Monster

Chapter 29

He stayed that way, just stayed that way.

How long had I been in there? Surely Dollard, hostile and impatient, would be returning soon and ordering me out.

Five minutes later, it hadn't happened.

Peake remained against the wall. The tears had slowed, but they hadn't stopped.

The stink had returned. My skin itched. Senses returning, heightening. I wanted out.

Knocking on the brown steel door produced only a feeble thump. Could it be heard out in the hall? No sounds from the outside made their way inside the cell. I tried the hatch. Locked. Released only from the outside. The door hatch opened from the outside. Sensory deprivation. What did that do to already damaged minds?

Another knock, louder. Nothing.

Peake stayed frozen in the cruciform pose, pinioned by invisible spikes.

The names of his victims had loosened his tears. Remorse or self-pity?

Or something I could never hope to understand?

I thought of him entering the Ardullo kitchen, spotting his mother, the strength it had taken to saw through the cervical spine…Upstairs, swinging Scott Ardullo's baseball bat.

The children…

Their names had triggered the Jesus pose.

Martyr pose.

No remorse at all?

Seeing himself as a victim!

Suddenly, the absurdity and futility of what I was doing hit me-trying to pry information from a diseased mind that smoothly morphed sin and salvation. What use could this be to anyone?

Had Claire prodded Peake the same way? Died, somehow, because of her curiosity?

The narrow room started to close in on me. I was up against the door, couldn't get far enough away from the white, dangling creature.

Just a trickle of tears, now.

Crying for himself.

Monster.

Serene in his suffering.

His head rotated very slowly. Lifted a bit. Faced me. Something surfaced in his eyes that I hadn't seen before.

Sharpness. Clarity of purpose.

He nodded. Knowingly. As if the two of us shared something.

I pressed my back against the door.

The space opened behind me and I tumbled back.

Heidi said, "Sorry! I should've opened the hatch and warned you, first."

I regained my balance, took a breath, smiled, tried to look composed. Milo watched me, along with Dollard and the trio of doctors-Aldrich, Steenburg, and Swenson. All in sport shirts, as if they'd just gotten in from the golf course. Nothing playful on their faces.

Heidi started to close the door, looked into the room, went pale. "What's he doing? What's going on?"

The others rushed over and stared. Peake had returned to the full Jesus pose, head cocked to the right. But no tears.

I said, "He got up a few minutes ago, positioned himself that way."

Aldrich said, "My, my… Has he done this before, Heidi?"

"No. Never. He never gets off the bed." She sounded scared. "Dr. Delaware, you're saying he actually moved on his own?"

"Yes."

Steenburg and Swenson looked at each other. Aldrich said, "Interesting." The gravity of his tone bordered on comical. Trying to assume authority on a case he knew nothing about.

Frank Dollard said, "What'd you say to him to get him that way?"

"Nothing," I said.

"You didn't talk to him?"

Milo said, "What's the big deal? He used to think he was a vegetable, now he's evolved into Jesus."

Dollard and doctors glared at him.

"Psychosis is a disease," said Aldrich. "It's unseemly to ridicule."

"Sorry," said Milo.

Swenson said, "Has he ever talked about religious themes, Heidi?"

"No. That's what I'm trying to tell you. He doesn't talk much, period."

Swenson turned contemplative, laced his hands over his belt buckle. "I see… So it's something altogether new."

Dollard jutted his head in my direction. "You'd better tell us what you were talking to him about. We need to know, in case he starts acting out."

Aldrich said, "Is there some problem, Frank?"

"These people are a problem, Dr. Aldrich. They keep coming in here, disrupting, going at Peake. Mr. Swig authorized only fifteen minutes with the SDL group, no time with Peake." He pointed through the door. "Look at that. Guy like that, who knows what could happen? And for what? He couldn'ta had anything to do with Dr. Argent. I told 'em that, you told 'em that, Mr. Swig told 'em that-"

Aldrich turned to Milo. "What is your purpose here, Officer?"

"Investigating Dr. Argent's murder."

Aldrich shook his head. "That's not an answer. Why are you questioning PeakeT'

"He said something that might have predicted Dr. Argent's murder, Doctor."

"Predicted? What in the world are you talking about?"

Milo told him.

" 'In a box,' " said Aldrich. He faced Heidi. Steenburg and Swenson did the same. "When did he say this to you?"

"The day before it happened."

"An oracle?" said Steenburg. "Oh, please. And now he's Jesus-am I the only one who sees a trend toward irrelevance?"

Swenson said, "At least it's original. Relatively, that is. We don't get a lot of Jesuses anymore." He smiled. "Plenty of Elvises but not that many Jesuses. Maybe it's the godless state of our culture."

No one else seemed amused.

Swenson wouldn't give up. "We can always do what Milton Erickson did with his Jesuses-give him carpenter's tools and have him fix something."

Aldrich scowled and Swenson looked the other way.

