Lady in White

by A. J. Matthews

  She looked at him. "If anyone other than you had said that, I'd have laughed out loud."

  "You may get to laugh yet, love." He turned his head and kissed her. "I've got to work through all this, but it would help if I knew who Dan Spade was, apart from being a circuit judge."

  "Uncle Winfield might know. He's the current Great Brother of the Carpenters Movement in Indiana." She got her cell phone out and placed the call. "If anyone can tell us the link, he can."

  * * * *

  Caroline lay in the bath, soaking up the heat and relishing every moment of it. A nice hot bubble bath had really appealed to her, and she regretted that her parents had gotten rid of their bathtub in favor of a shower two years ago. Her uncle's bath had a whirlpool function that she toyed with, sending hot jets of water streaming delightfully over her body as she lay up to her neck in the foam. She remembered telling Martin she doubted she'd ever feel warm until the summer months arrived. The renewed onset of cold weather had brought back memories of the rescue and her brief immersion in the White River. Now it all seemed so long ago.

  Her uncle stuck his head around the bathroom door. "You doing okay in there?"

  She smiled at him lazily. "I'm doing just fine."

  "Good. Use all the hot water you want, there's plenty. I'm going to fix supper in a moment. Is there anything you'd like?"

  "I'm easy."

  "Not what I heard!" he said with a wink and left before she could throw a sponge at him.

  With the prospect of supper, she began to wash herself. Her fingers brushed the pentacle amulet hanging around her neck, and she held it up and looked at it. She'd obeyed Martin's instructions to wear it at all times since he'd put it there, never taking it off even to wash or sleep. Here she was, miles from the old hospital, warm and safe in her uncle's house, but the memories of what had happened to her made her hesitate to remove it. After a moment's deliberation, she took the pendant off and laid it aside, and continued washing.

  * * * *

  In the kitchen Winfield moved the corned beef hash around in the skillet and smiled with familial pride as he reflected on what a beautiful young woman his niece had become. John Burwell was a lucky man to attract her affections. Maybe he'd take a closer interest in the guy. The phone rang, and he took the call to find it was his other niece. "Claudia! This is a nice surprise. How's it going?"

  "I'm doing just fine, Uncle."

  He didn't doubt it; Claudia positively radiated self-sufficiency. "How's that new boyfriend of yours treating you?" he asked.

  "Ha! I guess someone's been talking?"

  "Yeah, Caroline's here; she told me all about it."

  "I'll bet. He treats me just fine. Listen, Marty and I could use some help in this case we've taken on at the old Daniels LaRoche hospital. It looks like there's a connection to the Carpenters."

  "Oh, really?" He turned down the heat under the skillet and leaned back on the counter. "I've heard something about it from other sources, but the details are sketchy. What's going on?" He listened as she gave him a summary of the case to date. "And you figure the pavilion's at the heart of it all?"

  "Maybe. Martin asks if you know anything of a guy called Dan Spade."

  "Sure I do. He was Great Brother of the Carpenters for twenty years, from 1920 to 1940. I think he was a circuit court judge too. Your granddaddy Mackenzie knew him."

  "Did he build the pavilion?"

  "He designed it and provided funds for the construction."

  "That's good enough. Can you tell us why he built the suites of playing card symbols into the design?"

  "Playing cards?"

  "Martin's told me what they represent, Uncle. They're the suites of the Tarot."

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "Yeah, you're right. Old Dan Spade was a consummate expert on symbols. He did a lot to enhance the movement's rituals. If he designed that place with those built in, it was for a purpose."

  As he spoke he heard the sound of a cell phone ringing in the background at his niece's end. A man's voice spoke in a British accent—presumably it was Martin—and then he heard him say "Oh, my God!" quite distinctly.

  "Was that Martin? What's wrong, Claudia?" he asked.

  "Wait one," she replied and he heard a quick exchange of conversation before she returned, sounding shaken. "Uncle, Marty just got a call from Doctor Burwell, the guy who runs the clinic. There's been another suicide!"

