"People do that now and then," Brainard said. "He was complex. She was, too. I have no doubt he loved her very much."
"How does it happen?"
"What – suicide?"
"No. How does a woman who kills three people – and at least with one of them, does something pretty nasty before the victim dies – get her time in Darden State completely cut?"
"You know how it works. She met the criteria."
"But she'd only been here two years."
Brainard shook his head. "You think this is quantifiable. It's not. We did our best by her. And it's not as if she went on a rampage after she got out of here. These current murders – which, I'll remind you, she's allegedly connected to, at this point – they're nearly twenty years separate from her time spent here. I have no idea what set her off, if indeed she was set off at all. We have her son here. He's the one we can talk to. But for all you know, Mary Chilmark is dead, too. Has anyone thought of that? Has anyone considered that her son may have killed her?"
Trey brightened a bit. "He says she's still alive."
"And he may be operating under delusional thinking right now. Are you playing detective here?”
“No, sir. I’m doing my job.”
“Your job is made-up,” Brainard said. “The state of California wants you here. Even the board members want you here. But I don’t. I’m not happy about the way you handle the patients. A psychiatrist is murdered in the foothills because of her own stupidity, and you, along for the ride, get a promotion. My best advice to you is to find a more administrative position, and get away from the hands-on approach until you have full medical training.”
Trey felt his hackles rise a bit at this remark, but tried to focus on the Chilmark case. “Sir, I don’t care about rumors. I don’t care about what you think of me or what you think of my promotion here. I respect your authority and your work. I just would like you to tell me about the murders she committed in the late 1970s.”
"It's all in the files. But I guess with your new position here, I need to follow-through or someone on the Board will slap my hand. Mary came here when she was young and troubled. She was in her early twenties. Just out of nursing school. She was smart. She had graduated early from her program, top of her class. She worked on the terminal ward at St. Anne's. As I recall, she murdered a man who was seventy-four, a woman of twenty, and another woman, who was pregnant. In my work with her – after she came to Darden, which was soon after her trial – she exhibited signs of molestation, trauma, and intense stress at the death of her father. She had precipitating incidents, including possibly the threat of rape, and sometimes, Campbell, we all have a button. When that button gets pushed, it sends someone over the edge. Her button was pushed, and there was no fail-safe for her. Additionally, she had attempted suicide a few years' earlier, although this was not known until we found the scars on her body. As we worked with her, she became not only a model patient, but began showing remorse for the murders,” Brainard said. “She told me that the old man had reminded her of her father. When she took him his medication one night, he had begun fondling her. This triggered the event which led to his murder. And unfortunately, she also went out of control that night. The others also were killed, although in some respects, they were bystanders in the hospital to main killing. Certainly, it was with the old man that she got her most…well, creative is a word I hate to use.”
“Not so creative,” Trey said. “She cut off his testicles and penis, and put them in his mouth. He bled to death.”
Brainard wore a grim look. “She was in the height of her psychosis. She had been raped, repeatedly, as a girl. She had been tormented and tortured by her father. A repeat victim of incest of the worst type. Her degradation was constant as a girl, and her father was responsible. And yet his death triggered feelings of guilt and fury. Trey, you know by now how this often goes. Psychosis meets abuse meets trauma meets opportunity to act-out. It's not always in such a neat package, but this one was practically textbook.”
“I understand. So, she took revenge on the man in the hospital for his sexual advances by castrating him. But why in the mouth? What's that about?”
Brainard stood up, and went over to the windows. He raised the blinds. Outside, a haze of light. "She liked for the punishment to fit the crime. That was part of her behavioral deviance. But she got beyond it. Through therapy and work, she responded, Trey. At least…at least it appeared that way at the time." Then, Brainard wiped his face with his hands as if he could somehow take the mood away. "I will say this. She was an extraordinarily sexual creature. Her appetite was enormous, which made us wonder if the traumatic episodes had not awakened a part of her brain. She could not seem to shut it off. Thus, her advances to the staff – and to me, yes – were constant. It could not simply be explained by acting out. She was seductive to the extreme., She knew that she was a beauty, and she did everything but unzip flies. I always brought two female nurses in whenever I met with her. Even so, she knew how to give subtle sexual hints of her availability."
"I doubt that poor old guy in the hospital ever touched her," Trey said.
"There was evidence to the contrary, of course," Dr. Brainard said, a slightly disappointed tone in his voice. "Look, Campbell. Her past history is there. It's in the files. You're welcome to them. We don't know who the father of that boy was, and I've always assumed it was Dr. Massey's."
"That one still baffles me," Trey said. "He married her after he got her out."
"Yes."
"Until he took his own life. And yet this seemed to trigger nothing in her. No incidents reported. She lay low and was quiet. How well did you know Massey?"
