Regina's Song (32 page)

“And did he reveal any other information about the killings, Mr. West—things that weren’t appearing in the newspapers or on television?”

“I’m
not
going to rat my brother out, Mr. Rankin. Let’s say he gave us a couple of warnings and let it go at that, OK?” Charlie’s tone was almost belligerent.

“I’ll withdraw the question, Mr. West,” Rankin said.

I saw Burpee grab Fielding by the arm, and the two of them appeared to be arguing about something. Burpee seemed agitated, and Fielding was having trouble keeping him calmed down. It was fairly obvious that Burpee was ready to go off the deep end, and Fielding’s frequent “no questions” response was driving him wild.

It was about eleven-thirty when Charlie left the stand, and Judge Compson, Rankin, and Fielding had a brief conference at the bench—probably about when we should recess for lunch. Rankin really wanted to get Sylvia’s testimony in before the noon break, and it appeared that he’d persuaded Judge Compson that he’d cover everything before noon. I thought he might be rushing things, but he appeared to know what he was doing, so I kept my mouth shut.

He returned to the table, and then he said, “The defense calls Miss Sylvia Cardinale,” he announced.

Sylvia was sworn in and took the stand, and Rankin established her identity and residence.

“You are a graduate student in psychology at the University of Washington, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your field of interest is abnormal psychology?”

“That’s right.”

“And you are acquainted with Miss Renata Greenleaf and have undertaken a case history of her mental problems as a possible subject for your master’s thesis?”

“Yes.”

“Would you please tell the court what prompted you to undertake this project?”

“It was the paper she wrote for Mr. Austin’s class,” Sylvia told him. “Mr. Forester described that paper during his testimony. It was of particular interest to me, since it gave me a glimpse into the perceptions of a patient at a mental institution. Miss Greenleaf struck me as a highly intelligent and articulate young woman who could provide insights that could be useful for those of us in the field. Many patients have a severely limited ability to communicate with a therapist, which makes it difficult to help them. It occurred to me that Renata could open doors in ways an ordinary patient could not begin to do. Moreover, her disturbed state originated in a trauma rather than a preexistent psychosis. It occurred to me that a case history growing out of an extensive personal relationship might suggest alternatives to standard therapy.” Sylvia threw a quick, sly glance in my direction. “I had a little trouble persuading Mr. Austin—he tends to be protective when it comes to Renata. Our discussions were quite lively, as I recall. Eventually, though, he came to realize that my case history was
not
some experiment on a laboratory animal, so he introduced me to Dr. Fallon. The doctor had some reservations until I advised him that my case history would be based on tape recordings.”

“You recorded every conversation you had with Miss Greenleaf?” Rankin asked her.

“I missed a few of the earlier ones,” Sylvia admitted. “At first I was simply taking notes, but as soon as Renata saw my notebook, she’d launch into wild stories that had no connection to the truth. Once I switched to recordings, though, Renata relaxed and talked freely.”

“And you were able to record her periodic lapses into raw psychosis?” Rankin asked her.

“Oh, yes,” Sylvia replied, “and those tapes still give me nightmares. Dr. Fallon has explained the fugue state in clinical terms, but those tapes are raw fugue, and they’re terrifying. At first, we had no idea of what was causing them, but we do now. Mark will explain what was happening, since he was the one who ultimately tracked it down.”

“Do you have any of those fugue tapes with you, Miss Cardinale?” Rankin asked then.

“Yes, Mr. Rankin, I do.”

“Is it your intention to play the tapes in open court, Mr. Rankin?” Judge Compson asked.

“There are two dozen tapes, Your Honor,” he replied, “and they cover something in excess of sixty hours. We can play them for Your Honor if you wish, but . . .” He left it hanging.

“I see your point, Mr. Rankin,” she agreed. “I
do
want copies, but it wouldn’t serve any purpose to use this courtroom as an auditorium. Have you any further questions for Miss Cardinale?”

Rankin glanced at his yellow legal pad. “Ah—no, Your Honor,” he replied. “I think we’ve just about covered everything.”

“Good. Court stands adjourned until one-thirty this afternoon.”

