CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DETECTIVE MALONE IS SOMEWHAT PUZZLED
Detective Malone was a hard cop. He was a fair cop. And he was tired.
He hadn’t been sleeping well of late, and was loath to imbibe the sleeping pills his doctor had prescribed. He didn’t like pills. To him they were the same as drugs, and Malone hated drugs. A good scotch, well that was just good sense.
So when he was called out to investigate the carnage that had occurred in the institution it was with a weary sigh, and no small amount of irritation that he left the precinct at a quarter to nine pm. Before he left he poured himself a large measure from the whiskey he kept in the top drawer in his desk, then filled his hip flask to the brim.
He had read the file on Candy, had taken some interest in the case when she had been finally apprehended being directly involved in that particular operation, and he was troubled.
His cousin was a schizophrenic, and he was a cousin that he liked. But it distressed him when he would pay him a visit, for the simple reason that his cousin could not hold down any kind of conversation. In private, in the long hours of insomnia, he had prayed to a God he did not really believe existed for his cousin, and deep in his heart, again in those long hours, he had grudgingly admitted his upset to see one he cared for, well… so… gone.
He had dealt with serial killers all his days. They were scum. Malone valued life.
Life, happiness and the pursuit of the American dream, although he often always thought of this with just the slightest hint of jaded scorn. He had been happy once. When his wife had been around. But now happiness just appeared a mythical fairytale, reserved for kids on Christmas morning.
But this was different. The Psychiatrists report stated that this girl, Candy, was an acute schizophrenic. And so when he made his way to the institution, it was with an open mind that he thought had long closed. Because of his cousin. And hey. He was intrigued. The recent evidence gave an unsettling view to the recent case. And the disappearing lawyer was another thing. Plus the apparent admission from two Gods. Sorry one God and one Goddess. But Malone knew it could have been people.
People liked to play God.
And God alone knew who Candy herself knew.
He had spoken to the professor on the telephone, Randolph something. Malone had disliked him from the start. To Malone the man belied an arrogance normally possessed by those kind of people.
Malone had an arrogance of his own of course. He needed it for the job. Yet the difference so far as Malone could see was Malone was respectfully arrogant, whereas this man had just come across as being deeply patronizing.
A deeply patronizing ass-hole indeed.
Malone made it to the institution a little after ten in the pm.
He showed his badge at the gate, fort fucking Knox, he thought as he was ushered into the car park in front of the main entrance, where Randolph Nowes, already made aware of the detectives arrival stood waiting to greet him. Nowes hated policemen, and from the tone of their telephone conversation, hours earlier he had gotten the sense that the feeling was mutual. Malone climbed out of his dusty old ford, slamming the door shut with a shudder and climbed the six steps towards the professor.
"So glad you could make it inspector. It seems we’ve had a slight altercation with one of our guests here at the institution," Nowes' words came out with the suggestion of slime dressed as politeness.
"It’s detective sergeant actually, detective sergeant Malone, and I’m kind of eager to get the ball rolling so if we could cut with the civilities I’d really like to just get down to business," Malone replied, a cutting edge to his voice.
"Fine, of course, of course. Then please follow me," Nowes led the way.
With raised eyebrows, Malone followed.
Meanwhile Candy was once again in a small room. However this time there was no padding on the walls, and she sat on a chair with table, accompanied by two orderlies and Belinda, her key worker. They had administered her with a sedative, and despite the glazed look of hatred in her eyes, she was for that moment at relative peace.
The orderlies muttered between themselves - "Took his fucking eye out, can ya believe that… I mean jeez…" until Belinda silenced them with a look.
"Look Candy; no one is blaming you for what happened. We just want to get to the bottom of what actually went on," said Belinda, all the while smiling reassuringly at Candy, who replied in a near whisper.
"He came out of nowhere. Out of thin air. You can’t help me. No one can help me now. I’m fucked. Fucked. You can’t protect me because you don’t believe me. You think I’m insane, but he just appeared out of thin fucking air."
Attempting a smile again, yet managing only a disturbed grimace, Belinda said, "Candy, there’s a policeman here who wants to talk to you. I’ll be with you at all times, so there’s no need to be afraid."
"Do I get a lawyer present too?" spat Candy venomously, "Or do the mentally ill not have the right to representation? We’re the bottom of the barrel to you people, the scum of the earth. You think that I think that you really, truly, give a fuck? That you’re my friend, and you just want to help, and your salary is just a fucking bonus because you just want to help people, because you just want to give something back? I’m glad that fuckers blind and one day I’m gonna to raise this place to the ground. You think I don’t know? You think I don’t know they want to cut into my fucking head? You people make me sick. So fuck you Belinda, and the horse you rode in on and fucked. No, I don’t want you present, or those fucking apes. If the nice policeman wants to talk, he can talk to me, and me alone, and if he doesn’t like the odds he can fuck himself too."
"I’m not sure if that can be arranged."