"Officer," said Aldrich, "let me get this clear: on the basis of this supposed… utterance, you're back here?"

"It's an unsolved homicide, Dr. Aldrich."

"Even so…" Aldrich moved closer to the doorway and peered inside. Peake hadn't budged. He closed the door.

Dollard said, "They caused a ruckus in SDL, too. Herman Randall's all worked up, shouting Nazi stuff in his room. We might think of upping his meds."

"Might we?" said Aldrich. He turned to Heidi. "How about you and I meeting after lunch to review Mr. Peake's file. Make sure what we're seeing in there isn't some kind of regression."

"I'd think just the opposite," I said. "He's showing more mobility and affective response."

"Affective response?"

"He was crying, Dr. Aldrich."

Aldrich took another look inside. "Well, he's not crying now. Just hanging there looking pretty regressed. Looks like catalepsy to me."

I said, "Is there any chance of reducing his meds?"

Aldrich's eyes bugged. "Why in the world would we do that!"

"It might loosen him up verbally."

"Loosen him up," said Swenson. "Just what we need, a loose Jesus."

A couple of figures in khaki had drifted out of the TV room. The inmates stared at us, began heading our way. Swenson and Steenburg stepped forward. The men turned, reversed direction, collected near the door to the TV room, returned inside.

Aldrich said, "Thank you for your opinion, Doctor. However, you and Officer Sturgis must leave immediately. No further contact with Mr. Peake or any other patients until cleared by myself or Mr. Swig." To Steenburg and Swenson: "We'd better get moving. The reservation's at one."

Crossing the yard, Dollard walked even farther ahead. Big Chet was on the yard and he started to come over, gesticulating and laughing, rugging at his hair like a toddler.

Dollard's palm shot out. "Stay back!"

The giant halted, pouted, yanked a clump of hair out of his head. The yellow filaments floated to the ground like dandelion petals.

His expression said, Look what you made me do.

"Idiot," Dollard growled.

Chet's eyes slitted.

Dollard waved and two techs jogged over from across the yard. Chet saw them, froze, finally skulked away. Four steps later, he stopped, looked at us over his shoulder.

"Mark my words," he bellowed. "Cherchez la femme Champs Elysees!"

Dollard threw the gate open, slammed it after us, left without a word.

As we waited to get Milo's gun and my knife, I said, "Something sure yanked his shorts."

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he said. The moment we got in the Seville, he was on the cell phone, asking for the number of the Hemet police department. I let the car idle as he talked. The car seat was a griddle and I cranked the air-conditioning to an arctic blast. Milo got transferred half a dozen times, maintained collegia! cheer through every step, but he looked as if he'd swallowed something slimy. The air inside the car cooled, hit my face, turned my sweat icy. Milo was drenched.

He hung up. "Finally got a supervisor who'd talk. Heidi was right. Dollard was a major-league goldbrick: ignored calls in his zone, took unauthorized leaves, put in for unjustified overtime. They couldn't prove anything serious enough to prosecute him-probably didn't want to. Easier just to ask him to leave."

"How long ago was this?"

"Four years ago. He went straight to Starkweather. Supervisor made a crack about nutcases being perfect for Frank, no one to complain when he slacked off."

"Swig likes him," I said. "Tells you something about Swig."

"High standards, all around."

I drove out of the parking lot. Convection waves rose from the asphalt.

"What did you do to get Peake to play Jesus in the school play?"

"Mentioned the Ardullos' names. After I got a response to Claire's name-eye tics, tensing up. When I whispered Brittany's and Justin's names into his ear he jumped up, ran to the wall, assumed the pose. I'd been thinking of him as lethargic, stuporous, but he can move fast when he wants to. If he'd jumped me, I'd have been unprepared."

"So he's not a total veg. Maybe he's a sneaky bastard, playing all of us. Makes sense when you think about how he walked in on his mother. She's sitting there coring apples, he gets behind her, she has no idea what he's going to do."

"He surprised the Ardullos, too," I said. "Sheriff Haas said they left their doors unlocked."

"Everyone's nightmare. Right out of a splatter flick."

The eucalyptus forest appeared, a big gray bear split by a yawning mouth of road.

"So," he said, "was he crying real tears?"

"Copiously. But I'm not sure it was remorse. When he turned and stared at me, I started to feel something else: self-pity. The Jesus pose fits that, too. As if he sees himself as a martyr."

"Sick bastard," he said.

"Or maybe," I said, "hearing the kids' names evoked an overpowering memory. Recall of not acting alone. Of taking the rap for something the Crimmins brothers put him up to. Maybe he communicated that to Claire. I didn't see anything close to speech, but with a lowered dosage…"

He cooled his hands on the air-conditioning vent. "Why do you think Dollard turned so hostile?"

"Antsy about our return visit. Something to hide."

Milo didn't answer. We exited the forest and summer light whitened the windshield. The trees shimmered as they broiled. I could sense the heat trying to claw its way in.

