A Dark Mind

by T. R. Ragan

  “I’m Lizzy Gardner. I’m a private investigator and I need to talk to you. It’s an emergency; otherwise I would never have bothered you like this.”

  “I don’t see how—”

  “I read something you wrote on the Internet,” Lizzy blurted. “It was about a child you once had in your class…I believe his name was Robert.”

  The woman stiffened. “I taught Robert twenty years ago,” she said. “I don’t see how anything I could possibly tell you about that boy could help you.”

  “Please. I’m begging you to let me in so we can talk. I have a friend who is in immediate danger, and you might be the only person who can help me find him.”

  The woman sighed. She shut the door, and Lizzy could hear her unfastening the latch before she opened the door again and gestured for Lizzy to come inside.

  Sacramento

  Saturday, June 9, 2012

  After Lizzy had left the house, Stacey headed off, too.

  Hayley couldn’t stop thinking about John Robinson. She was convinced they needed to learn more about him: first, John Robinson’s landlord happened to live in the same house where bodies were once stuffed with pine sawyer beetles. Coincidence?

  Second, somebody was determined to mess with Lizzy, and the only person who made sense was John Robinson. Maybe he was the man pretending to be Eli Simpson and he’d found out that Lizzy was helping the real Eli Simpson investigate the disappearance of his sister.

  Third, if John Robinson was capable of impersonating other people and making Eli’s sister disappear, then maybe, just maybe, he was fucked up enough to go after Lizzy, too.

  Hayley finished reading the police reports in the Eli Simpson/John Robinson file and handed it to Jessica to read. According to Eli Simpson, John Robinson’s neighbor Claire Schultz had seen everything, and she knew exactly what had happened to his sister five years ago.

  It took some doing, but Hayley convinced Jessica to drive her to Claire’s house. She refused to sit there and twiddle her thumbs.

  Hayley knocked on Claire Schultz’s door while Jessica looked down the street toward John Robinson’s house. Lizzy had told them about the beetles’ connection to the Lovebird Killer, which made Hayley wonder if John Robinson’s ties to the Becks could mean he was doing more than just screwing with people’s minds. Before she could say as much to Jessica, an elderly woman opened the door. She reminded Jessica of an apple doll: deep-set eyes, a sizable nose, and a slit for a mouth set within a maze of deep facial creases and wrinkles. The woman was short. A thick colorful scarf around her neck emphasized a hunched back. “I don’t need any more Girl Scout cookies. Go away.”

  “We’re not selling cookies,” Hayley told her. “We need to talk to you about your neighbor down the street, John Robinson.”

  The woman’s face turned ashen. She tried to shut the door, but Hayley jammed her foot inside to stop the woman from closing the door all the way. “There are two people in grave danger. You might be able to help.”

  “Please,” Jessica added.

  “If you don’t leave this minute, I’m calling the police.”

  “You know something,” Hayley said. “Why won’t you help?”

  “Sometimes it is best if we mind our own business,” the woman said. “Now leave me alone.”

  Jessica touched Hayley’s arm. “Come on, Hayley. She doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “God, that’s what I hate about you,” Hayley said, her face red and angrier than Jessica had ever seen her look.

  “Jared might die,” Hayley went on. “He could be dead already for all we know, but you don’t even care. If you did care, you wouldn’t take no for an answer. This woman knows something and yet she’s going to die knowing because she’s afraid of some maniac down the road. The real killers are the people who say nothing.”

  “That’s enough, Hayley. She doesn’t have to talk to you or anybody else. It’s her right as a citizen of the United States. Leave her alone.” Jessica turned to leave. She’d had enough.

  “I’ll talk to her,” the woman said, pointing to Jessica.

  Jessica turned to face the elderly woman. Sure enough, she opened the door wider, allowing Hayley to step inside. Then she waited for Jessica to enter, too.

  Sacramento

  Saturday, June 9, 2012

  Maria Trumble pulled her robe tight around her waist before she took a seat on the couch facing the chair where Lizzy sat, and said, “In all my years of teaching, I’ve never met a more disturbed child.”

  “How so? Loud and obnoxious?”

  “Quite the opposite. Robert was quiet—too quiet. In the beginning I thought he was shy, but it didn’t take long to recognize that not only was he smart, he could also be very social. As soon as it was time for recess, his dull murky eyes would come alive, except on the days I was scheduled for yard duty. That’s when Robert would sit quietly on a bench and read.”

  “That doesn’t sound social to me.”

  “No, it doesn’t, does it?”

  Lizzy had no idea where the woman was headed with this story, but she knew she had to be patient if she wanted to keep her talking. What if the Becks’ adopted son was somehow connected to the Lovebird Killer? What if he was the Lovebird Killer? It was a long shot, but it was the only lead they had. The problem was nobody knew what had become of Robert Beck. Where was he now? Jimmy and his men were in Lincoln, waiting for a warrant so they could get inside the Becks’ house. She kept glancing at her cell phone, praying he would call and tell her he’d found Jared.

  “Whenever I was on playground duty,” Mrs. Trumble said, “Robert was on his best behavior because he knew that I was watching him.”

  “But on the other days? The days you weren’t on duty?”

  “On those days, all bets were off. On those days something always happened. A child would ‘fall’ off the bars and break an arm or a leg. Fire alarms would go off or a dead animal would be found in one of the bathrooms.” She shook her head. “Never failed.”

  “And you think Robert was responsible?”

  “I know Robert was responsible.”

  “How could you know for sure?”

  “Because he told me.”

  “He would push a child off the bars or start the fire alarm and then tell you what he did?”

