The Shadowed Mind

by Julie Cave

  Just under an hour later they arrived at the offices of Peter Kilpatrick. He ran his own brokerage firm now, although he'd been happy to leave the frenetic pace of New York City behind him.

  He was now in his early sixties, a tall, distinguished man with silver hair and a kind face. He led them into his spacious office and slowly eased himself into his chair with a groan. He also was obviously far too old to be the killer, unless he somehow attained a more youthful gait and a brown wig as he coaxed his victims to their deaths.

  "I'm not what I used to be," he said, with a rueful smile. "It's almost time to give up the game, I think."

  "You're thinking of retiring?" Dinah asked curiously.

  "Well, yes. I think perhaps I'd like to spend time with the good wife," Kilpatrick said. "I just don't have the passion for this work anymore. Anyway, you didn't come here to listen to me ramble on. What can I help you with?"

  Detective Cage held up the book The Lost Boys. "I understand you co-authored this book some years ago," he began.

  Kilpatrick grimaced. "I did. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but it was strangely cathartic. I did it mostly for Henry."

  "Why is that?"

  "If you've read the book, you'll know," Kilpatrick said. "Henry was a troubled man. And he was barely scraping by, so I thought writing the book would help him deal with some of his demons and also earn him some money."

  "Henry Black seemed to have had a harder time at Albans than you?" Cage asked, as delicately as possible.

  Kilpatrick considered. "I was tall. Henry was short, skinny, and a natural target for bullies."

  "The other boys?" Dinah asked shrewdly.

  "Not just them," said Kilpatrick, with a sigh. "The warden and guards, too."

  "Why did they pick on Henry?"

  "Because he couldn't — or wouldn't — defend himself, I suppose." Kilpatrick stared distantly out of his window. "He was a soft, sensitive soul. He infuriated the warden because he wouldn't fight."

  "He wouldn't fight with the warden?" Dinah asked.

  Kilpatrick compressed his lips. "This is hard to talk about. I've deliberately tried not to think about those years." After a pause, he continued, "The warden liked to pit boys against each other. He would choose a big, strong boy to fight against a smaller one. He claimed he wanted to teach us boxing and self-defense skills, but it was really so that he could get his kicks. Nothing seemed to please him more than seeing a boy get beaten up by another student."

  Dinah took a deep breath and wondered at the molten anger she would have felt had anyone treated her son that way.

  "The warden would often have me fight Henry," said Kilpatrick. "He didn't like the fact that we were friends. But Henry would rarely fight back; he just hated it and sometimes he'd just curl up in a ball on the ground and wait it out. The warden would go absolutely nuts."

  "What would he do?" Dinah asked.

  "If Henry didn't fight back, the warden would beat him and send him to solitary confinement," said Kilpatrick. "I'd get the same if I refused to fight. But it was never as bad for me. The warden really hated the smaller, weaker boys. And Henry wasn't academically gifted, either, so that made it even worse for him."

  "What was solitary confinement?" Cage asked somberly.

  "A closet small enough so that you couldn't stand up straight or lie down," explained Kilpatrick. "No food and only a jug of water."

  "So how did Henry Black come to be sterilized?" Cage asked.

  "We all did an IQ test at the age of 15," said Kilpatrick. "From what I understand, whoever failed it underwent the operation. They weren't told what had happened. Henry only found out about it years later."

  "Are you aware that one of the photos in your book was discovered on the body of a murder victim recently?" Cage asked.

  Kilpatrick looked shocked. "Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

  "One of the photos in your book was found on the body of a murder victim," repeated Cage. "I wondered if you knew anything about that?"

  Kilpatrick's face had drained of color. "I have absolutely no idea! How awful!" He looked back and forth between Cage and Dinah. "You don't think I…? Good heavens! You do!"

  "Relax, Mr. Kilpatrick," said Cage. "We don't think anything at this point. But it would be helpful if you could give us your whereabouts at the following times." He read out the dates and approximate times of death for each of the victims.