"What about some kind of hospital scam?" I said. "Financial mismanagement. Or trafficking in prescription drugs. Claire found out about it and that's what put her in jeopardy. Maybe Peake knew, too. Learned someone was going to hurt Claire and the 'prophecy' was his way of warning her."

We were free of the hospital grounds, heading toward the sludge yards and the freight barns. I wondered where the rear forest behind the annexes led, was unable to see the tall dark trees from here.

"How would Peake find out?" he said.

"Loose lips. Everyone assumes he's vegetative, can't process. I saw enough today to convince me that's not true. If Dollard was involved in something illegal, he might've said or done something that Peake noticed."

"That careless?"

"How many cases have you closed because someone was careless?"

"Peake warns Claire," he said. "Now he's a hero?"

"Maybe on some level, he bonded with Claire. Appreciated the attention Claire was giving him."

"Then why warn Heidi?"

"Claire wasn't at work that day, so Peake did the next best thing: told her assistant. Not a clear message, because he was struggling to talk through the Thorazine haze and his neurological problems."

"Everyone treats Peake like he's wallpaper, but he's sucking up information."

"He's functioned like wallpaper for sixteen years. It wouldn't be hard to get complacent. That could be why Dollard was so upset when he saw Peake playing Jesus. Now he realizes Peake's capable of more. He's nervous, doesn't want us back there. Look how he bad-mouthed us to Aldrich. And Aldrich played into it. Or Aldrich is part of it."

"Big-time staff racketeering?"

"Like you said, it's not a tight ship. Either way, Dollard just got what he wanted. We won't get through those gates again without a court order."

" 'Bad eyes in a box,' " he said. "That has Peake knowing someone is gonna gouge Claire's eyes and stash her somewhere closed. I might be able to buy Dollard blabbing to some compadre in general terms about getting Claire, but I can't see him laying it out in detail."

I had no answer for that. He pulled out his pad, made some notes, closed his eyes, seemed to doze. We reached the freeway. I floored the Seville, crossed over to the fast lane, sped to the interchange, headed west on the 10, past the old brick buildings on the fringes of downtown, surprise survivors of the big quake. A huge blowup of a movie poster had been painted on one of them. Some hypertrophied bionic cop flashing fire from gun-barrel knuckles. If only it were that easy.

Milo said, "Dollard a scamster… our Mr. Wark, his partner. But what about Richard, the Beatty twins? How do they connect to any hospital racket?"

"Don't know," I said. "But if Wark is Derrick Crimmins, his working there makes sense on another level: he was drawn by Peake's presence, just as Claire was. Because Peake's rampage made a major impression on him. And if my guess about his being Peake's drug source sixteen years ago is right, that would fit with the racket being a dope thing. Dollard smuggles out pharmaceuticals, hands them over to Wark, who sells them on the street. Wark had enough money in that Bank of America account to cover the gear rental when Vito Bonner called to validate the check. So he's got some sort of cash source. Being the outside man would also make Wark the perfect choice for ambushing and murdering Claire. Dollard alerts Wark, gives Wark Claire's address from personnel files; Wark stalks her, kills her in West L.A., dumps her in her own car. No reason for anyone ever to connect it to Starkweather. What's the mantra everyone there keeps reciting? 'It couldn't be related to her work.' I looked around the hospital today to see if anyone fit Wark's physical description. The only one tall and thin enough is Aldrich, but he's too old, and I doubt Wark would masquerade as a doctor-too risky. But there are over a hundred people on staff and we've run into maybe twenty."

"And we get no access to the personnel records." Milo punched the dashboard lightly. Keeping his arm stiff; I knew he wanted to hit much harder.

"How about approaching it another way?" I said. "Let's assume Peake's presence is what attracted Wark to Starkweather initially. But he also needed money, and the job had to be something he could qualify for quickly. That would eliminate anything with extensive training-doctor, psychologist, nurse, pharmacist-and leaves lower-level positions: cooks, custodians, gardeners, psych techs. A would-be producer down on his luck might see the first three as beneath him. Psychiatric technician, on the other hand, has some cachet, could be construed as almost-a-doctor. And psych techs are licensed by the state. The medical board keeps a roster."

Milo's smile spread very slowly. "Worth a try."

The movie-poster mural flashed in my head. "Another reason for Wark to take the job: if he sees himself as some dark-side cinema auteur, what better place to dredge up bloody plots than Starkweather? That could explain Richard and the Beatty twins: they're part of Wark's film game."

"The snuff extravaganza, again-we're all over the place with this."

"Like you said, drill a few wells…"

He massaged his temples. "Okay, okay, enough talk, I need to do something. I put calls in to Miami and Pimm, Nevada, this morning. When we get back, I'll see if anyone called. And the psych board for that tech list. Though for it to be of any use, Wark would've had to register under that name or Crimmins, or something close." He rubbed his face. "Long shots."

"Better than nothing," I said.

"Sometimes I wonder."