"Not well enough. He was a troubled man. Sometimes those who enter the psychiatric field do so primarily because they are deeply troubled," Dr. Brainard said. "Some of us are here out of genuine curiosity of the mind, other are here because it was their training, and still, now and then, a man like Dr. Massey will show up who has spent his life studying the mind and its psychoses because he does not have a handle on himself. When he told me he wanted to…well, take care of her on the outside, I assumed that baby was his. But it might not have been. Maybe it was another patient here. A tech, or an orderly. Anybody. We may never know. But despite her sexual proclivities, she met all the criteria for release. And, per the law, we could not keep her if the Board felt she would benefit from release. You weren't around then, but some very progressive judges were looking over cases like Mary's, and she met every one of their checklists as a good candidate for continuing therapy and reintegration into the outside world."
Trey remained silent. Seconds ticked by on the wall clock – it was nearly noon.
Dr. Brainard half-grinned, like a man who remembered his youth much better than it ever could be. "I was fresh out of my first internship, and came here to really help these people. I hope I have. I hope I continue to do so. She was different. She didn't even look like the other patients. She seemed healthy and vibrant, and sometimes…sometimes when I spent time with her, I felt as if she were a psychologist sitting there, talking to me. Intelligent. Curious. Not at all like a patient or a prisoner." Brainard shook his head. "I just can't believe she's regressed to this point. I mean, she hasn't had a history since leaving here. Not 'til today. Are they sure her son didn't act alone?"
Trey nodded. "Yes. Even Doc Chilmark puts himself there with her."
"Doc?"
"Her son. His name's Quentin, but he goes by Doc. He thinks he's a natural healer. He claims she acted as his nurse for the operation."
"He may be lying."
"I don't think he is. I don't think he cares. He believes he did the right thing by the woman and her baby."
Something changed in Brainard's demeanor. He suddenly looked as if he had some insight that hadn't occurred to him before. “With that man in the hospital. Back then. She cut off his penis and testicles and stuffed them in his mouth and stitched his lips together. She said she did it so he’d know what it felt li
ke, too. What she'd felt like having him want to put it in her mouth. Is there something about this murder like this? Some kind of warped poetic justice?”
Chapter Seventeen
1
As soon as he'd left Brainard's office, Trey went out to the grounds and opened his cell phone. Jane Laymon picked up after two rings. “The Flocks knew the Chilmarks. Somehow. They had some relationship with them.”
“Nobody seems to be able to put them together. I wonder how they interacted.”
“I don't know. But they had to. Tell me exactly what was done to the bodies.”
Jane catalogued the murder scene for him: the way the woman was cut open. The blood. The man was first attacked on the stairs, but likely was not meant to be the victim. He had simply surprised them. If he’d come home an hour later, he’d be alive.
The woman was the intended victim.
She had done something to Bloody Mary and Doc.
They had extracted their revenge in some way.
2
In the room, with Doc Chilmark. Straitjacket, hobbles. Doc looked too comfortable in them.
“How did you know Mrs. Flock?” Trey asked.
“I don’t know nobody with that name.”
“Your mother. How did she know her?”
“My mother is a nurse. She knows when people are sick."
"But you're a doctor," Trey said. "Don't you know?"
"Not always. Sometimes a nurse knows more than a doctor. Everybody knows that's true. Sometimes doctors can be very, very blind to things."
Trey kept his eyes on the young man. In restraints, sitting up in his cot. Then, Trey got up and left the room.
3
In the hall outside Chilmark’s room in Program 28. The guard, Atkins, stood by.
“Why’s he still in a jacket?” Trey asked.
“Every time we take it off, he goes for the balls.”
“His or yours?”
Atkins chuckled. “I don’t care if he goes for his. It’s mine I’m thinking about.”
“I want the restraints off.”
“With respect, I think that’s unwise, Trey.”
“We can bring in some more officers if you feel the need for protection. There’s no reason for him to have that straitjacket on and the hobbles in there. The only reason for it would be if he hurt himself in some way.”
"Can I ask why?"
"He's too comfortable in that straitjacket. He likes being bound up. I want him a little uncomfortable for awhile."
Atkins’ expression soured. “Okay. Well, we’re gonna need some heavy hitters. Let’s get Anderson, Jarrett, and Schwartz down here. If this gets into ‘take-down’ territory, I assume you’ll accept responsibility.”
“Completely,” Trey said. “Let’s do it.”
4
Twenty minutes later, three more beefy guys showed up, with Jim Anderson, among them, with a big smile.
“Five guys with a nineteen year old. I think we should be able to keep this together,” Trey said,
He unlocked the door to Chilmark’s room.
Inside, Chilmark had already taken the straitjacket off.
5
“It’s an old trick,” Chilmark said, once Trey had entered the room again. “When I was little I loved Houdini. He was into ghosts and séances, just like me. He could escape from anything. Straitjackets are easy. I have a jacket like this at home. When I was little. When I was bad. My mother would put me in it. She told me it was so I wouldn’t hurt myself.” The cadence of his voice had a chilling effect on Trey, and he felt that the other guards with him must've felt it, too. Chilmark was too relaxed. It was nearly as if another personality had come out from him. Nothing threatening. Nothing worrisome, but a completely different aura to his tone and the slight grin he wore. It was as if he were playing a part for them.
