by Chaz McGee
I could only hope that Darcy had not had as many friends as the mega-achieving student council president did or else the kid would have his hands full.
‘Sure, I can do that,’ Adam said. ‘She wasn’t really in to all that online stuff. She could never get on the computer at home because her mom was always hogging it for online dating and stuff. Darcy used her cell phone for posting updates and she didn’t really like to spend time online. I only have a couple hundred friends and I think she has even less.’
‘It would help me a lot if you could do that,’ Maggie said. For the first time, she pulled out a notepad and made a comment to herself in it, probably to check the whereabouts of Darcy Swan’s cell phone. It had not been found with her body, her mother had not mentioned a phone and Maggie had probably assumed Darcy could not afford one.
‘I can look at her Facebook friends right now,’ Adam offered. ‘I’ll just need a couple of minutes.’
Before Maggie could reply, the sound of a truck motor startled the boy. He looked out the side window and then at Maggie, knowing that trouble was coming. His father was home and Adam was smart enough to know how he might react to finding the police there. He leapt up from the recliner nervously.
Maggie instantly understood. ‘It’s OK,’ she told him, rising. ‘I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure he knows that this was just routine questioning.’
Adam’s father came charging through the back door with the unselfconscious focus of someone who does not realize he has company. He had the refrigerator door open and was reaching for a beer before he realized that his son was not alone. He took one look at Maggie and pegged her for what she was: law enforcement. He did not look happy to see her.
‘What’s he done?’ he asked belligerently. He stared at Adam with a warning in his eyes.
Nice. Good to see a father with such faith in his son. He reminded me of my old man.
‘He hasn’t done anything. I’m going door-to-door in the neighborhood asking people if they knew Darcy Swan or her mother.’ Maggie kept her voice casual, but I could tell it took effort.
Adam’s father belched and popped open his beer. He had drained half of it before he spoke again. ‘My kid’s got nothing to say to you. He barely knew the girl.’
‘And yet they were boyfriend and girlfriend for almost a year,’ Maggie answered mildly. She shot a warning glance at Adam, begging him to let her handle it.
‘Dumbass,’ the older Mullins shot at his son. ‘Don’t know why you’re bothering,’ he taunted Maggie. ‘Her mother’s making a fortune on the kid’s death. It’s the best thing that ever happened to that family of gold-diggers.’
‘Dad!’ Adam was appalled at his father’s comment. ‘You know she was really upset about Darcy. You sat here and listened to her talk about it for hours.’
The old man settled down in his recliner and put his feet up, holding his beer can out as he debated whether or not to ask his son to bring him another cold one. I could almost feel the weight of the can in my hand. I had done the same thing a thousand or more times in my lifetime – gauging how much beer I had left, always wanting more.
‘You thought we were talking all that time?’ Mr Mullins leered. ‘Let’s just say me and Darcy’s mother went way back. Like mother, like daughter.’
‘Perhaps you would like to talk about your relationship to Darcy Swan for the record?’ Maggie said sharply, hoping to keep Adam from going off at his father.
The old man got the message. ‘I was just talking crap,’ he said, holding up a palm like Maggie was getting ready to come at him swinging. I could only imagine the legions of females who had been presented with that hand and how much they had wanted to slap the smirk off his face in response to it. I know I had the same impulse, although I thought he deserved a series of punches more.
‘Darcy was a good kid, and me and her mother go way back,’ Adam’s father said. He slurped at his beer. ‘We went to high school together. She’s OK. She’s just another old broad desperate to hook someone to support her fat ass, but she didn’t deserve what happened to her daughter.’
Wow, the kid had truly been right: his old man was an asshole.
Maggie let it go. She’d been baited by plenty of men before. There was something about Maggie’s position of authority that just seemed to piss them off. She wasn’t going to waste her time on this loser. ‘I’m just collecting background information on Darcy,’ Maggie said calmly. ‘I may stop by again. But I think I better get going. I have a lot of people to talk to.’