When we hit the cafeteria for lunch, I was more than a little edgy, since it was obvious that Mr. Rankin planned to hang most of his case on my testimony. As Charlie put it, “The bases are loaded, Mark, and it’s your turn at bat. Knock it out of the park.”

“I don’t suppose he’d settle for a foul tip?” I said sourly.

“That wouldn’t hardly cut it, partner. We need a home run to win the series.”

“Quit, Charlie,” Trish scolded. “Mark, just relax and answer Mr. Rankin’s questions. He knows the story, so let him guide you. That’s what he’s getting paid for.”

Somehow that didn’t make me feel much better.

We went back to the courtroom at about one-fifteen, and Judge Compson resumed her seat on the bench at one-thirty on the dot. Sylvia returned to the witness chair, but Fielding didn’t have any questions for her. His continual “No questions, Your Honor,” had me worried—a prosecutor who just gives up on a case like this wouldn’t keep his job for very long. I was fairly certain that he had
something
up his sleeve.

“Call your next witness, Mr. Rankin,” the judge said.

“The defense calls Mr. Mark Austin,” Rankin announced.

“Here we go,” I muttered. I went up to the front of the courtroom, and the bailiff swore me in. Then I sat down in the witness chair.

“You are Mr. Mark Austin, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how long have you known Miss Renata Greenleaf?”

“Since she was born. Our families were very close.”

“And how old were you when the Greenleaf twins were born?”

“I was seven when they came along. My folks and I spent quite a bit of our free time with the Greenleaf family, and I became a sort of surrogate big brother to the twins. They used to amuse themselves by switching personalities.”

“Would you clarify that for us, Mr. Austin?”

“When people use the term ‘identical twins,’ they usually mean ‘pretty close’—one twin may be a quarter of an inch taller than the other, or have slightly larger ears. Those minor variations make it possible to tell them apart. Regina and Renata were so identical that not even their mother could say with any certainty which was which. She tried to use different-colored hair ribbons to tell them apart, but as soon as her back was turned, the twins would swap ribbons—just for fun. Their parents—and mine—thought that their little game was funny, but I thought it was silly. Not that they cared what I thought—as far as they were concerned, I was just Mr. Fix-it. When they broke anything, they expected me to put it back together.”

“And did you find that offensive, Mr. Austin?”

“No. They were the baby sisters, and I was the big brother. Fixing things was part of my job, I guess.”

“And what happened in the spring of 1995, Mr. Austin?”

“The twins had grown up to be moderately gorgeous, and the boys at their high school became very interested in them. Nobody could ever pry them apart, though, so they managed to avoid the usual improprieties. In the spring of ’95, the twins were seniors in high school, and their class had a kegger party on a beach near Mukilteo. By midnight, things were getting rowdy, so the twins got into their car to drive back to Everett. They took the usual shortcut through Forest Park, but they had a flat tire near the petting zoo. At least, that’s where they found the car later. The next morning, the park employees found the two girls. One of them had been raped and murdered, and the other one was babbling incoherently. Nobody was ever able to prove which twin was which—we still don’t know for certain.”

“And what happened to the surviving twin?” Rankin pressed.

“She was completely out of it, so her parents put her in Dr. Fallon’s private sanitarium at Lake Stevens.”

“Let’s go back a bit, Mr. Austin,” Rankin said. “Where were you living and how were you occupied at that time?”

“I was in the graduate school at the University of Washington, but I was still living at home with my parents, commuting to school. Then in August of that same year, my parents were killed in an automobile accident, so I dropped out of school for the fall quarter.”

“Then you were living in Everett when Miss Greenleaf came to her senses?”

“I was there when she started speaking English again, if that’s what you mean.” I looked over at Renata, who was still whispering to herself. “That was in November of ’95. Up until then, she’d been talking to herself in ‘twin,’ the same as she’s doing now. When she finally came out of it, she didn’t know who she was. Dr. Fallon covered all that yesterday.”

“She remembered
you
, though, didn’t she, Mr. Austin?”

