Angel of Darkness (16 page)

Adam shrugged and glanced around to see if they were being overheard. Michael understood and led him out of the unit on to the grounds. I followed, filled with fear that Adam might reveal things to Michael he had refused to say to Maggie. I prayed for my son's sake that Adam was not involved in Darcy Swan's murder.

They reached the courtyard where the orderly's body had been discovered. My friend Olivia was there, sitting on her bench, staring at the cascading water. Harold Babbitt was there, too, marching in deliberate circles around the fountain, lifting his feet and then placing them down precisely so that he rolled all the way down on his heel and finally to his toes, paused and repeated the motion again. There was an aide sitting next to a man in a wheelchair a few hundred yards away, keeping an eye on Harold – along with half a dozen other long-term patients who were working out their excess energy from the events of the past few days. The aide was overwhelmed and worried about Harold. No one wanted him to go porpoising over the edge of the fountain and shatter his head on one of the cherubs. It was always a fine line they walked, as carefully as Harold now walked his, to allow him some freedom while still protecting him from his own mad impulses.

‘What's the matter with that dude?' Adam asked Michael, eyeing Harold with apprehension.

‘Beats me,' Michael said. ‘But I think he's lived here forever. It's kind of sad.' He glanced up at Adam and I realized that one of his fears was that he might be following in Harold's footsteps.

Adam understood that, too. ‘Don't worry, I won't let them do that to you,' he said to Michael, and laughed. It was good to see the smile on my son's face.

They reached an empty bench far away from the others and sat, side-by-side, letting the sun warm their faces. After a moment of comfortable silence, Michael spoke. ‘I feel pretty good,' he said. ‘That lady Miranda is pretty cool. She just listens and she never tries to tell me what to do, and I always feel like she understands what I mean.'

‘Wish I had someone like that to talk to,' Adam admitted. ‘The cops came to see me about Darcy. It was a lady cop and my dad embarrassed me. He was really rude to her.'

Something in his voice caused Michael to glance over at him. He saw the bruise below Adam's eye. ‘He do that to you?' he asked, sounding as if he had asked the question many times before.

Adam nodded. ‘I can't wait to get out of there,' he said. ‘I've been saving up my money. As soon as I have enough, I want to get my own apartment. Mr Phillips says he'll help me. I got an “A” on my essay and he wants to recommend me for this writing camp next summer. I get to go to Philadelphia and everything. He says he'll help me with the train fare and make sure that my father doesn't stop me.'

‘Phillips is pretty cool,' Michael admitted. ‘At least to you. I guess if I was as good as you are in his class, he'd like me too.' It was Michael's way of complimenting his friend and I was glad that Adam had the chance to shine at something.

‘I've been working on a new story,' Adam said. He pulled a composition book from his knapsack and opened it. ‘It's pretty good, I think. I'm going to show it to Mr Phillips.'

‘What's it about?' I think Michael was glad to have the excuse to talk about something besides himself and his depression.

‘It's about this kid whose mother dies. Everyone thinks that it's suicide, but he knows the truth. He knows that his father killed his mother.'

‘How does he know that?' Michael asked slowly. He had sensed the story meant more than just an assignment to Adam.

Adam shook it off, shrugging as if he had not quite decided. ‘I think he knows because he saw it happen. But he was too young to really remember, and it was only later that he realized what he had seen. Maybe something else happened to remind him and suddenly it all came rushing back.' He looked up at Michael. ‘Do you think that's believable?'

‘I believe it,' Michael said softly.

Who – or what – were they really talking about? I had a feeling that both Michael and Adam knew. There were secrets that they shared with no one but each other.

I was so deep in my thoughts, wondering if my son could possibly be involved in Darcy Swan's murder, that at first I did not notice the arrival of Lily. She had crept up quietly to the two boys. The orderly who usually looked after her when she was allowed to leave the unit had turned his back on her to shout something at the harried aide. Lily stood in front of Michael and Adam, her strangely disfigured teddy bear tucked under her arm so that it dangled down and its ghastly red-rimmed eyes gaped at the boys. Lily's face, as always, was that of an angel. Her eyes were wide and dark in a pale, heart-shaped face.

