prepping for further study by going nights to the University of Riverside hoping to complete a master’s degree in psychology within four or five years. Even Carly had conceded that the changes that came about from his few encounters with the more lively patient-inmates at Darden State had ended up being good for him and for the future life they envisioned. “You’re passionate about this,” she said. “I know. I have to step back sometimes. Sometimes, what goes on there is too much for me. But I know this is your path. I’ve seen you change these past few years, for the better. I know it’s been rough. You’ve gone through things that I don’t think I’d be able to handle more than once in a lifetime.”
Then, she kissed him softly on the nose and whispered. “I married a guy who likes working with psychotic killers.”
“It’s not that,” he said. But he could not say why he loved his work so much. He couldn’t express why the human mind in all its aberrations fascinated him. Why he sought to understand the sociopath, or the sexual sadist, or the one who killed simply for pleasure. It was the predator of humankind that drew him to his work, time and again. There had been – for the first fifteen years – the simple routine of the job. The lack of knowledge of opportunity elsewhere. The interest in working within the state of California, in mental health, and a complete admiration for the psychiatric profession.
But after his experiences of the past few years, he was more involved than he ever thought he’d be. He cared about the victims of the crimes, but he also cared about the rehabilitation of those who committed some of the most heinous crimes.
And yet, something about his work scared him, too. If he thought too much about it, it nearly paralyzed him.
That same fear le
d him to want the know more, want to study further, want to keep returning to the triple-fenced, guarded buildings of the forensics hospital known as the Darden State Hospital for Criminal Justice that had once been simply known as the Darden State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
In bed that night, he and his wife snuggled, and talked about things other than either of their jobs. They made love when the snuggling turned to an awakening passion, which at forty, he welcomed. Made him feel less weary of things, and reminded him of when he and Carly had been younger and probably more passionate about each other than they were about work and the kids. When they were done, she whispered in his ear. “I have some news, sweetheart.”
But he had begun drifting off to sleep – by then it was after midnight and he had a big day of meetings and talks and intake with Bloody Mary Chilmark’s nineteen-year-old son – so he missed what she said.
But as soon as he woke up, it was in his head. He knew exactly what she’d said as he had gone off into dreams.
Five fifteen a.m., time for his morning jog, but instead, he put his arms around her and said, “We’re having another kid?”
"Takes you a good eight hours of sleep to get it?"
"I think I was half-asleep when you said it. I thought it was a dream."
"Well, it's real. I thought maybe it wasn't. But it is."
"Wow."
"You're a little more enthused than I am," she said, drawing away, crossing her arms in front of her, and looking up at the ceiling. "I'm almost forty. I didn't really want this to happen."
"Surprise," he whispered, and moved over to kiss her on the forehead.
3
Early morning in the courtyard in back, Trey and Carly, sitting in the wood-slat chairs, up in the hills, looking down on the bowl of the valley with the great San Bernardino mountains in the distance, and the pitch black of roiling smoke somewhere along the range of foothills. A dazzling sunrise, between the yellow and pink of sky and the darkness of the hills. Peaceful. Calm. All harm was at a distance; Trey liked it that way.
Six a.m. was for Trey Campbell, and his family. Before work. Before the all-consuming time spent at Darden State on Ward D. Quiet moment for him and his wife, out on the patio, looking out on the beautiful valley below.
Even with some fire up in the mountains beyond blackening their view.
“The Santa Anas,” Trey Campbell said. “Like clockwork.”
“They’re a little early,” his wife said. “I thought they contained the fires.”
“I think that means they let them run out of control.”
He and his wife Carly sat out along the brick walk of the small courtyard of their adobe house that had a near-perfect view of the distant fire. At the beginning of October, it was slightly early for the fires, but the Santa Ana Winds had their own season.
“I hope it doesn’t make it over here.”
“It won’t.”
“It almost did. Last year.”
“Didn’t jump the freeway.” He took a sip of coffee, then reached over to pick up the soy creamer. Poured a bit more in. Another sip, and it was perfect. He closed his eyes, forgetting the distant fires, which were the bane of the dry California summer and fall. Images of Mark as a baby, rolling around on the floor, making his "dit-do" noise and blowing spit bubbles. Teresa, with her pout and the way she grasped his finger with all her might. Babies. Opened his eyes to gaze at her. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know. I’m too old.”
“You are not. Aunt Kelly had her first one at thirty-nine. My cousin had her fifth kid older than you.”
“Not much older. Aren’t you scared?”
“No way. I’m thrilled,” he said. “I definitely think we should name the kid ‘Surprise’.”
"Let's not tell the kids yet," Carly said.
He nodded. "Sure."
"We can always change our minds. If we want."
He let the comment sit. Everything was too new, even to Carly. He had to let it go for now. With each child they'd had, she had been skittish at first about having them. She weighed all the pros and cons, and she eventually would come out on the side of "pro." She always did. She had told him when Mark was a baby that she wished she could always keep him a baby because she loved looking at babies all the time, and he had told her that when Mark grew up and went to college, she better not still be babying him.
