The Shadowed Mind

by Julie Cave

"I got some good news from the lab," he said. "Want to hear it?"

  "Of course I do!" Dinah said impatiently. "You think I'd say no?"

  "I've made it my business never to anticipate what women will say," Cage said gravely.

  "Okay, just hurry it up!" Dinah rolled her eyes.

  "So, the polyurethane flakes were found at the crime scene and in the van, and the lab narrowed down what the polyurethane would have been used for; no mean feat considering it's used for a million things."

  He paused, waiting for Dinah to say something. Eventually she did: "Didn't I tell you to hurry up?"

  "Right. Well, the polyurethane is used in furniture polish," explained Cage. "It's used instead of varnish on wooden furniture, and is easily obtainable by your average home handyman."

  "So our killer polishes furniture?" Dinah wondered, trying to think through her headache.

  "Well, it's a start," Cage said. "If we get that search warrant for Leonard Marks's place, we might find furniture that has been recently polished, know what I mean?"

  "We've been to his apartment," said Dinah thoughtfully. "Do you remember seeing any wooden furniture there?"

  Cage paused. "No," he said finally. "I don't. It was all cheap plastic or veneer furniture."

  "Well," said Dinah. "It could be that he has a workshop somewhere."

  "Great," groaned Cage. "So we have to include in our search warrant some workshop, whose location or existence we can't provide?"

  Dinah thought for a moment. "Let me think about it," she said. "There'll be a way."

  Silently, she thought, You won't beat me, Leonard Marks.

  Cage said, "Do you want to hear about the next piece of good news?"

  "Shoot."

  "The old photo we found on the body of Lakeisha Tennant, our very first victim," Cage said. "The lab's vast image resource gallery finally found a match."

  Dinah perked up. "Really?"

  "Yes, to a book called The Lost Boys."

  "I haven't heard of it."

  "It's an autobiography written by two men named Peter Kilpatrick and Henry Black," explained Cage. "It was published in the early 1990s, so almost 20 years ago now. I'm trying to get my hands on a copy of it because it's out of print. Can you try, too? Perhaps there's some information in the book that will really help us."

  "Okay, I'm on it," said Dinah, glad that she had a task to do.

  When she hung up, she logged onto Amazon, hoping to find the book. It was listed, but was classified as out of print. The best she could do was put an order in for the book and hope that the publisher would dig up a copy for her. It seemed that would be pretty unlikely.

  Tapping her fingers on the desk, she thought hard about how she could get her hands on a copy. Then she thought of eBay. She searched for the book by title and by author, but nothing came up. She wasn't surprised. Who would try to sell an obscure and out-of-print book written by authors nobody knew?

  Dinah drummed her fingers on her desk impatiently. Perhaps her good friend Google would help. Her search for obtaining out-of-print books yielded a website designed specifically for finding rare, collectable, and out-of-print titles. Dinah smiled, entering the search parameters into the website.

  There were two copies of the book still left in the country, both at tiny bookstores, one located in New York and one in Pennsylvania. She could just imagine the stores — they would be the kind where books were piled untidily all the way to the ceiling, the proprietor would be a middle-aged man who much preferred the company of books to people, and where rare treasures were almost always found.

  She called both stores and arranged for both copies to be sent to her via FedEx.

  Then she rang Detective Cage to let him know that she would have a copy of the book by tomorrow. After she'd hung up, she sat lost in thought at her desk, trying to ignore the slightly sick feeling in her stomach, the residue of last night's excess.

  What did they know about this elusive killer?

  He had eyes that had been described as dead and cold. He had an innate ability to build an instant rapport with his victims. He knew and practiced an ancient martial art. He professed eugenics as a way of achieving utopia. He polished furniture. And there was something important to him in a book called The Lost Boys.

  Dinah sighed. The information they had was weak. It didn't narrow down their search field to anything useable.