“Yes, and nobody could be sure why. This is just a hunch, but I think she recognized me because she still thought of me as ‘Mr. Fix-it.’ She knew she needed help, and I got elected. Whatever the reason, Dr. Fallon latched on to it—and me—and I spent a lot of time with Renata after that. When I got off work I’d go spend the evenings with her. That went on all through 1996, and she wasn’t officially released until the late spring of ’97.
That’s
when the notion of attending the University of Washington showed up. Fallon didn’t think she was quite ready for the stress, but Renata seemed excited about it. Of course none of us knew that she’d committed Fergusson’s license plate number to memory. It was a King County plate, and that means Seattle to just about everybody in western Washington. I couldn’t prove this, but it’s my guess that Renata jumped on the idea of moving in with her aunt so that she could get closer to Regina’s killer. Fergusson was her main target right from the beginning.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Fielding protested. “That’s pure speculation.”

“Overruled.” Judge Compson replied. “This is a sanity hearing, Mr. Fielding, not a trial. We can relax a few rules if it’ll help us get to the truth. Go on, Mr. Austin.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I replied. “I moved into the boardinghouse last fall, so I was close enough to keep a close eye on Renata. Our goal was to ease her back into the world of normies, and since I was teaching a section of freshman English, I suggested that she should audit
my
class. That’d minimize stress, put a familiar face in front of her, and let me watch her for any peculiar behavior. Since she was only auditing, all she had to do was sit there and listen, but she wrote papers when my assignments caught her interest. She could write circles around just about anybody who came along. If I’d had my head on straight, I’d have known that something was seriously wrong with her when I read her first paper—the one James described. After the boardinghouse gang heard that one, they
really
wanted to meet her. She came to dinner and charmed everybody’s socks off. That’s what eventually led to Sylvia’s case history and all those tapes.”

“Approximately when was it that you introduced Miss Greenleaf to your friends, Mr. Austin?” Rankin asked.

I looked over at Trish. “About the end of September, wasn’t it?” I asked her.

She nodded.

“Please don’t do that, Mr. Austin,” Judge Compson scolded me.

“Sorry, Your Honor. I just wanted to be sure I had it straight, is all. Anyway, it
was
after the second Seattle Slasher killing. The killings were cropping up every couple of weeks, and whenever some guy got cut to pieces, Renata would have one of those ‘bad days’ Mary mentioned this morning. None of us at the boardinghouse made the connection because the whole town was convinced that the Slasher was a guy. It wasn’t until after Christmas that the police realized that the Slasher was female. That’s when a lot of things clicked into place for me. I started watching Mary’s house after she left for work, and sure enough, Renata went out on the town fairly often. She’d finally asked Mary about that license plate she’d engraved in her memory since the night when Regina’d been murdered.” I hesitated. “This is all theory, isn’t it?” I asked Judge Compson. “I couldn’t prove any of this.”

“I realize that, Mr. Austin,” she said. “Please continue.”

“I’m just guessing, but I think Renata had finally decided to zero in on Fergusson himself—at least her other personality did. If I correctly understand what ‘fugue’ means, the daytime Renata didn’t have the faintest idea of what the nighttime Renata was doing. To cut it short, I followed her several times, but she kept giving me the slip. It wasn’t until the night when she killed Fergusson that I finally found out that she’d bought herself a car—using Regina’s name—sometime in the middle of October. She usually parked the car on a side street a few blocks from Mary’s place. She’d ride her bike to the car, hide the bike, and then drive to Fergusson’s place on Green Lake Way. She wore one of those black plastic raincoats and not a whole lot under it. She was using herself as bait, and on the night of the tenth of February, Fergusson took the hook. I was right there when he followed her into that strip park along the shore of Green Lake. I’d hoped to stop her before she started to carve him up, but it was so foggy that I lost sight of her.” I paused to catch my breath and pull my thoughts together. I noticed that I had everybody’s undivided attention.

“Anyway,” I went on, “I wasn’t able to catch up to her, so she killed Fergusson, then waded out into the lake to wash off the blood. I wasn’t far behind, and I stopped briefly to take a look at Fergusson. He was obviously dead, but his face seemed to be frozen into a look of absolute terror. I obviously couldn’t prove this, but at the time I got the strong impression that when he saw Renata’s face, he believed that his attacker was a girl he’d raped and murdered in the spring of ’95. That terror of his was the thing that made the twins’ revenge complete. Fergusson knew exactly why he was being butchered.