But even then, the pregnancy with Mark had been rough, and that was nearly thirteen years ago. He also remembered the birth, and how labor had to be induced, and how he spent thirty-seven hours convinced that the worst would happen. He didn't want to go through that again.
4
After they got the kids up and the showers began going and Trey went to put cereal in the bowls, he began thinking about the future, about the new baby that would enter their lives, about the disruptions it would cause, maternity leave, paternity leave, and remembering all of what they’d gone through with Mark and Teresa, so many years ago that seemed like the day before yesterday.
When his son came out of the bathroom near the den, a big towel wrapped around him, dripping all over the floor, having left the shower running and possibly overflowing on the tile of the bathroom floor, the last thing on Trey’s mind was the nineteen-year-old killer he’d be interviewing within two and a half hours.
Chapter Five
1
Somewhere a car alarm went off, and that was enough to wrench Jane Laymon right out of her soon-forgotten dream.
Jane Laymon woke up late – she'd been up 'til two a.m. going over the Flock murder cage with her colleagues – and Danny, her boyfriend had just come back into the bedroom after showering.
"You always look better naked than dressed," she said, grinning. She shot a glance over at the clock radio by the bed. Nearly nine. She normally leapt out of bed around five for an hour of running before she headed off for work.
As a joke, Danny began posing, flexing his muscles, and she had to admit that his regular workouts were paying off for him.
"Dance for me," she said.
"I could put on my uniform and strip, but I draw the line at dancing," he laughed, and nearly leapt on the bed. He crawled up to her, drawing the sheet back. "You slept in your clothes?"
"Gross, I know," she said. "I was too tired to take 'em off. I got my pants off, though."
"Poor overworked baby," he said, kissing her hand. Then, he sat up, straddling her waist. He leaned over and began unbuttoning her shirt. "I'll help you get ready for the day."
"You are always way too much into morning sex," she said.
"Morning, afternoon, evening, late night," he grinned. "But since somebody was out working hard all night, I think that somebody deserves a little special attention."
"Okay," she sighed, and then grinned right back at him. She lay back while he undressed her. His hand was cool against her warm skin. He kissed her nose, and then her neck, and as he drew her shirt open, he kissed her throat, and then her breasts as he cupped them in his hands.
"Let's take the day off," he whispered. "Just you and me and maybe a trip to the Laguna."
"I wish," she murmured.
"You've been under a lot of stress," he said.
"You're a dirty boy."
"I know. And you like dirty boys," he said, looking up at her from her stomach where he had begun kissing all around her navel.
As he slipped her panties off, she let the pleasure take her over. Not a bad way to wake up on a lousy day, she thought.
Afterward, after her own shower where he got in with her and shampooed her hair, which always drove her nuts in just the right way, she dressed in fresh clothes and switched on the TV. "No five-mile run today?"
"I told you, stress, stress, and more stress."
"A jog might help. I'll go with you."
"I can't face it. Plus, I mean, I don't want to take yet another shower."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Aw, come on. I love hearing a
bout all the murders."
"It'll drive you nuts."
"No it won't."
"It always does."
"I promise."
"Okay. Okay. A nineteen-year-old is in custody. We're keeping him at Darden for now. He hasn't yet been formally accused, but we're keeping him there for a couple of days."
"He's insane?"
"Seems to be. And his mother also is one of the killers. She's still on the loose."
"Who'd they kill?"
"A couple up in the Heights."
"You gonna be okay?"
Leaned into the cradle of his arm. "Yeah. I think so."
"Promise me something. Promise me you won't do what you did last time. You won't go into anything unprepared."
"I was as prepared as anyone could be."
"It scares me sometimes. This world you deal with. Murderers."
"Most of them aren't dangerous to anyone but their intended victims."
"If this guy's at Darden, he's like the Red Angel. Or that other creep. The one that…" He didn't finish the thought, but she had to block out the memory of how she'd lost one of her eyes.
"Well, at least we know who he is. We know who his mother is. They may be monstrous, but they don't have magic abilities."
"I know. But I want you to promise me. You'll be okay. You'll be prepared."
"Scout's honor," she said, and gave him a kiss while they watched a morning talk show where the subject of murder wasn't mentioned at all.
2
At the San Pascal Sheriff's Office that day, getting her third cup of stale coffee, Tryon, who ran the department, came out of his office. "I've been looking for you all morning."
"Sorry. Slept in. Need those eight hours sometimes."
"There's another body," he said. "I want you to run over to the morgue and meet up with Dahl. He's there now. And there's some trailer park to get out to. And don't be late like this. Throws everything off. Davis and March already have the techs out at the trailer, so at least it'll be kept clean."
Criminally Insane: The Series (Bad Karma, Red Angel, Night Cage Omnibus) (The Criminally Insane Series) Page 42