  Kilpatrick shakily checked through his iPhone calendar. Relief washed through his features. "I had my psychiatrist appointment for two of the dates you've given me," he said. He glanced up, unembarrassed. "I've seen a shrink for a long time now. I think you can guess why."

  He also had a solid alibi for the remaining two dates. Dinah didn't think Kilpatrick was capable of the murders — plus, he didn't fit the description of the murderer as described by the staff at the Forest Glen Palliative Care Home.

  "Have you seen Henry recently?" Cage asked, after writing everything Kilpatrick had said down.

  Kilpatrick gave a melancholy smile. "No, Detective. He committed suicide five years ago."

  Dinah and Cage glanced at each other. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Kilpatrick," said Dinah.

  Kilpatrick nodded. "He had a hard life. He didn't really recover from Albans. So it wasn't entirely unexpected."

  They sat in silence for several moments, thinking of a wasted life that could have been so different had Henry Black experienced love and compassion instead of terror and abuse.

  "Have you seen the warden since?" Dinah asked.

  Kilpatrick grimaced. "No, I haven't. I wouldn't care to. But if you asked me if I thought he was capable of murder, I would definitely say yes. The man was a monster. There wasn't an ounce of goodness in him. I would say that he was, quite simply, pure evil."

  ****

  Early afternoon sun slanted across the windshield as Cage drove toward Washington, DC, from Baltimore. On his voicemail, his office had left the address of the warden from Albans, John Barnett, and the investigators were now on their way.

  They drove in silence, each contemplating the story they'd just heard.

  "So Kilpatrick thinks that the warden was evil, and capable of murder," said Dinah, thinking out loud. "That would make him a great suspect. But he'd have to be in his seventies or eighties now, wouldn't he?"

  "Yeah, I'd imagine he'd be far too old to be committing these murders," agreed Cage. "But what if he had a son or a protégé to whom he passed on his beliefs?"

  Dinah nodded thoughtfully. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

  John Barnett, the warden of Albans Orphanage Asylum, lived in the affluent Washington suburb of Columbia Heights. It was a quiet suburb where the lots were large and perfectly manicured and the houses pure American dream.

  A woman in her early thirties answered the door. She was attractive but careworn, her hair in desperate need of a cut and her eyes full of worry.

  "Detective Samson Cage," introduced the big policeman, holding up his gold badge. "We were wondering if we could speak with John Barnett."

  The woman instantly looked anxious. "Is he okay? Has he done something?"

  Cage raised his eyebrows. "That's what we're here to find out, ma'am. Are you related to him?"

  "Yes, I'm his daughter, Ella," she replied.

  "Do you have reason to believe he may be in trouble with the law?" Cage asked.

  Ella sighed. "Not in the way you're thinking, Detective," she said. "My father has advanced Alzheimer's disease. The reason I thought he might be in trouble is because he quite often scares people."

  Cage glanced at Dinah, whose heart sank. How could they interrogate a man with dementia?

  "Anyway, please come in," Ella said. She stood aside and allowed Dinah and Cage to walk into the house.

  She led them to the formal living room, where a spectacular baby grand piano took center stage, flanked by antique distressed leather armchairs.

  "So perhaps I can help with your inquiries?" Ella asked, after she
had offered coffee.

  Cage pulled out his copy of The Lost Boys. "Are you familiar with this book?"

  Ella visibly flinched. She opened her mouth and whispered, "How did you find that book?"

  Cage didn't reply, but waited for her to answer his question first. Finally, she said, "I've only just read it myself. I had no idea."

  "You had no idea your father was the warden of the Albans Orphanage Asylum?" Cage asked quietly. "Or that he was involved in the abuse and neglect of boys in his care?"

  Ella's eyes filled with tears. "Both, Detective. My father, for as long as I've known him, was a gentle, loving, Christian father. I've never seen him lift a finger against anyone in anger. This book …it's devastating."

  Cage cleared his throat. "Did he ever mention to you anything about inflicting involuntary sterilizations on some of the boys in his care?"