  * * * *

  Detective Lovett looked at the corpse with an expression of distaste. "What the hell's going on in this place?" he asked the room at large. "One suicide's bad enough; two coincidental; three is just way out of line!"

  Alvin Drake shook his head. "I've never seen anything like this, Ian. Assuming it is suicide, what the hell brings them here to die?"

  He looked up and around the hall. They stood with the body in the center of a pool of light cast by the light poles set up to illuminate the scene. The drab gray walls were visible, as were the dark wooden doors leading off to who knew where, but beyond the light nothing could be seen—although his imagination was beginning to people the darkness with unseen watchers.

  "I'm not easily scared. When you're used to dealing with death on a daily basis, few people are." He grimaced. The darkness seemed to crawl. "But there's something not right about this place."

  Lovett looked around too. Drake had worked with the detective for four years; he was as street-hardened as any long service cop. Two recent citations attested to his courage on the streets. Even so, Lovett looked as uneasy as he felt.

  The detective rubbed the back of his neck and nodded briefly. "It's the cold, Al, that's all. Let's finish up here and go grab a beer."

  "Amen to that."

  He returned to the task at hand and soon found a new piece of evidence. "Aw, shit."

  "Trouble?" Lovett asked.

  Alvin held up a swab with a sticky substance on the tip. "I found some of this gunk back at the scene of the first death. ID'ing it is giving the lab serious trouble."

  Lovett peered at the stuff. "You can't figure out what it is? I thought you guys could ID everything under the sun."

  "It's human and organic, that's for sure, but it's like nothing we've ever encountered." He shivered. The air felt oppressive. "Okay, that's it. We're done."

  * * * *

  John sat in his office, his head spinning from the rush of activity over the past two hours. His desk phone rang, and he looked at it with a feeling of trepidation, the recent barrage of calls from the press over the last death fresh in his mind. Reluctantly, he took the call. "Doctor Burwell."

  "Doctor? It's Frank Polson."

  "Hello, Polson," he replied with a grimace. Formality yet again, he thought; not good.

  "I got a call from the police about yet another death there! What's going on, Doctor?"

  "Another ex-patient got into the old building. He's dead."

  "Are the police convinced it's suicide?"

  "It's too early for the coroner's report, but I'll take a wild guess and say it is," he replied, toying with a pencil on his desk. The blinds on the windows were raised; it was full night outside and his reflection stared back at him with haggard eyes. Uncomfortable with the sight, he reached across and lowered the blind.

  "Doctor, you've got to find the cause of this, and soon!"

  "Okay, Polson, okay!" Sitting, he turned to his computer and brought up the files. "I'm looking at the records now. There has to be a common link."

  "Keep on it. Luckily, the press hasn't cottoned on to this new one—yet!"

  Polson hung up, and John turned his full attention to the problem.

  He ran through the diagnoses of the three men. Depression featured in each of their cases, to one degree or another. "So much for that," he muttered, tapping the keyboard. "Suicides aren't the most cheerful people." Next he tried a list of their prescribed medication, and found they had several drugs in common. A check on dates of admission drew out the fact they'd
spent time in the old building. A refined search threw up another detail; each had spent time on the same ward. He thought back to his own time in the old building. That ward was located in the southwest corner and overlooked the private suites in the Greville Wing.

  He sat back and stared at the computer screen, feeling he'd hit pay-dirt.

  * * * *

  Martin stretched until the kinks eased from his back. "I've been poring over these damn notes too long!" he grunted.

  "Poor baby!" Claudia leaned over him and kissed his cheek as she ran her hands over his chest.

  He clasped her arms and pressed his head against hers. "This case has some oddities beyond the paranormal ones."

  "Such as?"

  "I've got the feeling Dan Spade and Winifred Morgan knew each other before the court case. Winifred strikes me as far too strong-willed and self-sure to allow herself to be put away in an asylum purely on the say so of an unknown judge. I'm still wondering how a respected judge, Carpenter, and philanthropist came into social contact with a Wiccan? The two worlds don't exactly mix, even now."