  Suddenly, Dinah realized that evening was falling over the city, and that she was alone and that there was a killer who wanted her dead. She swiftly checked the door locks and window locks, and then stood at the picture window in her living room, looking down at the street.

  Are you down there, waiting for me? she asked her would-be killer. Is it my life you want to take tonight?

  The street was emptying itself of the final commuters home from work. Every now and then, the high, clear voice of a child would peal out, but otherwise all was quiet.

  I'm waiting for you. You might have fooled poor Lakeisha, Benjamin, Ashleigh, and Billy — but you won't fool me.

  Chapter 18

  Later that evening, after John Tennant had gone to bed, Ella fearfully reached for The Lost Boys again. In truth, she didn't want to read it. She didn't want to know what was coming next. Her gut instinct told her that it would shake the very foundations of her world. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the book. She only had a third of the book to go, and when she was finished, she wanted to get rid of it and forget that she'd ever read it.

  Peter and Henry somehow managed to keep existing in their hellish world of daily violence, meager food rations, and loneliness as deep as a yawning chasm. As they grew older, they began to fear what would be next for them after the orphanage. At the age of 18, boys were unceremoniously expelled into the wide world, with little funds, resources, or networks of any kind. Rumors were rife in the school that many of the boys ended up in jail, a place that was worse even than Albans Orphanage Asylum. Peter and Henry could barely imagine a place that was worse.

  Before this, the boys were required to undergo one more indignity. It was something that all the boys had to do when they reached the age of 15. They were discouraged from talking about it, so consequently none of the boys really understood what it was all about. At the height of summer each year, the entire sophomore class would be taken to the auditorium and spend several hours there.

  Some of the boys were then taken away for several days and came back looking paler and quieter than they'd been before. The older boys looked the other way, their own memories enough to deal with. The younger boys sensed a great trauma, but were forbidden to ask about it.

  As Peter and Henry approached summer in their 15th year, they both began to feel a sense of uneasy anticipation. They didn't know what happened in the auditorium, or what happened afterward. The day drew inexorably closer, until finally Peter and Henry were shepherded into the auditorium, where a number of desks were set up, as if for an exam. The sophomore class numbered about 30, and they each found a desk, looking around the room and at each other with anxiety.

  One of the regular guards stood at the front of the room. Once the boys were seated, he began to speak. "Today you will be completing an IQ test. The objective of the exercise is to find out which of you are above average and which of you are below average."

  It sounded ominous. Neither Henry nor Peter knew what an IQ test was or what the results meant. They watched as thick exam papers were distributed to all of the boys in the room. They were given two hours to complete the exam. There was silence in the room except for the scratching of pencils and the occasional cough or sigh.

  Once the exam was complete, the boys were sent to an adjoining room to eat lunch while the IQ tests were graded. The anxiety had faded, replaced by a kind of nervous relief. The test hadn't been so bad; they were used to receiving treatment that was a lot worse.

  The boys were eventually led back into the auditorium. The guard who had given them the tests had been joined by the wa
rden, whose face was expressionless. The warden said, "I am going to read out a list of names. If you are mentioned, you must stay in the room. If not, you may now leave."

  Of the 30 boys in the room, 8 names were called. Henry Black was one of the names; Peter Kilpatrick was free to leave. Peter tried to convey comfort to his friend through a quick look before he left the room. He could see the fear building in Henry's face.

  The auditorium doors were once again locked, and the warden said, "You boys have failed the test." The boys immediately grasped the fact that this was not good news. "All of you graded below average intelligence," the warden continued, "in spite of the education you've received. In addition, I have flagged you for other reasons."

  Henry wanted to curl himself into a ball. He knew the warden would have flagged him for many reasons — he wasn't smart, he was small, he was too soft. His heart began to ache.

  "Some of these reasons include behavioral issues or physical issues," said the warden. "In short, when combined with your IQ tests, a very strong pattern emerges."