“Okay. Okay, so you can do the amazing escape trick, too. So, why didn’t you do it before?”
“I wanted to impress you,” Chilmark said. Then, he grinned. "Well, plus I don't mind the jacket."
"I know, Doc. You feel good in it."
"I like this place," Chilmark said. "It feels like a calm place. Not like that other place."
"What other place? The Flock's house?"
"That was awful," Chilmark lost his smile. "Awful. I couldn't stand the light outside. The shadows. It all came crawling at me."
"What crawled at you?"
"They're like spiders sometimes. Crawling, crawling. From shadows outwards. They like to bite when they touch you."
"Spiders?"
"Not spiders. Like spiders. The fears. The fears come at you. They crawl and they hiss and they come from a very bad place. Very bad." As Chilmark spoke, Trey felt the level of tension in the room rise.
"It's all right now," he said. "It's okay, Doc. You're here. Right here. No fears around. No shadows."
Chilmark took a deep breath and when he breathed out, he groaned. "If you take a breath and count to four before you exhale, you can make them go away. Sometimes."
"Why do they come?"
"The fears are there after healing. The ghosts move on, but the fears they leave behind start wanting to find someone else to get inside. You know about night fears?"
Trey nodded.
"No, you don't," Chilmark chuckled nervously, clapping his hands together. "You don't even know how many you have. But I know how many I have around me. In the dark."
"How many do you have?"
"Oh. Thousands. Thousands and thousands, but they can't get in me. No, no, no. They want to, though. All the healing releases them. And they're waiting for me at night. They want me to close my eyes, but when it's dark out I always keep my eyes open. Always. When that lady got healed, and I saw her shadow go off to heaven, I knew that she left behind fears. Nothing you can do about that. Fears always stay back and they want to make a nest under your skin. That's what they do. They dig under your skin with their sharp little claws – teeny-tiny so you can feel them but you can't see them at all – and they want to get inside you so they can do all kinds of things to you and eat you up from the inside out. That's what they do. They eat at everything under your skin. But I don't let them in me. No fears have gotten into me. They all wait to try and get under my skin. But they haven't gotten in yet. Well, once. But my mother destroyed them for me. You see how she did it? She did it right," he said, pointing to the streaks of scars along his face. "They got under my skin, nearly a hundred of them, but she went in with her cutters and she got them all out and if I don't sleep at night, they can't get back in me."
Trey let him calm down before returning the conversation to the murder. “Let’s talk about the Flock family.”
“Who?”
"You operated on a woman who had a baby inside her."
"It was a malignant tumor," Doc said. "She would've died with it in her."
"She's dead now."
"So you say. But I've seen her. Since. And she looked fine to me."
"How well did you know her?"
"I didn’t know her," Doc said, a mischievous look on his face as if he were playing some kind of prank.
"Your mother knew her, then."
"You could say that," Doc grinned.
6
When Trey had gotten Atkins to unlock the door again, he brushed past him toward the double-doors that separated Program 28 from the rest of Ward D. He walked swiftly down the hallway and opened his cell phone. Tapped in a number, waited; Jane Laymon picked up.
"Okay," she said. "Look, meet me at the morgue. It might help to see the handiwork. If you're ready. You sure you're up for this?"
"I'm not. But she's out there somewhere. And she might be ready to kill someone else again," he said, and tried not think of Carly at work or at home or going to the post office, pregnant, the way Diane Flock had been pregnant. Just having an ordinary day at the very moment someone decided to torture her – and her unborn child – to death."
Chapter Eighteen
1
The morgue in San Pascal was across town, but there was no traffic on the freeway, and he managed to avoid the red lights on the streets up to it. He parked, and Jane was already there, at the automatic doors in front of the Sheriff's building, looking grim but still managing to smile when she saw him. Once inside the building, a slender man of fifty or so came up to the two of them, and Jane introduced them. "Trey, this is Howard Dahl. He's our lead investigator."
"Good to finally meet you, Mr. Campbell," Dahl said, shaking his hand vigorously, continuing to walk with them toward the stairs down to the morgue. "Laymon's told me she prepped you on the murders already."
"Yes," Trey said, noticing the smell of alcohol and bleach that wafted up from the staircase below.
"What she probably hasn't mentioned yet," Dahl said, "is that there was another murder. Only nobody thought it was a murder until we found some evidence linking it to the Flocks."
2
Trey had put on a breathing mask, both because of the chemicals in the vicinity and the stink of the corpses. The smells were unavoidable at the morgue, no matter how the ventilation system worked and no matter how low the temperature of the rooms. The lights overhead were nearly blinding if Trey looked up from the table, and they afforded the corpse on the table a glistening white, almost as if it were an alabaster sculpture rather than human flesh.
And it was not one of the Flocks. They were on separate tables toward the far end of the room.
This was a victim that had not been thought of as a victim.
Until now.
3
Criminally Insane: The Series (Bad Karma, Red Angel, Night Cage Omnibus) (The Criminally Insane Series) Page 48