"You can arrange it. You’d better arrange it. Or, Belinda; you. . . could. . . be. . . next. Clear it with your boss. I’m bored of talking to the hired help."
Candy noticed Belinda's smile tighten, and felt a hint of satisfaction amidst her sedation.
"You mind if I smoke?" asked Malone with a friendly drawl.
"As long as you’ve got a mind to share," replied Candy.
She had taken a grudging liking to the man who had come into the room, calm as Valium, and taken a seat opposite her.
He hadn’t had the look in his eyes that she saw in the others.
No, what she had seen in his eyes was kindness, and more importantly, respect. They had had there to and fros, their disagreements. But at the end of the day, this guy was starting to believe and that was more that she had hoped for.
"You want to tell me what this has all been about?" asked Malone in a friendly tone, ending his question with a wink instead of a question mark; and despite her change of feelings for the man there was a part of Candy that wanted to cut into his eye.
Yet she was scared. She had been having more dreams of late.
Dreams about the professor and the other one, McKenna. And they had been cutting into her again. And laughing.
"Look, what can I do for you Detective? It seems I have to fight for my life in this place. No one believed me from the start. Now you've got four dead cops and now you want to believe me, but you need me to convince you more. Is that it?"
"Maybe I am starting to believe."
"Well believe me, there ain't fuck all you can do. That's the truth and I gotta warn you the deeper you dig into this, the more you're likely to get yourself killed."
“Like I said; all I’m interested in is the truth."
"What all of a sudden you think I tell the truth? What about back in the police station, huh? You didn't seem so convinced I possessed that particular trait, then."
"A lot has changed since then. But I don't understand. It was the God who wanted you to kill; am I correct?" a casual tone in his voice.
"Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. It was either that or my soul damned to all eternity."
"You’re a catholic? I’m not sure I follow. Why would God want you to kill? Wouldn’t that be a ticket straight to hell?"
"Well, listen. I’m gonna check this out. Try and track down this covenant of the, eh…"
"Damned. But I don’t think it’ll do you much good. They don’t just open up for anybody."
"Hey, a guy can try can’t he? And in the mean time, you try to stay out of trouble."
Candy let out a sigh. A trace of fear crossed her face. "Listen. Shit. Listen, I know I’m a criminal and you’re a cop, but I don’t know who else to talk to about this. I need your help. They’re gonna cut me up. Lobotomise me. Don’t ask me how I know. I just know. You can’t let them do that to me. Please. I’m begging. And this isn't paranoia talking."
"Don’t they need consent for that kind of thing?"
"Yes they do, but I don’t think they’re gonna ask permission, if you get my drift. Please. If I'm going to get to end this with my soul intact, I'm going to need the rest of me intact too."
"You leave it to me. I’ll be back. There’s more I need to question you about, but if you ain’t in one piece, then there’s gonna be trouble," Malone stubbed out his cigarette delicately, "hey, how many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?"
"Don’t know," replied Candy.
For a moment he had her attention.
"None. They prefer to keep the electricity for shocking people. Not much of a joke, but hey, it just came to me. Chin up, Miss James. The law is on your side. Even if you are a serial killer," Malone studied the table for a minute then pulled two more cigarettes from his packet and lit them both before handing one to Candy.
“Anyway, there was an reason I'm here today. The Bird woman. Did you kill her?” the detective asked.
“Did I kill a bird lady? I don't even know what the hell that is.”
Malone sighed. “Jennifer Bird. Bird is her surname. Did you kill her?”
Candy laughed, but shook her head. “No. I didn't kill her. She committed suicide.”
“Why don't I believe you?”
“I don't know. Maybe because it's your job?”
“No. It's something more than that. Call it cop instinct.”
Candy smiled wider. She knew if she admitted to this then the shrinks would have different grounds for a lobotomy. At the very least she figured she would be subjected to more God awful shock therapy.
“Are you going to charge me with her murder?”
Malone shook his head.
“It seems what I believe is of no consequence this time. The D.A doesn't want to go for prosecution on this one. It seems he consulted with the doctors who worked with Ms Bird, and it appears that the deceased had been talking about suicide for some time now. I asked to see any notes to that effect, however it also appears the D.A has taken the doctors at their word and my chief has commanded me to leave the investigation where it stands.”
“And where does it stand, detective sergeant?”
“You know it's odd. The one person who I don't mention my rank to is the only one who remembers it. However, to answer your question, the police department's position on the Jennifer Bird case is as such; closed. Cause of death; suicide. Just like you said.”
Candy turned her eyes towards the table and Malone was surprised to see her smile disappear.
“What's the matter, Candy? I thought you'd be happy to hear you're off the hook?”
“I'm just surprised, that's all. It doesn't make sense. If, theoretically, they could have proved I killed the God awful woman, then they might have had all the permission they needed to lobotomise my ass, or I suppose in this case my grey matter. At the very least, I imagine they would have been a step closer to getting the permission to do so.”