‘What are you looking at?' Michael asked her nervously. He had heard the stories about Lily, I guessed, and he knew that, at least in her case, looks truly were deceptive. He glanced sideways at Adam in warning.

But Adam did not know Lily. He probably thought she was a patient's little sister. He patted her teddy bear on its head. ‘What's his name?' he asked Lily.

‘Magoo,' she said and held it out for Adam to take.

Adam held the bear up and examined the holes where Lily had gouged its eyes out and rimmed them with red magic marker. ‘Dude looks like he's been through a lot,' Adam said to Lily. ‘What happened to him?'

‘The monster got him,' Lilly explained. ‘The monster gets everyone. I think he's coming for you.'

Adam looked startled. He handed the bear back. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘I've seen him coming for you,' she said. ‘I've seen him following you around.'

Michael stood up abruptly. It was bad enough he had to be at Holloway, he did not like to be reminded of how bad off some of the other patients were. ‘Come on,' he told Adam. ‘Let's go. I want you to meet this girl I met. She's pretty cool. She knew Darcy. She says Darcy really liked you a lot, man. She'll tell you all about it.'

Adam rose, looking down at Lily, unsure of what to do. Lily looked up at Adam and took his hand. ‘I want to go with you,' she said.

Adam looked startled but did not draw away. ‘Why?' he asked her.

‘I'm afraid. The monster wants to get me, too.'

Adam looked at Michael. ‘Let's just walk her back to her building,' he said to Michael. ‘What can it hurt?'

‘I got her,' a man's voice interrupted. The orderly was hurrying toward Lily. ‘Her parents are going to be here any minute for a visit anyway.' The orderly took Lily by the hand and pulled her away, casting a look of apology over his shoulder at Michael and Adam.

‘That was weird,' Adam said as he fell in step beside Michael and they headed toward the short-term unit. ‘Not to mention a little bit creepy.'

‘You have no idea,' Michael said, shaking his head. ‘You have no idea at all.'

TWENTY-TWO

I
t had taken days for Calvano to run the names of Holloway's employees through law enforcement databases. This search had uncovered a myriad of transgressions, including marijuana possession, drunk and disorderly and a couple of DWIs – but nothing substantial on anyone, and certainly not anything that would indicate a Holloway staff member had the capacity for torture and violence that Darcy Swan's murder indicated. Calvano had dutifully presented Cal with the list of employees who had criminal records, but Cal had quietly stuffed the list in the trash after reading through the violations. I guess he had enough problems keeping staff as it was.

Maggie had done an equally thorough job of tracking Darcy's life. But neither she nor Calvano could find a connection between Darcy Swan, Holloway and Otis Parker.

Maggie was frustrated. She had resorted to spreadsheets and long conversations around the table with the other detectives investigating the recent murders, which meant that she was losing faith in her theory that the murders of Darcy Swan and Vincent D'Amato were connected. Maggie did not like asking for help from others. When she did, it meant she was at a dead end.

‘We could show photos of all Holloway employees to the waitresses at the diner where Darcy Swan worked,' Calvano suggested during an otherwise unproductive case conference. I'd joined them as an unseen participant and had determined two things over the course of the hour-long meeting: one, I didn't like most of the other detectives any more than I had when I was alive; and, two, it was true that the oldest among them, Freddy the Mooch, was indeed responsible for eating seventy-five percent of the donuts. I'd always suspected as much and this particular theory of mine, and Freddie's resulting nickname, was the one permanent mark I made during my career on the force that remained a part of department lore.

The other detectives, who didn't like each other much more than I had liked them, groaned at Calvano's suggestion that they show Holloway employee photos to Darcy's co-workers – this was both a civil rights hurdle and a monumental task. Even if you started with the theory that Darcy's murderer had to be male, it was still a lot of photos to show. Holloway had to employ over a hundred men alone.

