I didnt have them transferred. He heard her gasp.
You must have. Im holding a transfer order with your signature on it.
It cant be my signature because I never signed a transfer. Whoever authorized those remains to be picked up, it wasnt me. And the bones arent in the city morgue, that I can guarantee you.
Despair engulfed her. Without the bones, she couldnt use them as evidence against whoever killed Harrigan and Mrs. Alessis, help Patrice, team up with Jake. She felt empty, drained of spirit, spent.
Were being outthought, outmaneuvered, she said.
Theres more to it than that, he agreed. The bones and the poison are part of a single puzzle. Were up against someone wholl kill to keep it from being put together.
THERE WAS ONE more place to look. Slowly, methodically, Manny drove with Kenneth to the Turner Psychiatric Institute.
They arrived at five oclock. She insisted that Kenneth wait in the Porsche. Shed need him as a getaway driver, she said, if she had to leave in a hurry she was, after all, planning on breaking and entering. She reached into the glove compartment for a flashlight.
But the hospitals defunct, Kenneth said. Died like its patients. You wont find anything here.
There may still be records, stuff that was overlooked. Weve lost all the evidence, Kenneth. If I dont find anything, this
case
is defunct.
He settled back in the seat. This may be a bad way of putting it, sister. But its your funeral.
* * *
Now Manny stood before a huge dilapidated gray building that stood at the crest of a hill like a medieval castle. Its lights were out, its door locked. Shed studied the architectural plans and knew this was Serenity Hall, once the hospitals only structure, with offices on the ground floor and patients rooms above. Manny counted six stories. She noted that the windows on the higher floors were exceedingly narrow, probably so that suicidal patients couldnt hurl themselves out. ADMINISTRATION read a sign on the front door.
This must be where they kept their files, even when the hospital expanded. If they wanted to hide a file, not send it to Poughkeepsie, itd still be here.
She tried the door. Locked. A side door was also locked, as was another at the back. The windows were shut, and when she peered through the filthy panes, she saw they fronted wire mesh; shed have to break the glass and cut the wires if she wanted to get inside.
She was suddenly struck by the futility of her task.
Break in and search through six floors and a basement? Are you out of your mind?
She stepped back. They had driven up a steep road to get to the virtually deserted parking lot by the entrance; in the distance she could see the field in which the bones had been found. The sun was low in the sky, casting shadows of outlying buildings across grass that seemed almost black, and the air was rapidly growing colder.
Maybe theres somebody somewhere.
She could make out a light down the hill, and though she had no idea whether the building was even on the hospital grounds, she started for it. Another building, completely dark, loomed to her right, appearing suddenly in the gloom as though it had just arrived. Startled, Manny approached it. A barely legible sign over the door read PROMISE HOUSE. She recognized the name. When Turner Psychiatric was in operation, this was the residence of patients who needed the least care. It too was locked. She rubbed a hole in the coating of grime on a corner window, shone her flashlight, and was rewarded with a view of a rusty bed frame tipped over onto a mattress covered in green mold, walls stained with water damage, the shredded pages of old magazines, and the body of a dead rat. The promise had been broken.
Jesus God!
A squirrel dashed between her legs, raising gooseflesh on every part of her body. She let out a yelp, then stifled it, not wanting to be discovered.
Some sign of human life would be nice, though.
Gathering clouds and a chill wind promised rain.
To her left stood a brick building, the front of which was a glass sunroom. Most of the panes had been smashed; inside was a shambles of rocks, bricks, broken beer bottles, glass shards, dead pigeons. The dining hall, Manny knew; patients would eat in the sunlight in summer. She began to see the facility as she had seen it in photographs of its heyday: an elegant manicured home to women with nervous conditions and men with drinking problems who could afford the prices. In later years it had faced the same obstacles as any large mental institution: inadequate staff, patients drugged out of their gourds, only enough money to feed them gruel and Jell-O.
Theres something terrible about a place that used to house so many people, even crazy people, broken down like this. It feels wrong, like a summer camp in winter. Or like a prison.
She felt a wave of pity for Lieutenant James A. Lyons.
She moved on, though she realized the light she was heading for was still too far away to be part of the property. A little farther down the path was a small squat building, maybe eight feet long and ten feet high, its one small window almost at the top. With a stab of anguish, Manny knew what it was: the Seclusion Room, where the most troubled patients were sent. It is a spiritual sanctuary, a brochure for the Turner Mental Hospital had proclaimed, a place where the troubled can regain peace.
