“Sit down Mr. Darius,” Betsy said.
“We’re back to Mr. Darius, are we? This must be serious.”
Betsy did not smile. Darius looked at her quizzically, but took a seat without making any more remarks.
“I’m resigning as your attorney.”
“I thought we agreed that you’d only do that if you believed I was guilty of murdering Farrar, Reiser and Miller.”
“I firmly believe you killed them. I know everything about Hunter’s Point.”
“What’s everything?”
“I spent the weekend in Washington, D.C. talking to Senator Colby.”
Darius nodded appreciatively. “I’m impressed. You unraveled the whole Hunter’s Point affair in no time at all.”
“I don’t give a damn for your flattery, Darius. You lied to me from day one. There are some lawyers who don’t care whom they represent as long as the fee is large enough. I’m not one of them. Have your new attorney call me so I can get rid of your file. I don’t want anything in my office that reminds me of you.”
“My, aren’t we self-righteous. You’re sure you know everything, aren’t you?”
“I know enough to distrust anything you tell me.”
“I’m a little disappointed, Tannenbaum. You worked your way through this puzzle part of the way, then shut down that brilliant mind of yours just as you came to the part that needs solving.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about having faith in your client. I’m talking about not walking away from someone who desperately needs your help. I am not guilty of killing Reiser, Farrar and Miller. If you don’t prove I’m innocent, the real killer is going to walk away, just the way I did in Hunter’s Point.”
“You admit you’re guilty of those atrocities in Hunter’s Point?”
Darius shrugged. “How can I deny it, now that you’ve talked to Colby?”
“How could you do it? Animals don’t treat other animals like that.”
Darius looked amused. “Do I fascinate you, Tannenbaum?”
“No, Mr. Darius, you disgust me.”
“Then why ask me about Hunter’s Point?”
“I want to know why you thought you had the right to walk into someone else’s life and turn the rest of their days on Earth into Hell. I want to understand how you could destroy the lives of those poor women so casually.”
Darius stopped smiling. “There was nothing casual about what I did.”
“What I can’t understand is how a mind like yours or Speck’s or Bundy’s works. What could possibly make you feel so badly about yourself that you can only keep going by dehumanizing women?”
“Don’t compare me to Bundy or Speck. They were pathetic failures. Thoroughly inadequate personalities. I’m neither insane nor inadequate. I was a successful attorney in Hunter’s Point and a successful businessman here.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Darius hesitated. He seemed to be in a debate with himself. “Am I still covered by the attorney-client privilege?” Betsy nodded. “Anything I tell you is between us?” Betsy nodded again. “Because I’d like to tell you. You have a superior mind and a female viewpoint. Your reactions would be informative.”
Betsy knew she should throw Darius out of her office and her life, but her fascination with him paralyzed her intellect. When she remained silent, Darius settled back in his chair.
“I was conducting an experiment, Tannenbaum. I wanted to know what it felt like to be God. I don’t remember the exact moment the idea for the experiment germinated. I do remember a trip Sandy and I took to Barbados. Lying on the beach, I thought about how perfect my life was. There was my job, which provided me with more money than I ever dreamed of, and there was Sandy, still sexy as all get-out, even after bearing my lovely Melody. My Sandy, so willing to please, so mindless. I’d married her for her body and never checked under the hood until it was too late.”
Darius shook his head wistfully.
“Perfect is boring, Tannenbaum. Sex with the same woman, day after day, no matter how beautiful and skilled she is, is boring. I’ve always had an intense fantasy life and I wondered what it would be like if my fantasy world was real. Would my life be different? Would I discover what I was searching for? I decided to find out what would happen if I brought my fantasy world to life.
“It took me months to find the farmhouse. I couldn’t trust workmen, so I built the stalls myself. Then I selected the women. I chose only worthless women. Women who lived off their husbands like parasites. Beautiful, spoiled women who used their looks to entice a man into marriage, then drained him of his wealth and self-respect. These women were born again in my little dungeon. Their stall became their world and I became their sun, moon, wind and rain.”
Betsy remembered Colby’s description of the women he had seen. Their hollow eyes, the protruding ribs. She remembered the vacant stares on the faces of the dead women in the photographs.
“I admit I was cruel to them, but I had to dehumanize them so they could be molded in the image I chose. When I appeared, I wore a mask and I made them wear leather masks with no eyeholes. Once a week I doled out rations scientifically calculated to keep them on the brink of starvation. I limited the hours they could sleep.
“Did Colby mention the clocks and the videotape machines? Did you wonder what they were for? It was my crowning touch. I had a wife and child and a job, so I could only be with my subjects for short periods each week, but I wanted total control, omniscience, even when I was gone. So I rigged the videotapes to run when I wasn’t there and I gave the women commands to perform. They had to watch the clock. Every hour, at set times, they would bow to the camera and perform dog tricks, rolling over, squatting, masturbating. Whatever I commanded. I reviewed the tapes and I punished deviations firmly.”
Darius had an enraptured look on his face. His eyes were fixed on a scene no sane person could imagine. Betsy felt she would shatter if she moved.