  Henry glanced at the other boys in the room, an odd mismatched group, all sitting in miserable silence.

  "That is why you will now go to the hospital to have a small medical procedure performed," the warden said, "so that we do not see these undesirable characteristics continue to surface in future generations."

  Medical procedure? Henry began to shake. He didn't like the sound of that.

  One of the boys still possessed sufficient courage to ask, "Will it hurt?"

  The warden smiled. "No, it won't hurt."

  They were not provided with any further information about the procedure. They were driven to a nearby hospital. Henry remembered receiving a general anesthetic and waking up some time later with a strange ache deep in his belly.

  When he returned to school, the other boys asked what had happened. Henry didn't precisely know, but he knew that he'd been marked for life because he wasn't smart enough, fast enough, big enough, and strong enough to pass the test.

  Later, Henry discovered that the procedure performed on him was sterilization, designed to prevent him from having children. He did some research of his own as an adult and discovered that such procedures were carried out in many orphanages, jails, and mental asylums throughout the 1950s. It was commonplace for the government to decide which individuals should not be allowed to reproduce.

  The warden who had undertaken the IQ testing, allowed the medical operations, and generally visited horror upon countless boys in his care was a vociferous advocate of the sterilization laws enacted in Virginia. His name was John Barnett.

  The book fell from Ella's hand with a loud clatter, but she didn't hear it. She raised two shaky hands to her mouth and realized that she wanted to vomit. It all made sense now — the obsession with Peter and Henry as boys, the acute negative reaction to the book, the dark secrets he harbored in his heart. It was only now, as his shadowed mind deteriorated, that the truth was found.

  John Barnett, her loving, gentle father, who had cradled her head when it had been hot with fever, who had caught her when she fell off her first bike, who had written her a letter upon her graduation from college expressing his pride and love — had been a monster.

  ****

  The book arrived in the mail the following morning, and Dinah eagerly unwrapped the packaging. Detective Samson Cage had promised to arrive as soon as possible to look through the book himself, but Dinah couldn't wait for him. She skimmed as quickly as she could. A pattern began to emerge and Dinah spent much of the time shaking her head in disbelief. The treatment of orphans and other institutionalized people in the past was truly shameful.

  Detective Cage arrived with two steaming coffees. His pants legs were ironed into sharp creases, his tie was impeccably knotted, and his belt perfectly matched his shoes. Dinah would have made a sarcastic comment if she hadn't been so preoccupied with the book.

  The middle of The Lost Boys contained the photograph section and here Dinah found the twin of the photo they'd found on the body of Lakeisha Tennant. There was little further information except that the authors of the book, Peter Kilpatrick and Henry Black, were identified. However, the book gave them the location, chronology, and reason for the photo.

  "So what have you found?" Detective Cage asked, taking a sip of his coffee that could only be described as dainty.

  "The book is a litany of institutional abuse," explained Dinah frowning. "The authors were two boys who lived at an orphanage in Virginia. It's about the treatment they received there. It's not easy reading."

  Cage nodded and took his copy of the book. For a while they sat in silence, each sipping coffee and skimming as quickly as possible. Every now and again, Cage would give a low whistle of incredulity.

  Finally, Dinah said, "I think this might be pertinent." She pointed at the chapter she was reading. "Virginia still enforced involuntary sterilization laws during the 1950s. The orphanage ran state-funded IQ tests and the boys who tested low were sterilized."

  Cage stared at her. "Are you serious?"

  "Deadly serious," said Dinah. "All boys were required to take the test at the age of 15." She paused. "One of the authors, Henry Black, failed the test and was sterilized."

  "Did he even know what that meant?" Detective Cage asked.

  "No. They weren't told what had happened to them," Dinah explained. "He only found out later, when he did some independent research."

  Cage drained his coffee and said thoughtfully, "So we have a killer quoting well-known eugenicists, and leaving this photo as evidence of eugenics being practiced during the 1950s. Do you think he could be one of the authors of this book?"

