Before he could stop himself he said, ‘I’m sorry.’ He’d always wondered why people said such things to total strangers. He imagined it was, as was the case with him, something instilled by parents. He continued, knowing he was digging a hole, but for some reason could not seem to stop himself. ‘Did it happen on the job?’
Nica shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It was the cancer.’
The cancer. It was one of the many reasons Byrne wanted to move to a small town one day. Things like cancer were still given proper weight.
‘Top your cup?’ she asked.
‘Please.’
Byrne wolfed down his food in record time. Part of it was that he had not eaten since his dinner with Colleen. The other was that he saw that the weather was turning, and he had to get on the road.
Nica came back with the coffee pot. Byrne declined a refill.
‘Good pancakes,’ he said.
She tossed a hip, pulled her pad out of her pocket, tore off his check, slipped it delicately onto the counter in front of him. She lowered her voice to a whisper.
‘At my house they come with blueberries.’
Byrne smiled. He loved straightforward women. ‘I love blueberries.’
After paying his check, Byrne turned at the door, waved.
‘You be careful on the road,’ she said. ‘Stop back sometime.’
Byrne walked into the coming storm. He flicked a glance at the name of the diner, the blue and yellow sign at the road.
He’d remember.
Byrne traveled another hour north, his mind a deadfall of questions. As pretty as the waitress was, and as much as it was nice to be flirted with, by the time he reached the exit his mind had returned to the reason for the trip, and the darkness that compelled him.
He pulled off, entered the parking lot for the campground.
Ten minutes later, as he found himself on the winding trail, it began to snow.
He was not prepared for the cold. He was underdressed. With his leather-soled shoes, every step into the forest was a challenge. More than a few times he had to hang onto a tree limb to keep from falling.
Byrne looked at the hand-drawn map again, already yellowed with age. Somehow it had gotten dark in the past twenty minutes. He pulled out his mini Maglite, shown it on the paper. Snow fell on the page, and when he tried to wipe it off he smeared the crude drawing.
‘Shit.’
Byrne turned 360, saw nothing but darkness. The smart thing would be to head back down, find a motel for the night, try again tomorrow.
That’s when he saw the light on the other side of the field, perhaps a half-mile away. It was dim, but it was there. He started toward the light.
He was halfway across the field when he saw someone coming toward him. Byrne’s hand instinctively went to the weapon in his holster. He stepped behind a tree, his heart racing. What had he gotten himself into? He wasn’t in the city any more. He was way out of his element.
But there was nothing he could do now. He steadied himself, stepped back into the field, into the open.
In front of him, no more than ten yards away, stood a man with a very big crossbow in his hands. Byrne lifted his flashlight, shone it on the man. What he saw made the breath catch in his throat. The man in front of him looked bad, almost craven – long hair and beard, sunken cheeks, red-rimmed eyes. Byrne had not seen him in a while, and what he saw now broke his heart. At one time Ray Torrance had been a mountain.
‘My God,’ Torrance said. ‘You.’
Byrne held up the charm he’d found on Violet’s purse. The first time he’d seen it was when Ray Torrance had shown it to him three years earlier, and told him the words he’d said to the teenaged girl:
If you’re ever in trouble, just present this to any detective in Philadelphia. They will take care of you.
On the back of the locket was Ray’s badge number:
PPD 3445
From time to time, over the past three years, Byrne had thought about the locket, about Ray Torrance. He wondered what had become of both. He’d wondered if he’d ever see either of them again.
He never expected it to be with a two-year-old-girl.
‘I found it,’ Byrne said.
On the trip from Philadelphia, Byrne had considered what Ray Torrance might say or do when he told him. When Ray fell to his knees and began to scream, Byrne realized that the locket was connected to a darkness more profound than he knew.
All Kevin Byrne could do at that moment, on a frigid mountain trail in Pennsylvania, was help his friend to his feet, and begin the long walk back.
THREE
44
Word had floated through the Roundhouse, and the department, that Detective Raymond Torrance was back in town.
Torrance had worked in a number of different squads and districts over his more than two decades on the force, had made a lot of friends. A few enemies, too, of course. It came with the territory. It was virtually impossible to do twenty years or more as a detective and not step on other cops’ cases, not ruffle feathers, not ride forensic and science teams a little hard. It all depended on your style, and your closure rate. Detectives who closed cases got a lot more leeway.
Then there were the people you put in jail. They did not remember you fondly.
The fliers were put on bulletin boards at every district in the city. The party would be held at Finnigan’s Wake.
Jessica watched the man work his way around the duty room. She had seen Ray Torrance around at events back in his day, but had not known him. She had heard the legend. When it came to the Special Victims Unit, Ray Torrance’s name was spoken in whispers.
Jessica also knew that he had been injured badly on the job a few years ago, but did not know the details. Byrne told her what he knew about the incident, which wasn’t very much.
‘Who was the teenaged girl?’ Jessica asked.
‘I don’t know. All I know is Ray gave her a heart locket, and told her to show it to any detective in Philly if she ever needed help.’
‘Did you know about it?’
Byrne nodded. ‘He told me about it when he was in the hospital.’