“I changed them from demanding cows to obedient puppies. They were mine completely. I bathed them. They ate like dogs from a doggy bowl. They were forbidden to speak unless I told them to, and the only time I let them was to beg me for punishment and thank me for pain. In the end they would do anything to escape the pain. They pleaded to drink my urine and kissed my foot when I let them.”
Darius’s face was so tight Betsy thought his skin might rip. A wave of nausea made her stomach roll.
“Some of the women resisted, but they soon learned that there can be no negotiations with a god. Others obeyed immediately. Cross, for instance. She was no challenge at all. A perfect cow. As docile and unimaginative as a lump of clay. That’s why I chose her for my sacrifice.”
Before Darius started speaking, Betsy assumed there was nothing he could say that she would not be able to handle, but she did not want to hear any more.
“Did your experiment bring you peace?” Betsy asked to stop Darius from talking about the women. Her breathing was ragged and she felt light-headed. Darius snapped out of his trance.
“The experiment brought me the most exquisite pleasure, Tannenbaum. The moments I shared with those women were the finest moments in my life. But Sandy found the note and it had to end. There was too much danger of being caught. Then I was caught, and then I was free, and that freedom was exhilarating.”
“When was the next time you repeated the experiment, Martin?” Betsy asked coldly.
“Never. I wanted to, but I learn from experience. I had one lucky break and I was not going to risk life in prison or the death penalty.”
Betsy stared at Darius with contempt.
“I want you out of my office. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“You can’t quit, Tannenbaum. I need you.”
“Hire Oscar Montoya or Matthew Reynolds.”
“Oscar Montoya and Matthew Reynolds are good lawyers, but they aren’t women. I’m banking that no jury will believe that an ardent feminist would represent a ma
n who treated a woman the way the murderer treated Reiser, Farrar and Miller. In a close case, you’re my edge.”
“Then you just lost your edge, Darius. You’re the most vile person I’ve ever known. I don’t ever want to see you again, let alone defend you.”
“You’re reneging on our deal. I told you, I did not murder Farrar, Reiser or Vicky Miller. Someone is framing me. If I’m convicted, this case will be closed and you’ll be responsible for the killer’s next victim and the one after that.”
“Do you think I’ll believe anything you say after what you just told me, after all your lies?”
“Listen, Tannenbaum,” Darius said, leaning across the desk and pinning Betsy with an intense stare, “I did not kill those women. I’m being set up by someone and I’m pretty certain I know who she is.”
“She?”
“Only Nancy Gordon knows enough about this case to frame me. Vicky, Reiser, those women would never have suspected her. She’s female. She’d flash her badge. They’d let her in easy. That’s why there were no signs of a struggle at the crime scenes. They probably went with her willingly and didn’t know what was happening until it was too late.”
“No woman would do what was done to those women.”
“Don’t be naive. She’s been obsessed with me since Hunter’s Point. She’s probably insane.”
Betsy remembered what she had learned about Nancy Gordon. The woman had tried to murder Darius in Hunter’s Point. She had dedicated her life to finding him. But, to frame him like this? From what she knew, it was more likely that Gordon would have walked up to Darius and shot him.
“I don’t buy it.”
“You know Vicky left the Hacienda Motel at two-thirty. I was with Russell Miller and several other people at the advertising agency until almost five.”
“Who can alibi you after you left the ad agency?”
“Unfortunately, no one.”
“I’m not going to do it. You stand for everything in life I find repulsive. Even if you didn’t kill the women in Portland, you did commit those inhuman crimes in Hunter’s Point.”
“And you are going to be responsible for murdering the next victim in Portland. Think about it, Tannenbaum. There’s no case against me now. That means another woman will have to die to supply the evidence the State can use to convict me.”
That evening Kathy snuggled close to Betsy, her attention riveted on a cartoon special. Betsy kissed the top of her daughter’s head and wondered how this peaceful scene could coexist with a reality where women, curled up in the dark, waited for a torturer to bring them unbearable pain? How could she meet with a man like Martin Darius at work and watch Disney with her daughter at home without losing her sanity? How could Peter Lake spend the morning as the horror god of a warped fantasy and the evening playing with his own little girl?
Betsy wished there was only one reality: the one where she and Rick sat watching Disney with Kathy squirreled between them. The one she thought was reality before Rick walked out on her and she met Martin Darius.
Betsy had always been able to separate herself from her work. Before Darius, her criminal clients were more pathetic than frightening. She represented shoplifters, drunk drivers, petty thieves and scared juveniles. She was still friendly with the two women she had saved from homicide charges. Even when she brought her work home with her, she saw it as something that was only temporarily in her house. Darius was in Betsy’s soul. He had changed her. She no longer believed she was safe. And much worse, she knew Kathy was not safe either.