But Maggie was desperate enough to go for it. She sent Calvano back to Holloway to beg for the administration's help in providing copies of employee photo badges. I tagged along so that I could see what exactly Cal, my wife Connie's fiancé, did at Holloway – and what Holloway was doing to protect the patients and staff from further violence.

Cal had a huge office. I guess that made him a big cheese. He looked less harried than he had right after Vincent D'Amato's murder, but he was still fielding one phone call after the other and had a huge stack of messages aligned precisely in front of him. As fast as he returned a call, his secretary added more messages to the file. From what I could tell, he was indeed the head of human resources at Holloway and was having to deal not only with a public relations nightmare but also with a steady stream of staff coming into his office to ask if they were safe or if the police had found Vincent D'Amato's killer yet.

It occurred to me that with all the focus on patient safety, everyone seemed to have forgotten that it was a
staff
member who had been killed.

Except for the rest of the staff, that is.

Cal was good at what he did. He never lost his patience, he was tactful and yet ruthlessly efficient, and he seemed understanding of staff concerns, at least on the surface. But as I stood there watching, I could see him start to slump under the relentless pressure of holding everything together. I could never have tolerated interacting with so many people in a single day. I'd been barely able to deal with myself.

Calvano arrived within the hour to request access to Holloway's employee photos. Cal's answer was immediate and to the point: it would take a court order before he would comply. Calvano took the news without arguing and left.

I followed him out and wandered through Holloway's grounds, heartened to see how quickly the patients had returned to their version of normal. I guess when your reality is filled with unpredictability, it doesn't take much to bounce back from an invasion of police and yellow crime scene tape. Patients sat on benches and lay on the grass, faces turned to the sky, basking in the promise of the coming spring. It made me miss my corporeal body. To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin again seemed a truly divine gift. It was a small pleasure, but I missed it.

Otis Parker had no interest in the weather. I found him deep in a meeting with his psychiatrist and his lawyer. Although no orderlies were present this time, the small room seemed crowded and it smelled of fear. The plump shrink was sweating more than usual and his admiration of Parker had paled next to his dislike of Parker's lawyer.

The lawyer looked like every other one of the beefy-faced, overfed legal shills who practiced law in my town. His blond hair had started to gray and his weathered face bore testimony to too many nights eating steak and drinking booze, and too many weekends fishing with his buddies off the coast. He must've been more ambitious than most lawyers, however, to have taken on Parker's case. It was bad publicity, but it was worldwide publicity. Representing Otis Parker meant no turning back – from here on out, he would probably spend the rest of his career defending national scumbags. His mother would be so proud.

I guess the lawyer thought putting up with Parker was worth it. Or maybe he just needed the money, since his suit cost at least three times as much as the one the psychiatrist wore. This fact did not seem lost on the shrink. But I don't think it was their difference in economic standing that apparently irritated the psychiatrist. I think it was the way that Otis Parker blatantly admired his lawyer over his doctor.

I wondered if Parker was pitting his shrink against his lawyer on purpose so that he could keep control of both. He was smart enough to know such a strategy was possible. No, it was more likely instinct that led him to do this, rather than a deliberate decision. Parker was like a tiger. He did not waste time pondering situations, he just went for the kill.

Parker was not restrained for the meeting. Either the orderlies had figured it would be no great loss if either one of Parker's advisers was sacrificed, or the lawyer had insisted Parker be allowed to consult with him free of handcuffs. The orderlies had been forced to leave because of Parker's right to consult in private, but no one could banish me.

The three of them took up all the space at the small table in the center of the dingy meeting room. I had no desire to be near Parker. I chose a spot against the wall where I could see him clearly. I wondered if he had brought his dark shadow in with him. And if it returned, would Parker be able to glimpse me again?

I smiled, realizing that it would do him no good to point me out. Who would believe a crazy man? Parker had painted himself into a corner. Seeing me would only prove he belonged at Holloway. That's the rub when you convince other people you're crazy. Trying to prove you're not crazy anymore can be harder than you think.