Malone shrugged. “You know the same thought occurred to me when you asked for my help. I can tell you this much. If you were charged with the killing of the Bird woman,” Candy smirked slightly at the term, “of Jennifer Bird,” continued Malone, “then there would have been an army of cops and officials down here in a heartbeat and although you would have been top suspect in the case, policy dictates that we would have had to investigated just about everyone involved with the deceased, which includes that jackass McKenna, and even the good old professor himself. All I can think is that with so many cops and top officials sniffing around, maybe they were scared something would be uncovered.”
“So what does that say about the D.A and the chief of police?” asked Candy, an air of indifference in her voice.
“Yeah, I see what you're getting at. At the very least I guess it says that the professor and his buddy McKenna have friends in high places. I suppose one could also take the view that perhaps the D.A and the chief know more than their letting on.”
“If all this is true, then why are you telling me? It seems that at some level I'm a pawn in a much bigger game. And, despite my seemingly lack of options, I could still always move in a forward motion, one step at a time, say. . . towards the patients phone booth. And then say. . . put a call through to the local media.”
Malone smiled. “Well firstly, there is the fact that you are an in-patient of the local mental institution and a crazed killer to boot. Then there is the second fact that for your story to have any weight to it, you'd have to confess to the killing of Jennifer Bird. And thirdly, if you do make that phone call and you are believed, even without a confession, maybe. . . you'd be doing something I want to do but can't.”
Candy laughed. “Well, well. Aren't you the sly dog?”
Malone put on his jacket and stood to leave. "But listen Candy. There's a theory going round that you might be responsible for the other murders that have been going down in the city. If you are responsible now would be a good time to say. Whatever the hell you've done, you don't strike me as evil, and there's a lot of grieving families out there need an answer to their murdered kids, and it would be kinda evil to keep them from knowing. You follow what I'm saying here?"
"Detective, I've held my hand up to everything I've done like a good little girl. Who you're looking for. It ain't me babe."
"Dylan, huh? That explains the drugs," Malone tossed the remainder of the packet of cigarettes at Candy, “I've got a few loose ends to tie up here tonight, but you'll be seeing a lot more of me in the near future. I still have a tonne of questions that need answers and so far as I know, you're the only person that's gonna be able to answer them.”
“Lucky me,” said Candy.
“Hey, remember who's doing who the favour at the moment. It wouldn't hurt you to play ball with me, seeing as how I'm the only person in authority who's making sure your brain stays the same shape. Enjoy the cigarettes.”
Candy stared at the packet of lucky strikes which sat on the table.
What ‘ya know? She thought.
When she looked up again, Malone had gone.
“So you’re saying there’s no tapes? What kinda show you clowns running here?" said Malone angrily.
"The tapes got tangled in the machine. It happens sometimes. Accidents happen," replied Johnny as he pictured himself lifting the tape guard and pulling out the tape beneath, twisting it and bending it until it was beyond repair before forcing it back into the VCR.
"Hey buddy, you screw up my investigation and you’re gonna have a fucking accident."
The door to the observation room opened and Randolph Nowes entered.
To Malone he looked nervous.
"Everything to your satisfaction officer?"
"It’s detective, actually. So what’s gonna happen to the little lady now?" growled Malone.
"She’ll return to the ward, under close supervision, of course. We’ll have to highly medicate her as her condition appears to have deteriorated. Then back to business as usual."
"Well, I’ll be back professor. I still have a few questions I want to ask. And if I see one scar on her pretty little head, it won’t just be questions coming your way. You hear?"
"I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, detective, but all the patients are treated with the utmost care and respect."
"You know what I’m driving at buddy. Might be time to take a closer look at your operation here. And, buddy, believe me, I don’t give up easy."
"Then I bid you good day. I have pressing matters to attend to. I’m sure my colleague here will show you the way out."
"I’ll find my own way. This guy couldn’t find his ass with his elbow if it was stuck to his arm."
On the way back to his car Malone thought long and hard about his visit to Candy and the institution.
Something wasn’t right.
Something wasn’t right at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CANDY HAS A VISITOR
A cold wind blew ragged breaths against the shatter proof glass of the window, which served as the only sign of light in Candy’s room.
She was tired and scared, and withdrawing from the crack. All in all she was not in a good way…
...L.A DOCUMENT # 68
…Candy's tormentors are compounding her already fragile state of mind. This is a woman who has gone from being a happy-go-lucky medical student to a serial killer, haunted by demons, and left with only a fraction of her soul. However hope is on the horizon as a visitor, a friend and ally has been planning to visit. Candy’s salvation, although a long and treacherous journey is nearing its beginning…
… So when the knock came at her door, and Belinda popped her head around, Candy could not even lift her head to acknowledge.
Belinda had been in charge of Candy's drug routine for the past week and had been filling her full of high doses of Chlorpromazine. Candy had refused at first but after being held down and injected four times in a row, the drug leaving her unable to fight back; she now decided it was easier to play their sick game. For now. She swore to herself that when she got out she would pay Belinda a visit. A long visit.
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