CHAPTER 22
One
St. Jude’s looked more like an exclusive private school than a mental hospital. A high, ivy-covered wall stretched back into deep woods. The administration building, once the home of millionaire Alvin Piercy, was red brick, with recessed windows and gothic arches. Piercy, a devout Catholic, died a bachelor in 1916 and left his fortune to the church. In 1923 the mansion was converted into a retreat for priests in need of counseling. In 1953 a small, modern psychiatric hospital was constructed behind the house, which became the home of St. Jude’s administration. From the gate, Reggie Stewart could see the administration building through the graceful limbs of the snow-covered trees that were scattered across the grounds. In the fall, the lawn would be a carpet of green and the tree limbs would be graced with leaves of gold and red.
Dr. Margaret Flint’s office was at the end of a long corridor on the second floor. The window faced away from the hospital and toward the woods. Dr. Flint was an angular, horse-faced woman with shoulder-length gray hair.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Stewart said.
Dr. Flint responded with an engaging smile that softened her homely features. She took Stewart’s hand in a firm grip, then motioned him into one of two armchairs that were set up around a coffee table.
“I’ve often wondered what became of Samantha Reardon. She was such an unusual case. Unfortunately there was no follow-up, once she was released.”
“Why is that?”
“Her husband refused to pay after the divorce and it wasn’t covered by insurance. In any event, I doubt Samantha would have permitted me to pry into her affairs after she gained her freedom. She hated everything associated with the hospital.”
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Reardon?”
“Normally I wouldn’t tell you a thing, because of patient-doctor confidentiality rules, but your phone call raised the possibility that she may be a danger to others, and that takes precedence over those rules in certain circumstances.”
“She may be involved in a series of murders in Portland.”
“So you said. Is there a connection between the murders and her captivity in Hunter’s Point?” Dr. Flint asked.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment. Please bear with me. I need to know the background of your request for information.”
“A man named Peter Lake was the husband of one of the Hunter’s Point victims and the father of another. He moved to Portland eight years ago so he could start a new life. Someone is duplicating the Hunter’s Point m.o. in Portland. Are you familiar with the way the Hunter’s Point women were treated?”
“Of course. I was Samantha’s treating psychiatrist. I had full access to the police reports.”
“Dr. Flint, would Reardon be capable of subjecting other women to the torture she experienced in order to frame my client?”
“A good question. Not many women could go through torture, then subject another woman to that same experience, but Samantha Reardon was in no way normal. We all have personalities that are thoroughly ingrained. Our personalities are usually very difficult, if not impossible, to change. People with personality disorders have maladaptive personalities. The signs they present vary with the disorder.
“Prior to her horrible victimization, Samantha Reardon had what we call a borderline personality, which lies between a neurosis and a psychosis. At times she would exhibit psychotic behavior, but generally she would be seen as neurotic. She demonstrated perverse sexual interests, antisocial behavior, such as passing bad checks or shoplifting, anxiety, and strong self-centeredness. Her relationship with her ex-husband typifies this kind of behavior. There were periods of intense sexuality, frequent instability, and he found her impossible to reason with and totally self-centered. When she was caught stealing, she showed no interest in the charges, no remorse. She used sex to distract Dr. Reardon and gain favors from him. She destroyed his finances without regard to the long-term consequences for both of them. When Samantha was kidnapped and tortured she became psychotic. She is probably still in that state.
“Samantha saw St. Jude’s as an extension of her captivity. I was the only doctor to whom she related, probably because I was the only female on the staff. Samantha Reardon hates and distrusts all men. She was convinced that the Hunter’s Point mayor, the police chief, the governor, even, at times, the President of the United States—all men—were conspiring to protect the man who
tortured her.”
“So,” Stewart interjected, “it’s possible she would act on these fantasies if she located the man she believed was responsible for her captivity?”
“Most certainly. When she was here, she spoke of nothing but revenge. She saw herself as an avenging angel arrayed against the forces of darkness. She hated her captor, but she is a danger to any man, because she sees them all as oppressors.”
“But the women? How could she bring herself to torture those women after what she went through?”
“Samantha would see any means that furthered her ends as acceptable means, Mr. Stewart. If she had to sacrifice some women in the process of attaining her goal, in her eyes that would be a small price to pay for her revenge.”
Two
Rick was sitting in the waiting room when Betsy arrived at work. He seemed subdued.
“I know I’m not expected, but I wanted to talk. Are you busy?”
“Come in,” Betsy told him. She was still angry with him for telling Kathy that her career was to blame for their separation.
“How’s Kathy?” Rick asked, as he followed her into her office.
“There’s an easy way to find out.”
“Don’t be like that. Actually, one of the reasons I stopped by is to ask if she can sleep over. I just moved into a new apartment and it has a guest room.”
Betsy wanted to say no, because it would hurt Rick, but she knew how much Kathy missed her father.
“Fine.”
“Thanks. I’ll pick her up tomorrow, after work.”
“What else did you want to talk about?”
Rick was uncomfortable. He looked down at the desktop.
“I … Betsy, this is very hard for me. The partnership, my job …” Rick paused. “I’m not doing this very well.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that my life is in turmoil right now. I’m under so much pressure that I’m not thinking straight. This time by myself, it’s given me some distance, some perspective. I guess what I’m saying is, don’t give up on me. Don’t close me out …”
Gone, But Not Forgotten Page 25