Bullshit,
had been Mannys reaction when shed read that, and
bullshit
was her reaction now. It was a confinement cell, not a sanctuary. If you wanted to use it to discipline a patient or break his will, you could do it here, away from the attention of other patients and nonessential staff.
Manny tried the door. It opened. Like a spelunker, she aimed her flashlight at the interior. Padded walls, she realized with a shiver. The room contained a cot and tattered mattress, a sink, and a toilet; nothing else. Although she knew there were no records to be found here, she stepped inside, her mind alive with fantasies born of a dozen horror movies. By now it was almost pitch-dark outside; her flashlight provided the only illumination.
On the left wall, a portion of the padding had been torn aside, revealing a white stucco wall, scribbled over with dark ink. Writing?
Yes!
Manny bent to investigate. The hole was at the level of her waist. The writing on the stucco might have been a childs, or a grown persons writing from his knees. She got on her knees and concentrated the light on the writing. The message sprang into clarity:
Please, God, deliver me. End my suffering.
Have mercy on my soul.
I d la S
Manny could hear the sound of her own heart beating as she stood up.
Poor tortured creature. What did they do to you?
Warm air touched the back of her neck, and for a moment she couldnt identify its source. When she did, it was with a terror so great she knew what she was experiencing now would haunt her forever.
Breath. Rhythmic breathing. Human. Somebodys standing behind me.
Her own breath died in her chest. She wheeled around, the flashlight making kaleidoscopic designs on the padding. Who are you? But there was nothing in the room except the meager furniture and the white padding to protect the insane. The open door testified to the route the intruder had taken.
There was someone here. I know it.
Too shaken to scream, but not to run, Manny raced out of the Seclusion Room, up the hill past Promise House and Serenity Hall, and into the security of Kenneths waxed arms and the glorious smell of safety.
SHE CALLED JAKE and told him what had happened. He was still in his office.
Where are you? he asked.
My apartment. Kenneth drove me.
Is he with you?
I sent him home.
Then Ill come over.
She was tempted. Why?
I dont want you staying alone. Youre in shock. The reaction might be bad when you come out of it.
Im over the shock. Really. I was scared. Now Im more than scared. Im pissed off and really angry.
At least come to my office first thing tomorrow.
Why?
I want you to tell me everything again. See if you left out anything. He paused. And I want to see you. Make sure youre all right.
Kindness.
Warmth filled her like helium. Say that last part again.
I want to make sure youre all right.
No. Just before that.
I want to see you.
Yes.
* * *
She checked the locks, drew a bath, checked the locks again, and wallowed in warm water until the tension in her body eased and she was able to breathe normally. Dressed in a cashmere sweat suit she realized with astonishment that she didnt care how she looked she took Mycroft for a walk, came home, fed him, and, not hungry herself, went to bed.
The phone rang.
Dont bother.
It kept ringing. All right, she grumbled, and picked up the receiver.
Ive decided not to go any further. A mumbled voice. Patrice.
What did you say?
Im not going any further with this, Ms. Manfreda. Ive given it some more thought, and I dont want to go ahead.
Who got to her?
What are you talking about? Weve taken the first step, got the court to sign the order keeping the skeletons.
All right, so we lost the bones. Well find them again.
Were on the way to finding out about your fathers death, after all these years.
Im sorry. I
At least let me come to New Jersey and see you and your daughter.
Thats just it. My daughters going to make something out of her life. Shes at the top of her class. I cant risk anything interfering with that.
Why would investigating your fathers death bring any harm to your daughter?
Patrice was silent.
Shes scared.
Has something happened? Youve got to tell me.
A whisper. You shouldnt have gone back to Turner.
My God!
How do you know I went there?
A pause. Then: I dont want to talk about it.
You have to. This is important for your father.
My fathers been dead to me for forty years. My daughters alive now. I intend to keep it that way. Let his past stay buried with him.
Someones threatened you, havent they?
Silence.
I can hire a private investigator to protect her, protect you, until we get the police
No police! When the man calls again, Ill tell him Im through. Im finished with you and my father. I thank you, Ms. Manfreda, but please dont try to contact me again.
* * *
Jake slept on the couch in his office, waking up periodically with thoughts of Manny that there was no call from her was either good or bad news, good if she was resting comfortably, bad if she was still frightened but didnt want to disturb him. Or if something else had happened to her, a thought he pushed away immediately by thinking of Pete.
What was so important that people generations apart would kill for today? The four skeletons were missing. What would they tell him if they were found? Even without her whole body, Jake still had Mrs. Alessiss liver samples, proof she had been poisoned. Now he needed scientific proof that Pete had been murdered the kind that would convince a prosecutor to take the case.