  "Possibly," mused Dinah. "My theory is that someone exposed to such violence could then inflict that upon others."

  Cage laughed sardonically. "The vast majority of violent felons currently residing in our jails were abused as children in one form or another. If a boy grew up in an environment where the strongest survived by beating up the weak, he may resent or hate the weak. Look at our victims: a young drug-addicted girl, a mentally ill man, a homeless woman, a physically disabled person. He seems to hate what he sees as weakness, and he perhaps is using eugenics to justify his homicidal urge."

  And his next victim could be an alcoholic, Dinah thought wryly.

  "Should we find these authors?" Dinah suggested. "If not one of the killers, they might know who is."

  Detective Cage nodded. "Let me call the office and get someone to track them down. Their publisher will probably know where they are."

  He took out his cell phone and spoke into it quietly for a few moments.

  Dinah leafed through the pictures in the middle of the book. All were old-fashioned and grainy. Aside from the photo that had been found on the murder victim, there were photos of the staff of the orphanage, and more individual photos of Peter Kilpatrick and Henry Black as they grew older and eventually left the home.

  Henry Black seemed to fare the worst of the two — after leaving the orphanage, he'd drifted aimlessly for a few months before joining the army. The disciplined life didn't seem to sit well with the young man, who'd shown anger problems and eventually assaulted his commanding officer. He'd been dishonorably discharged only a year after joining. He'd resumed drifting around the country, working in a variety of minimum wage jobs and getting into minor difficulties with the law. He developed a taste for alcohol and cocaine, and his life seemed to revolve around acquiring enough funds to support his habit. Acquiring funds eventually included burglary and car theft, for which Henry was caught and sent to jail. This pattern was repeated over and over throughout his twenties and thirties, the only difference being that the jail sentences became progressively longer.

  Peter Kilpatrick had received good grades and managed to scrape by on a scholarship at George Washington University before completing his MBA. He worked in a New York City brokerage house, quietly working his way up the promotional ladder.

  Then he started to
wonder about his friend Henry Black. When they met in DC, Peter was shocked at how Henry looked. His friend looked twice their age, with a carpet of broken capillaries blanketing his nose and the vacant eyes of a habitual drug user.

  It was then that Henry told him the story of discovering that he'd been sterilized while a ward of the state. Peter had been shocked and started to indignantly suggest lawsuits and revenge. If Henry could get some money by way of settlement, he could go to rehab and get his life back in order.

  Henry had looked at his school friend and said in a weary voice, "Would it change anything in my life? Probably not. I was like this before I found out about the sterilization."

  Peter then realized that Henry didn't want to change, and that in all likelihood, he wouldn't see the age of 40.

  Dinah glanced up as Cage answered his cell phone. It was incredibly tragic to read of the destruction wrought on young boys' lives as a result of abuse and neglect. If only there had been a loving family, willing to care for Henry Black and Peter Kilpatrick with love and compassion, how different things might have been for them.

  Cage hung up and said, "Let's roll; I've got an address for Peter Kilpatrick."

  Clutching the book to her chest, Dinah followed the big detective.

  ****

  Peter Kilpatrick now lived in Baltimore, Maryland, and Detective Cage headed north in the unmarked police car. While he drove, Dinah continued to look through the book. She started with the photographs. She studied them carefully, looking through the names of each of the captions to see if any would ring a bell. Nothing immediately jumped out at her.

  She let the book fall her to her lap and frowned, thinking. The message behind the murders seemed to revolve around eugenics, the belief that undesirable characteristics should be removed from the gene pool. What did this book have in common with the murders? The warden at the Albans Orphanage Asylum had at the very least supported the eugenic legislation of the day, though the description of his behavior in The Lost Boys seemed to suggest that he was rather enthusiastic about the eugenic beliefs. However, the warden would have to be in his mid-eighties now and surely not a candidate for being a murder suspect.