  Ella shook her head. "You must understand that Dad didn't breathe a word of this to us at any point. I literally knew nothing about any of this. I just don't know how he could have been capable of the things described in that book."

  "What's going on?" An old man suddenly appeared at the door jamb, and despite the ravages of age and his disease, Dinah could see the ghost of the young man John Barnett had once been. "Are you the police?"

  Ella seemed to debate within herself whether to lie, and eventually she said, "Yes, Dad."

  The old man nodded and his confusion seemed to deepen. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing, Dad," said Ella, rising stiffly to help her father into one of the leather chairs. "I'm just answering some questions for them. There's nothing to worry about."

  "So what do you know about Albans Orphanage Asylum?" Detective Cage asked.

  "I know what's written in the book," Ella said, her eyes distant. "This was not something Dad has ever spoken about before."

  "Has he ever spoken about his past at all?" Cage persisted. "Like, when he knew your mother, for instance?"

  "My mother was a nurse," Ella said. "She was working in a hospital when she met Dad."

  "What was he doing there?"

  "I don't know. I assumed he was a patient."

  Dinah and Cage exchanged a glance. "Is it possible that he was there with some boys under his care to be sterilized?" suggested Cage.

  Ella flinched and turned her bottomless gaze on the detective. "I . . . I hadn't thought of that," she said. "I suppose it's possible. I just don't know the truth anymore, Detective."

  "I understand," said Cage gently. "Would your mother have known about his life as the warden of Albans?"

  Ella sighed. "I wouldn't have thought so, but it turns out I don't know much. My mother was always a Christian, even before she met Dad. I know that when they got married, Dad was a Christian, too. So there must have been a pretty drastic change in him for my mother to have married him."

  Cage nodded thoughtfully. "So your father never talked to you about violence or hatred toward other people?" Cage asked.

  Ella allowed herself a small smile. "No. He was kind and gentle with everyone. He's the one who taught me to care for other people as if they were family. Ironic, huh?"

  "Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

  "I have a brother in Oregon," said Ella. "Micah hasn't been back here for a few years now. I think he's in denial about how bad Dad really is."

  Dinah watched Cage write in his notebook to follow up on Ella's brother.

  "Did your father have a good relationship with Micah?"

  "Yes, they were very close," said Ella. "Now that I know the whole story, I can understand why Dad was so gentle with us."

  Dinah and Cage both sat in silent contemplation. It would be impossible for John Barnett to be the killer — for one thing, he was far too old. There was a minute possibility that he'd secretly indoctrinated his son with hatred and eugenic beliefs, and that Micah Barnett had grown up to become a killer. Yet it seemed so far-fetched.

  "This isn't just about Albans, is it?" Ella asked shrewdly. "You're not looking to prosecute him, are you?"

  "No," said Cage. "The blatant abuse aside, the sterilizations were perfectly legal under Virginia law. But the reason we're here is completely different. The good news is that I don't think it involves your father either. We'll be in touch if we need anything further from you."

  As Dinah and Cage let themselves out, Dinah thought about what they were leaving behind — a beautiful house, the remnants of a devoted family now shattered beyond belief, a daughter's identity within her family destroyed, and faith in her father now hanging by a tenuous thread.

  Chapter 19

  By the time Cage dropped Dinah off at her apartment, they'd both agreed that a killer lurking in the Barnett family seemed unlikely. The travel they'd done during the day had exhausted Dinah and she could barely find the energy to fix something for dinner.

  She made a sandwich and sat down with The Lost Boys, unable to shake an inexplicable feeling that the final clue they needed to find the killer was contained within the book. She immersed herself in the world of Albans, torturous as it was to read.

  She glanced through the photographs again, matching the names listed with the faces. For each name and face she matched, she racked her brains trying to think of any connection to the case.

  Then she stopped and squinted at a photograph of all of the guards who'd worked at Albans, together with the warden. She picked out John Barnett immediately. But there was another face that looked vaguely familiar. She searched the small print for the name and when she found it, she felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach.