  "There is the magical aspect—and the knowledge of symbols," she said. "I think you're right; there was some collusion between them. Maybe we could find where Spade's jurisdiction lay; if it was where Winifred lived in the south of the state, we'll be on to something."

  "It could be. That'll need a search of old court records for the entire state. I'm not sure we have that much time. Ugh!"

  A brief pain shot through his mind.

  "What's up, lover? Got a headache?"

  "No; it's worse than that." He stared at the south wall. "Caroline must have taken off the amulet I gave her! Something just tripped the alarm I placed on her mind!"

  "What?" She looked puzzled, then gasped and clasped her hands to her mouth. "Oh, no!"

  "Phone her, Claudia! Do it now!"

  She grabbed her phone and punched the speed dial button. Pressing it to her ear, she jiggled her legs impatiently until Caroline's sleepy voice spoke. "Caroline! Marty says to put that amulet back on, now!"

  "How'd he know I'd taken it off?"

  "I've got no idea, but he knows. Caroline, something's trying to get to you again! Put the amulet back on!"

  *

  She felt sleepy and doped-up with the last tablets of her antitoxin course flowing in her veins. A good meal filled her stomach and she really didn't feel like getting out of bed. "Okay, I'll do it. Wait one."

  Throwing back the covers she stood up and the world went blurry at the edges. "Ouch! Stood up too quick!" she mumbled and padded over to her dressing table.

  The darkness seemed to ebb and flow, making her head swim, and for a moment she thought she could hear a voice speaking her name. She glanced down and saw she still clutched her cell phone. Someone was talking on it, but it didn't seem important. Ending the call she picked up the amulet, looked at it curiously, then laid it aside and picked up her car keys. There was something she had to do.

  *

  "She's hung up!" Claudia cried, staring at the blank screen.

  "Damn it! Call your uncle; ask him to check on her!"

  She dialed his number. Eventually he answered. "Uncle, I think there's something wrong with Caroline! Can you check on her?"

  Martin leaned close to her to hear the other side of the conversation. "She turned in early, Claudie." Winfield sounded puzzled. "What can happen to her in bed?"

  "There's no time to explain! Please, just go check."

  She rolled her eyes at him as she held the cell pressed to her ear. As the seconds passed, they could make out the sound of footsteps on a wooden floor and Winfield's voice calling Caroline's name. When he came back on the line, he sounded worried. "Claudie, her bed's empty!"

  "Oh, fuck! Is her car still there?"

  Another pause, the seconds stretching out into weeks. "No! I was watching TV in the sitting room, but I didn't see her go. She must've gone out the back way."

  "You didn't hear the engine?"

  "No; I figure she let it roll downhill before starting up. Claudia, what the hell's going on?"

  She drew a deep breath. "It may sound weird, but we think Caroline's been possessed! Uncle, she can't have gotten far. If she comes back, see if she's okay, and if not hold here there!"

  "Okay. I'll tell you the minute I see her."

  He hung up, and she put the cell down and stared at Martin. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Marty, I'm so worried about her!"

  "We're doing what we can, love. Maybe we should tell John. I have a hunch she'll head for the old hospital, and he can be there to intercept her."

  He dialed the doctor's number, and Burwell answered almost immediately. "Dear God!" he said once he'd listened to what had happened. "Yeah, of course I'll look out for her! I'm at the clinic now, going through some records. There's a patrol car stationed at the road entrance. The cops think there's a possibility of others coming here to kill themselves, either former patients or copycat suicides. I'll go talk to them, see that they watch for Caroline as well."

  "Are there any other ways into the grounds she could use?"

  "I guess it's possible to cross the river if the ice is thick enough. After the recent thaw I'd not risk it, but I know what someone not in their right mind will do." Martin heard him take a deep breath. "Look, Martin, I don't know if you guessed or if she told you, but Caroline's special to me. We're going on a date when this place closes. I care for her, and don't want to see her hurt."