Jessica looked across the room, saw Ray Torrance sharing a moment with Dana Westbrook.
And then it hit her.
‘Oh my God, Kevin. The locket was —’
‘Yeah,’ Byrne said. ‘The little charm attached to Violet’s purse.’
Before Jessica could say another word she looked up to see Ray Torrance slipping on his overcoat, shaking hands with the other detectives. He was getting ready to leave.
Jessica glanced at her watch. She had to leave as well. If she was lucky, she would get about five hours of sleep this night. She had an early-morning class.
Ray Torrance walked over to where Jessica and Byrne were standing. He gestured to the less than elegant décor that was the homicide unit.
‘Some things never change,’ he said.
‘Not the good stuff,’ Byrne replied.
Torrance turned to Jessica. It looked like he was about to say something, but remained silent.
For some strange reason, at that moment, Jessica wanted to hug him – he looked so pained, so lost – but she stopped herself, even though his sad eyes brought out every maternal instinct within her. She extended her hand.
‘It’s great to see you,’ Jessica said.
‘The pleasure is mine,’ Torrance replied. They shook hands. Ray Torrance’s hand was calloused, but his grip was warm and gentle.
‘Hope to see you again soon,’ Jessica said.
Torrance smiled. ‘I’ll be around.’
The next day they spent the morning and early afternoon on the phones, trying to track down personnel who had worked at Cold River, without any luck. By two o’clock they had called every hospital in Philadelphia, Bucks, Delaware and Montgomery counties. Although the offices for the administrators were for the most part forthcoming, they were told that, to the best of their knowledge, there were no doctors or nurses
on staff who were at one time employed by the Delaware Valley State Hospital.
It seemed unlikely, but Cold River’s reputation, such as it was, might have made for less than full disclosure on application forms.
What had gone on there? Jessica wondered.
Jessica looked at the legal pad on Byrne’s desk. All but two of the hospitals had been crossed out.
‘I knew the place had problems, but I didn’t think it was this bad,’ Jessica said. ‘Nobody worked there?’
Byrne just stared at his computer screen.
At two o’clock Colleen walked into the duty room. She sat at one of the empty desks. Byrne got her attention.
‘I’ve got two more calls to make and then we can go,’ he signed. ‘You okay?’
Colleen smiled. ‘I’m fine.’
Jessica made her next call, to a small clinic in Chester County. She was soon routed to the person who handled HR, Human Resources, for the facility. As she had been told for most of the day, no one currently employed, or recently employed, had once worked at the Delaware Valley State Hospital.
She was just about to make the final call on her list when she looked over to see Byrne with his hand in the air, trying to get her attention. She and Colleen walked over to where Byrne was sitting.
‘Yes,’ Byrne said into the phone. ‘That would be great.’ Byrne gave a thumbs-up. ‘We’ll be up in about an hour. Who should we ask for?’ Byrne scribbled a name on his notebook. He underlined it three times. ‘That would be fine. Thanks very much.’
Byrne hung up.
‘You found someone who worked at Cold River?’ Jessica asked.
‘Yes,’ Byrne said. ‘I talked to a woman in HR at this place called Sunnyvale. She said that there was a woman in her facility who once was one of the administrators at Cold River.’
‘What is Sunnyvale?’
‘It’s a nursing home in Montgomery County. She said this woman – Miriam Gale – was a director of personnel at Cold River for a long time, right up until they closed the main hospital. The woman I spoke to said Miriam is ninety-one.’
‘Will this woman talk to us?’
‘She said that Miriam would not have a problem talking to us, but we might have a problem talking to her.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Byrne glanced at Colleen, back at Jessica. ‘Miriam Gale is deaf.’
Jessica took this in. They would need an interpreter. ‘Does anyone at Sunnyvale sign?’
‘I didn’t get that far. I figured we’d go up there and wing it. If we have to, we can write out the questions on paper.’
Jessica could see that Byrne was doing his best not to look at his daughter. Colleen thumped a hand on the desk, got his attention. She signed: ‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ Byrne replied.
‘Hello? Deaf person here.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Let me help.’
Byrne took a few moments. ‘That’s okay, honey,’ he said. ‘I can sign pretty well, you know. I can handle this.’
Colleen brought her hand to her mouth. She was trying to keep the laugh inside.
‘What?’
Colleen waved the question away. ‘Nothing.’
Byrne looked at Jessica, then back at his daughter. ‘I can’t ask you to do this, Colleen.’
‘Dad.’
‘I would have to clear it with the boss, and I just don’t think she’d —’
‘I’ll ask,’ Jessica said. She slid off the desk, crossed the duty room.
On the way, she and Colleen did a quick, covert fist bump.
45
The Sunnyvale Center was a long-term, non-profit nursing home funded, in part, by the taxpayers of Montgomery County. The 360-bed facility provided sub-acute and skilled care to its residents.
On the way to the nursing home Jessica had written a number of questions on a notebook page, and Colleen had typed them into her MacBook Air. The plan was – that is, if everything was cleared by not only the administrators and caregivers of the facility, but the woman herself – that Colleen would ask the woman questions in American Sign Language, then type the woman’s answers into the laptop so that Jessica and Byrne could read them.