  It couldn't be!

  A terrible suspicion began to take shape in her mind, synapses firing frenetically. Of course it was possible — worse, it was entirely probable that she'd just stumbled across the identity of the killer.

  Dinah began to think about their clues. He was the right age and matched the physical description given by the staff at the Forest Glen Palliative Care Home. He could build rapport very easily with victims — she herself hadn't once suspected him. The motive was becoming clearer in her mind, as she continued to think about it.

  She picked up her cell phone to call Detective Cage when it suddenly buzzed in her hand. She jumped, and answered.

  "It's me," Detective Cage said. He sounded strange. "I've got some news."

  "Me, too," Dinah said. "But you go first."

  "I had a call from Ricky Srisai," Cage said. Dinah thought for a few seconds, and then remembered that he was the martial arts master thought to be teaching illegal techniques. "He decided he should do the right thing, surprisingly, and tell me the name of the person to whom he's been teaching the neck torsion maneuver. What's your news?"

  "There is a photo of a guard in The Lost Boys," said Dinah. "His face looked a little familiar. I looked up the name and it clicked."

  "Hang on," said Cage. "If he was a guard at Albans in the fifties, he would be too old to be the killer now."

  "Right," agreed Dinah. "But his son would be the perfect age."

  There was a pause, and then Dinah said, "So what's the name of the guy you've got? It'll be interesting to see if it's the same person."

  Cage told her.

  Dinah gasped. "That's the exact same guy I got from my reading," she said. "Are you sure?"

  "This changes everything," Cage said. "I need to get a warrant for his arrest."

  Dinah cleared her throat. "Listen, Cage, there's something I haven't told you."

  "What is it?" Cage sounded wary.

  "I received a death threat from the killer," Dinah said.

  Cage immediately sounded outraged. "What?"

  "It's on a generic sympathy card," Dinah said. "Just like the messages found on the victims. It quotes some legislation passed in Germany in the 1930s that targeted alcoholics. Underneath the message, it says that I'm next."

  "You need to be very careful," warned Cage. "Particularly now that we know who the killer is. I can get this warrant organized pretty quickly, and t
hen I'll be over to pick you up. Are all your doors and windows locked?"

  "Yes," Dinah said. "But I no longer have a weapon."

  "Okay," Cage said. "Hold tight and I'll be there as soon as I can."

  Dinah hung up and re-checked the doors and windows.

  At least now she knew for who she was looking.

  Silently she promised to bring the killer down.

  ****

  The Senate met late into the night.

  David Winters had been working hard, almost feverishly, to ensure his liberal party colleagues would support him. Despite the best efforts of Jerry Devine, the conservative Senator, the Health Reform Bill was simply too large and complex for the media to realize what was contained therein. The president had supported Winters' suggestion of reconciliation in the Senate — he was desperate to spend some time with his family on Martha's Vineyard and would have agreed to anything if it meant the bill would be passed.

  Of course, Winters knew that he wouldn't be able to hide his provision forever. There were entire conservative organizations dedicated to slowing down society's progress. But even they were preoccupied at the moment with the prospect of government-funded abortion.

  And so the Senate met late, with the sole intention of passing the bill.

  David Winters sat anxiously, his leg bouncing up and down as the process began. He'd spent countless hours with the Senate parliamentarian, a supposedly bi-partisan, independent professional, and his staff of lawyers, explaining exactly why his part of the bill should not be changed. Thankfully, most of his opponents didn't realize it was even there, and he didn't face any serious resistance. And so his first order of business had been completed: the parliamentarian agreed not to rule his provision out of order.

  Next, the presiding officer must agree with the parliamentarian to allow the language to remain in the bill. The presiding officer was usually a senator, but could be the vice president, who could technically overrule the parliamentarian. The senator acting as presiding officer was a liberal, and easily persuaded by David Winters to agree with the Senate parliamentarian's ruling.