  "I understand completely."

  "What I'm trying to say is, can you find out what's causing all this trouble and deal with it?"

  "I've got a good idea. There was a Superintendent Rossiter in charge there in the thirties and forties. During his time, there was a horrible record of patient abuse and suspicious deaths. It was investigated and cleared up, but he died during the inquiry. I've a hunch his ghost is at the bottom of all this. From what I've read of the man, he was a control freak, reluctant to let anybody go once they'd passed into that place for treatment. It could be he's still controlling the spirits of those who died there—and he's looking to increase the number. I think the attack on the boy was a speculative move which the White Lady foiled."

  Burwell sighed. "It's not something I'd ever have believed before, but since you've been around, I've begun to question it. But, Martin, why would he want to control Caroline?"

  His tone was plaintive, and Martin nodded sympathetically. "It's because Caroline's such a good person at heart. The evil spirit sees her as a threat, either real or potential. I can't see any other links."

  He heard Burwell draw a sharp breath and then came the sound of rapid keystrokes on a computer keyboard. "Wait! I've been looking at the records of those men who came here and killed themselves, or tried to. They were all inmates in the same ward of the old building." He paused then spoke again. "Shit! Caroline was a duty nurse on that same ward when she joined here!"

  "What's the location of the ward?"

  "Third floor, southwest corner."

  Mentally adjusting to the American habit of calling the ground floor the first floor, he reached across and picked up the folder containing the inquiry report. "There's a map of the building in here showing rooms where the abuse was reported." Aligning the map, he traced the area Burwell had given him. "It was a secure wing for violent patients."

  "It may've been then but wasn't when I was there."

  "The authorities must've changed it." He drummed his fingers on the table as he thought. Claudia sat beside him, clasping her hands between her knees and watching him anxiously. "Rossiter must have liked that ward. There was little chance anyone would leave it, and the violence could be covered up due to the nature of the patients kept there."

  "But why would it extend out to the Greville Wing?" Burwell asked. "It didn't exist in his time."

  "It's probably because of the close proximity. The incidents took place in the rooms closest to the old building. Rossiter was extending his influence there in an att
empt to claim fresh patients."

  "He's got to be stopped!"

  "So he will be!" He glanced at his watch then looked at Claudia. "I think it's time we came down there and checked out that old building. I really don't like the idea of going in at night, but needs must. Caroline might be on her way there right now, and it's possible other former patients could be homing in too."

  "I'll go and warn the cops," Burwell said. "Then I'll check these records. I know what to look for now. If there are any other patients at risk, I'll call the cops and have them check them out to make sure they're okay."

  "Good man," Martin said, getting to his feet. "Tell them we're on our way too. See you in a while."

  "We're going into the old hospital?" Claudia asked, looking up at him with a pained expression. "At this time of night?"

  "No choice, love." He knelt and put his arms around her and held her close. "This is coming to a head sooner than I expected." He looked at her. "Are you scared?"

  "Not when I'm with you."

  "We make a good team." He smiled.

  She stroked his cheek and looked tenderly into his eyes. "We do."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chance—or reporter's luck—placed Jay in exactly the right place at the right time. Returning from a night out with his buddies, he drew up alongside an old-model Buick at a red light. Glancing at the pretty female driver of the Buick, he did a double-take when he recognized the cute nurse from the clinic. She glanced back in his direction, but there was no sign of recognition on her face. Under the glare of the streetlights, she seemed almost expressionless as she looked back at the traffic signals. The lights turned green, and he let the Buick move ahead before swinging in behind. It was a clumsy means of following anybody, but his instincts were prickling.

  She drove into the city at a steady pace, apparently allowing him to keep her in view all the time. "C'mon, girl, you must know I'm here!" he said, half in protest. "Are you leading me on?"

  He remembered her slender figure, the sweet way she lowered her eyes when being interviewed after her daring rescue. A disbelieving grin began to spread over his face. Maybe his luck would stretch a little further still tonight.