Once Taken

by Blake Pierce

  Bill had actually turned to Riley, as if waiting for her response. She hadn’t reacted at all, so he’d told the woman, “Yes.”

  It was morning now, and they were on the road. Riley was wondering what would have happened if she’d nodded her approval at that critical moment. What might last night have been like?

  This morning they weren’t discussing that question or much of anything else. They’d barely even said a word to each other over breakfast back at the motel. They’d scarcely talked at all on the drive to the Hoxeyville Psychiatric Center where Eugene Fisk had spent a large part of his life.

  Riley had called the hospital earlier this morning. She’d been surprised that Eugene’s supervising physician seemed perfectly happy to meet with them. Physicians normally balked at this kind of interview because of physician-patient privilege. For some reason, Dr. Joseph Lombard didn’t seem concerned about that, and she was eager to find out why.

  Steady, she thought as the hospital building came into view. This is no time to think about last night.

  After all, Bill was desperately trying to patch things up with Maggie, and Riley had a swarm of personal issues to deal with. They also had work to do, and their formerly solid rapport was shaky already.

  Still, she couldn’t help wondering about that drunken suggestion she’d made to Bill over the phone, the one that had all but ruined their friendship. Had he really been offended by it, or had he been scared instead? Scared that something was almost sure to happen between them sooner or later? Was the possibility still in the air?

  She glanced sideways at Bill. He looked every bit the well-disciplined FBI agent that he was, with his dark hair carefully combed. In fact, he’d made a greater effort than usual to look professional. He didn’t always wear a suit and a tie. At the moment, he seemed to be completely focused on his driving, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was asking himself questions similar to hers. His strong face gave her no clue.

  Riley put all such thoughts aside as Bill parked in the visitors’ lot. They walked into the hospital, checked in, and were escorted directly to Dr. Lombard’s office.

  The doctor, a tall man of about sixty, rose from his desk to meet them.

  “Agents Paige and Jeffreys, I presume,” he said. “Please sit down.”

  Bill and Riley sat down in the chairs in front of the doctor’s desk. For a moment the doctor stood looking at them with an anxious expression.

  “You said that you want to talk to me about Eugene Fisk,” he said. “He was in our care about ten years back.”

  The doctor sat down and continued. “When you called you mentioned that you were in Pennsylvania searching for information about a murderer over in New York. You mentioned chains, straitjackets, slit throats. And you said that there’s another captive? Horrible.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “Am I correct in understanding that Mr. Fisk is a suspect?” he asked.

  “He’s our only suspect,” Bill said.

  Dr. Lombard didn’t reply, but his expression was one of deep concern.

  Riley said, “Dr. Lombard, as I stressed to you, information is urgent. We appreciate your willingness to talk to us about Mr. Fisk without a warrant.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s unusual,” Lombard replied. “But Pennsylvania law is quite specific about the matter. I’m only forbidden to exchange medical information that ‘blackens’ my patient’s character.”

  Dr. Lombard gazed significantly at Riley, then at Bill.

  “I’ll make sure not to cross that line,” he said.

  Riley understood. The doctor was eager to cooperate. But this was not going to be a typical interview. What went unsaid was likely to be as important as what was said. Riley knew that she had to be alert to unspoken clues.

  The doctor opened a file.

  “I’ve got his records right here,” he said, glancing over its contents. “He was admitted here sixteen years ago. He was eleven years old. He was an orphan, and he’d been living in a group foster home that had just burned down. He was … deeply traumatized afterwards.”

  The doctor stopped. Riley detected that he was leaving a great deal unsaid.

  She said, “We understand that he stayed under your care until he was eighteen.”

  “That’s right,” Lombard said. “When he first came here, he was barely communicative at all. He stayed huddled up and ignored anyone who tried to talk to him. But little by little, he improved. He came out of his shell.”

  The doctor knitted his brow, remembering.

  “He had a terrible speech problem,” he said. “Never got rid of it, even after he started getting better. I’m sure that he’d had it from early childhood. He could talk to me just a little. But often he’d write down what he wanted to say instead of trying to speak.”

  Lombard leaned back in his chair.

  “He made slow but excellent progress,” he said. “Or so I’d thought. He learned a lot while he was here. He learned to garden, how to use a computer, took some classes. He was extremely good-natured, generous, kind. He was never the least bit aggressive. Everybody liked him—other patients, the personnel. I liked him.”

  He pulled a photograph from the file and passed it over to them. The teenager had a warm smile, but Riley thought his eyes looked rather blank.

  The doctor continued, but a tone of regret was starting to creep into his voice.

  “He seemed more than ready to go out into the world. We released him. We tried to keep track of his whereabouts and activities. But soon he disappeared completely. I worried about that. It was nine years ago.”

  The doctor’s voice trailed off. Riley knew that she was going to have to coax more information out of him.

  She said, “Dr. Lombard, we’re going to ask you a few questions. If you can legally answer them, please do so. If you can’t, you don’t have to say anything. Does that sound okay with you?”

  “That sounds fine,” the doctor said.

  Riley glanced at Bill. He nodded. Riley could see that he understood this tactic and was ready to join in.