‘Yeah, maybe you better,’ Adam’s father said. ‘Sounds to me like you guys don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to who killed her.’
Maggie ignored him. She stuck out her hand at the boy instead and Adam, after a startled moment, shook it. ‘Thanks for your help, Adam,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate it. Good luck with your studies. I hope you keep up the good work. I heard really good things about you from your principal. He says you’re really going to go far in life. I wish you the best.’
She left without a word to the father, and I knew her encouragement to Adam had been her parting shot. ‘Your kid is so much better than you,’ she had wanted the old man to know. ‘One day he will leave you in his dust.’
Adam’s father got the message all right – but he was the kind of guy who likes to take his anger out on those who were weaker than him. Maggie had barely left the house when he moved with a quickness that startled me. He was out of the recliner and in his son’s face before Adam could react. He slapped his kid across the face and sent him reeling into a wall.
‘I catch you talking to the cops ever again about anything,’ he threatened Adam, ‘and I will beat you within an inch of your life for sheer stupidity. You think the cops give a shit about people like us? You think they want to do anything but blame us for their problems and put us behind bars so they can say “case closed” and call it a day? You are a living, walking, breathing patsy and don’t you ever forget it. You are garbage in their eyes. They only pretend to be your friend so you’ll do something stupid like give them enough rope to hang you with. I don’t ever want to see you talking to that bitch again.’
‘Adam?’ His grandmother’s voice floated out from the back of the house. ‘Adam, honey? Are you OK? Are you alone?’
Adam was leaning against the wall, his hand resting on his cheek where his father’s blow had left a red imprint. I don’t know how he did it, I really don’t, but the kid had monumental self-control.
‘I’m OK, Grandma,’ he said. ‘I’m coming in to check on you before I go to the library.’
He stood there for a moment, staring at his father, before he walked calmly from the room. His actions spoke louder than any words ever could.
Adam was letting his old man know that he was of absolutely no importance to him and that all the violence in the world would not change that fact.
TWENTY-ONE
I returned to Holloway to find that a guard had been posted at the front entrance and was checking the credentials of all visitors against a list. My guess was that the press had tried to infiltrate the grounds in the wake of Vincent D’Amato’s murder and that no one wanted the spotlight of publicity shone on either Holloway or the residents who lived there.
I saw Morty, the beat cop I had known when I was alive, checking in with a bouquet of yellow roses in his hands, on his way to see the woman he visited each week. The guard started to give him a hard time about not being related to her, but a nurse coming in for her shift saw the situation unfold and intervened. She took Morty by the elbow and guided him around the guard, with a warning glance that told the kid he was not to argue.
A few visitors later, Adam Mullins showed, backpack in hand, and handing it over to the guard to be searched. The guard rooted around in it, handed it back to him and accepted Adam’s lie that he was there to see his brother.
Or maybe it wasn’t so much of a lie. I followed him back to the juvenile unit, where Michael an
d his peers were being shooed away from the television set by a harried-looking nurse. Her grim expression told me that she had not liked whatever the newscaster had just announced. And no wonder: I caught a glimpse of a well-dressed man with graying blonde hair being interviewed right before she clicked off the image. The news scroll beneath his name said it all: Otis Parker’s lawyer had requested a competency hearing, citing his years of treatment and the recent murders by unknown parties as proof that he was not a mad killer as everyone thought. He wanted Parker released from Holloway as soon as possible.
It was inconceivable that Parker might one day be set free to prey on the world again, but I had seen enough of the law to know that his freedom was a definite possibility. If that happened, no one was safe.
Michael spotted his friend Adam at the entrance to the ward and shook off the attentions of a girl who had been trolling for his friendship all week. He and Adam greeted each other in that awkward way of teenage boys who don’t want to shake hands like their fathers or hug like their mothers. They leaned forward and touched shoulders while thumping each other on the back then drew away, embarrassed by their affection for one another.
‘How’s it going?’ Michael asked his friend, and I realized that Adam was one of the few people who could distract Michael from his own troubles.
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 t
hey 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
It 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.