When they met the chief administrator, they were given the expected caveats – that being that Miriam Gale was ninety-one, was on a host of medications, and could only answer their questions for a short period of time.
Having cleared that hurdle, Jessica, Byrne and Colleen were led down a broad corridor to the woman’s room. Before they entered, Colleen took Jessica and Byrne to the side.
‘I think I should go in first,’ Colleen signed.
‘Why?’ Byrne asked.
Colleen thought for a moment. ‘You can be kind of a scary guy, sometimes,’ she said. ‘I hope that doesn’t come as a shock.’
Byrne looked at Jessica, back at Colleen. For a moment it looked like he was going to argue the point. In the end he just made the sign for: ‘Okay.’
A few minutes later Colleen walked out of the woman’s room.
‘How did it go?’ Byrne asked.
‘She’s really sweet. I asked her about her deafness. There’s a big difference between someone who was born deaf, like me, and someone who became deaf later in life.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘She said she’d always had some degree of hearing loss, even as a child, but when she contracted meningitis in her late forties she became deaf.’
‘Does she know why we want to talk to her?’
‘Not all of it. I don’t know all of it. I just told her that you are with the police, and that she can help. I told her that you just wanted to know a little bit about Cold River.’
‘Thanks, honey,’ Byrne said. ‘Good work.’ He looked at Jessica. ‘Ready?’
Jessica nodded.
They entered the room.
The space was a two-bed room with a highly polished floor, cream-colored walls, and a pair of healthy plants on the windowsill. The floral print of the drapes matched the bedspreads, and a pair of bright Mylar balloons were attached to both tray tables.
Miriam Gale sat in a wheelchair by the window, a green and white afghan over her legs. Her hair was cloud white, pulled back into a long braid that curled around one narrow shoulder. At the bottom was a turquoise clip.
Colleen got the woman’s attention.
One at a time Colleen finger-spelled ‘Jessica’ and ‘Kevin’. There was no real need for either detective to produce ID. Jessica thought about shaking the woman’s hand, but she didn’t know if she should. The woman looked frail. Instead, Jessica just waved.
Miriam Gale smiled.
Colleen put her laptop on one of the tray tables, opened it. She sat down in front of Miriam, adjusted the table so that Jessica and Byrne could see the screen.
When Colleen was set, she looked at her father. Byrne nodded. It was time to begin. Colleen glanced at the laptop screen, signed the first question.
‘What years did you work at Cold River?’
The woman began to sign slowly, carefully crafting each word.
‘I started in nineteen fifty-three. I worked there until just before they closed the main hospital for good.’
‘When was that?’
The old woman thought for a moment. ‘It was nineteen ninety-two.’
‘How did you come to be employed at Cold River?’ Colleen signed.
‘It was right after the Korean War. My husband Andrew was wounded at Pork Chop Hill. He was in Company K. When he came back his doctor admitted him to Cold River. Now, keep in mind, this was long before they called it Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Back then they just called it shell shock. Did you know that?’
Colleen shook her head.
‘That’s what they called it back then. When I went to visit Andrew I learned they needed nurse’s assistants and orderlies.’
‘This was in nineteen fifty-three?’ Colleen asked.
‘Ye
s. It was September of nineteen fifty-three.’
As the woman signed her responses, Colleen typed them on the laptop. Jessica was more than impressed with the young woman’s typing skills. Any mistakes she made – and there were few – were instantly corrected.
‘By the time I got there, it was already overcrowded, of course. There was a relatively new kitchen and dietary building, but the patient-to-staff ratio was terrible, something like sixty to four. Still, we made do. Cold River was like a self-contained little city.’
Every so often, as Miriam signed, she would stop to massage her hands. Jessica imagined that the woman must be in some pain to do what she was doing. Without being asked another question, she continued.
‘The newest addition to the hospital after I had been there for a while was N3. This was called the Active Therapy Building. Personnel and staff were excited about this, because it represented a step forward in patient care, as opposed to the mere warehousing of the mentally ill.’
‘Did you work in N3?’
‘Oh, yes. Now, there was that big pharmaceutical company based in Camden back then. They were working on this new wonder drug similar to Thorazine. In those days the hospital had upwards of two thousand patients who were wards of the state. I’m sad to say that many of these men – and they were mostly men – were eager to volunteer as test subjects, having no idea what they were getting into.’
The woman stopped for a moment, massaged her hands, continued.
‘Although we were not privy to the numbers, the rumors were that dozens, perhaps hundreds, of patients died from sickness related to pharmaceutical testing.’
The woman thought for a few moments, then raised her hands to continue signing. Jessica noticed from the corner of her eye that Colleen had stopped typing. When she looked a little more closely, she noticed that Colleen’s hands had begun to tremble. Jessica got Byrne’s attention.
Byrne raised a finger, getting the woman’s attention. He crossed the room, knelt down in front of his daughter. With his back to the old woman he spoke very carefully, so that Colleen could follow him.
The Stolen Ones Page 23