  “Dr. Lombard,” Riley said, “when Eugene’s foster home burned down, was arson ever suspected?”

  The doctor stared ahead fixedly and said nothing.

  Bill put in, “Did anybody die in the incident?”

  Again, the doctor said nothing.

  Riley asked, “Was somebody murdered?”

  The doctor looked at her without saying a word.

  Finally he said, “I think that’s all I can tell you.”

  Bill said, “Maybe you could help with one more thing. Has the foster home been rebuilt? Is it operating now?”

  “It is,” Lombard said. “I’ll give you the address.”

  Lombard wrote down the address and handed it to Bill.

  Riley looked again at the photograph of Eugene Fisk. “Could you give us a copy of this?” she asked.

  “You can keep that one. I’ll print another for the file.”

  Bill and Riley both thanked him for his help and left his office.

  “That was informative,” Bill said as they headed for the car. “Let’s head right over to that foster home.”

  Riley said, “While you drive, I’ll call Sam Flores back in Quantico. I’ll get him to look for news stories about what happened at the orphanage.”

  *

  The St. Genesius Children’s Home was located in Bowerbank, Pennsylvania, about a half hour from Hoxeyville. While Bill was driving, Riley received a newspaper article from Sam Flores. What she read chilled her to the bone.

  Sixteen years ago, the group foster home was burned to the ground. Arson was suspected. The body of a twelve-year-old boy, Ethan Holbrook, had been found in the ruins. The article didn’t specify the cause of death.

  “That poor kid could have been Eugene’s first victim,” Riley said after she’d finished reading the article to Bill.

  “Jesus,” Bill murmured. “He started as a pre-teen? What kind of monster are we dealing w
ith?”

  Riley remembered Dr. Lombard’s stony silence when she’d asked him if someone had been murdered. She thought about the smiling young child she’d seen in the photograph at Walter Sattler’s house. How soon had that child been turned into a killer?

  When Bill parked the car, Riley observed that the group home was housed in a clean, modern building. Outside in front was a playground with colorful equipment. There were dozens of kids playing happily.

  Two gray-clad, smiling nuns were watching over them. Riley and Bill approached the closest one.

  “Excuse me, Sister,” Riley said. “Could you take us to this facility’s director?”

  “That would be me,” the nun said pleasantly. “Sister Cecilia Berry. What can I do for you?”

  Riley was surprised at how young she looked. It didn’t seem likely that she’d been in charge of this place all those years ago. Riley wondered what they could hope to learn from her.

  Riley and Bill both took out their badges.

  “We’re Agents Jeffreys and Paige, FBI,” Bill said. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Sister Cecilia’s smile dropped away. She turned pale. She looked around, as if to make sure that nobody was watching.

  “Please come with me,” she said. She called to another nun to take over the playground supervision.

  Riley and Bill walked with her into the building. On their way to nun’s office, Riley noticed that the building was organized like a dormitory. Down one hall, she saw rows of rooms, many with their doors open. A couple of kindly-looking nuns were checking in on the kids, stopping to talk with them as they went. Music, conversation, and laughter could be heard.

  From what Riley could see, the St. Genesius Children’s Home was a warm, welcoming place.

  So why is this woman so uneasy? Riley wondered.

  Riley and Bill sat down in Sister Cecilia’s office. But the sister didn’t sit down. She paced with agitation.

  “I don’t know why you’re here,” she said. “We’ve had no complaints since this new facility opened. We have lawyers to deal with the old cases. If you’ve checked with the DHS, they’ll tell you that we pass every inspection with a perfect score. I’ll show you the latest report.”

  She started to open a file drawer.

  “Sister Cecilia, I don’t think you understand the nature of our visit,” Bill said.

  Riley added, “We’re here to ask about a child who was here sixteen years ago. Eugene Fisk. We’re trying to find him. He’s the subject of a murder investigation.”

  “Oh,” the sister said with surprise. She sat behind her desk.

  “Please excuse my mistake,” she said. “We’re trying to put our history behind us. I’m sure you can understand.”

  The truth was, Riley didn’t understand, and she was sure that Bill didn’t either.

  “What can you tell us about Eugene Fisk?” Riley asked.

  Sister Cecilia looked wary.

  “What do you know already?” she asked.

  Bill said, “We know that he was transferred to a psychiatric hospital after your old facility burned down. A boy died in that fire—Ethan Holbrook. We’re here to find out more about what happened.”

  “It was before my time, of course,” Sister Cecilia said, getting up from her desk and going back to the file cabinet. “But I know Eugene’s story well.”

  She opened a drawer, took out a file, and sat down again.

  “It was a terrible story,” she said, opening the file and scanning its contents. “Most of the nuns thought Eugene had started the fire. They even thought he might have killed Ethan. Nothing was ever proven.”

  “Why would he have killed another child?” Riley asked.

  Referring to the old file, Sister Cecilia explained, “It seemed that Ethan Holbrook was an awful bully. He was particularly ugly toward Eugene. Eugene was small, weak, and awkward. And he had a terrible speech impediment. Ethan tormented and mocked him about it.”

  “Why didn’t the nuns put a stop to the bullying?” Riley asked.

  Sister Cecilia fell silent.

  “I get the impression there’s something you don’t want to tell us,” Riley said.

  Slowly and reluctantly, the sister said, “There’s quite a lot I’d rather not tell you, actually. It’s not exactly a secret. It’s not a secret at all. You can find court records about it, and old news stories. It’s just so awful to have to dredge up the past. And I’d hate to have it all in the news again. With the Lord’s help, we’ve tried to put it all behind us. We do nothing but good work here now. We really do.”

  “We’re sure that’s true,” Riley said. “But it would help if you’d tell us.”

  Sister Cecilia said nothing for a moment. Then she continued, “After the fire, when the home was just starting to be rebuilt, the truth began to come out. The director back then was Sister Veronica Orlando. She’d run the place for more than a decade. She and her nuns were merciless. They encouraged the kids to bully each other. And she and the nuns would punish kids horribly for the smallest things—like sneezing or wetting the bed.”

  Riley was struck by the sister’s sad expression. She could see that Sister Cecilia was doing her best to redeem the home from its awful history. Even so, the poor woman couldn’t help but be haunted by a past for which she had no responsibility.

  “Sister Cecilia,” Riley asked in a gentle tone, “did any of these punishments involve chains?”

  “If you’re asking whether the kids themselves were chained up, no,” she said. “But Sister Veronica and her nuns did sometimes lock them up by putting chains on the doors.”

  Sister Cecilia tilted her head inquisitively.

  “But it’s interesting you should ask about chains,” she said, checking the record again. “Eugene came here when he was ten years old. He’d been found with a shackle on one ankle, chained to a post in his house. He was starving, and he couldn’t talk at all.”

  “Where was his mother?” Bill asked.

  “She’d been murdered. Her body was found right there in the house, right in front of the child where he would have seen the whole thing. The killer was never caught.”

  “How was she killed?” Riley asked.

  “Her throat was slit,” Sister Cecilia said. “The straight razor that killed her was found there too, thrown down on the floor near her. But they didn’t find any prints on it.”

  Then the nun looked out the window, still with that haunted expression.

  “The newspapers didn’t say it,” she said, “but that was how Ethan Holbrook died, too.”

  Chapter 34

  Riley was awakened by Lucy charging through the door between their adjoining hotel rooms.

  “Turn on your TV!” Lucy cried.

  Riley yanked herself to a sitting position. “What?” she asked. She saw that it was morning. She and Bill had gotten back to Albany last night. In the other bed, April growled sleepily, “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll get it,” Lucy said. She found the clicker and turned the television on herself. The first words Riley heard were those of a news announcer.

  “We must warn our viewers that some of the images you’re about to see are graphic.”

  Riley immediately saw that the announcer really meant it. The first image was of a chain-bound body dangling from a tree branch. Mercifully, the body was facing away from the camera.

  The announcer continued, “A woman was brutally murdered last night, her body left in Albany’s Curtis Park. This seems to be the latest in a series of ‘chain murders’ that have terrorized the Hudson River area over the last five years. The victim’s identity is being withheld pending notification of her family …”

  “No,” Riley muttered. “It can’t be. Not yet.”

  The tree branch overhung a road, and it looked like the same park where Carla Liston had been abducted. The hanging body surely must be that of Carla Liston. But it was too soon. He’d only taken her a few days ago.

  As the anno
uncer continued, the camera panned to show that a small crowd of gawkers had clustered just outside the area that the cops had taped off. The whole situation was an investigator’s nightmare.

  Now the on-the-scene reporter was talking to the man who had discovered the body a couple of hours earlier.

  “I was just driving through the park on my way to work,” the man said. “When I saw it, I almost wrecked my car. Then I thought maybe it was a dummy hung up by some sick pranksters. But when you look you can tell …”

  At that moment came a sharp knock on the hotel room door. While Riley stared at the TV screen, Lucy went to the door and let Bill in.

  He said, “I just got a call from Harvey Dewhurst, the head of the Albany field office. He’s going out of his mind. That guy you see on camera there called the media before he called the police.”

  Riley shook her head wearily. “Well, he’s sure getting his fifteen minutes of fame,” she said.

  Bill continued, “As soon as the police heard about it, they knew it was our case and called the field office. But by the time Dewhurst and his people got there, the media was all over the scene. And the sightseers had also started to arrive.”

  “We have to get over there,” Lucy said.

  Riley was already out of bed, scrounging around for clothes. She carried her things into the bathroom and got dressed in a hurry. No time for breakfast, she knew. Maybe they could grab some coffee when they went by the motel breakfast room.

  When she came out, Bill and Lucy were waiting by the door.

  “We’ve got to go, April,” Riley said to her daughter. “All of us. You stay put right here.”

  “It’s your job,” April said. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  *

  During the drive to Curtis Park, Riley was still trying to get her mind around what had happened.

  “I don’t get what’s going on,” she said. “He’s breaking his own MO. He’s supposed to hold his victims captive for a longer time. For weeks. Why did he kill her so fast?”

  A wave of discouragement swept over her.

  “I thought we had more time to find Carla Liston,” she added sadly.

  “We did everything we could,” Lucy said from the back seat.