  She nodded. “And then, as I’m sure was all part of his devilish plan, I would report him to the school principal. He would be called in to the office, too, and that’s when Robert put on the charm. All it took were clever words and an innocent look to convince the principal that I had it out for him. Sometimes he would blame another innocent child, but either way, the end result was the same: he would walk out of the principal’s office with a smirk.”

  “On a few occasions you walked Robert home from school, is that right?”

  She nodded. “I knew Mrs. Hargrove personally. She had fostered two other boys, and she was a lovely person and a wonderful mother.”

  “And so you wanted to tell her what was going on?”

  “Absolutely. I wanted to warn her. She needed to know. I was afraid for her.”

  “Afraid that Robert would hurt her?”

  “Afraid he would kill her.”

  “He was only eleven years old at the time,” Lizzy said, surprised by the woman’s serious tone.

  “Yes, he was only a boy, but he had a dark mind. The boy was delusional. On a few occasions I walked Robert home and had a talk with Mrs. Hargrove. She told me that all three of her boys had spent time with a therapist. She said Robert was diagnosed as having an uncommon psychiatric condition known as delusional disorder. He would make up stories in his head. For example, he was convinced that he was popular and well liked, while the truth was most children his age were afraid of him.”

  “What causes delusional disorder?”

  “Many things, including a traumatic childhood, but they believe Robert’s disorder occurred after his mother disappeared and he was sent to one foster home after another.”


  “Was he given medication?”

  She shrugged. “I believe so, but I never saw an improvement.”

  “Did you go to the police?”

  She shook her head. “I certainly thought about it. He wrote a paper once, describing in detail how he planned to kill Mrs. Hargrove. After he killed her, he planned to kill his teacher, too.”

  “A past teacher from another school?” Lizzy asked.

  “No, he included little drawings in the margins. He wanted to kill me. I saw it in his eyes. I saw it every day.”

  “But nobody would listen to you even though you had proof?”

  “I don’t know how he did it, but somehow Robert got ahold of the paper he’d given me. It disappeared from my desk drawer that I kept locked at all times. It wasn’t until a concerned friend came in one weekend and set up cameras that I was able to catch Robert defecating on the top of my desk.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “That was nothing. I wasn’t sure if that would be enough proof, so I kept the camera rolling for two weeks. That was no child; he was a demon. He poked other kids with sharpened pencils. He left dead lizards and frogs inside the other children’s desks. He convinced little girls to touch him improperly and they would allow him to touch them, too. To this day, I don’t have a clue as to what he said to get them to follow his orders, since there was no audio on the tapes, but that was the last straw.”

  “But his classmates never told on him?”

  She shook her head. “Never. Not one. But the videos did the trick. I finally had the proof I needed, and he was escorted away from my classroom and the school.”

  “Did you ever hear from him again?”

  “No.”

  “Do you recognize the names Karen and Todd Beck?”

  She shook her head again.

  Lizzy couldn’t hide her disappointment. She’d come here in hopes that this woman could tell her where Robert Beck was now. “Karen and Todd Beck were the people who took Robert in next. In fact, they adopted Robert.”

  Mrs. Trumble continued to shake her head, saddened. Saddened for Robert or saddened for the couple who took him in, Lizzy wasn’t sure.

  “They were embalmers,” Lizzy went on, “and they pleaded guilty to stuffing two corpses with dead pine sawyer beetles.”

  The woman shut her eyes. Tears slid down both sides of her face.

  “What is it?” Lizzy asked.

  “It was him all along.”

  “Who?”

  “Every year for the past ten years, two dead beetles arrive at my house—either by mail or left on my doorstep. I always wondered if it was him.”

  CHAPTER 29

  I carried it too far, that’s for sure.

  —Jeffrey Dahmer

  Sacramento

  Saturday, June 9, 2012

  Hayley glanced at her phone. They had been at the woman’s house for thirty minutes and she had told them absolutely nothing. They didn’t have time for this. She bolted to her feet and said, “We need to go, Jessica. People’s lives are in danger and we’re getting nowhere.”

  “Well, why did you have us come here in the first place?” Jessica asked.

  “Jimmy was at the house in Lincoln, and Lizzy was talking to the teacher in hopes of finding out what happened to Robert Beck. We had to do something. Come on. Let’s go.”

  As Jessica glanced at Claire Schultz, she reached over and patted the top of the woman’s hand. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be OK.”

  “Nothing is going to be OK,” Hayley cut in, clearly frustrated. “John Robinson might have killed Eli Simpson’s sister, but we’ll never know for sure unless people like her stand up to these criminals and tell the truth.”

  “Don’t be rude,” Jessica said.

  Hayley narrowed her eyes. “She knows what happened the night Eli Simpson’s sister disappeared, and yet for some reason she refuses to help. I don’t get it.”

  The woman turned so that her gaze met Hayley’s straight on. Her old hands with their paper-thin skin were shaking as she removed her scarf. She reached for the collar of her blouse, yanked the fabric downward, and revealed a red keloid scar that made a twelve-inch winding path over her collarbone and shoulder. “This is what the monster did to me and what he threatened to do again if I talked.”

  Jessica gasped.

  The woman lifted her pant leg, revealing another jagged scar, severely red and puffy, more recent than the other.

  “The woman John Robinson brought home that night was trying to get away,” Claire said indignantly. “I saw everything through my kitchen window. The young woman who was with him climbed into his car to get away from him, then locked the doors. Nobody else was around. No men surrounding the car, as John Robinson told the police. He’s delusional. He believed the woman loved him and wanted to marry him, but according to her brother, Eli, none of that’s true. To this day John Robinson talks about Rochelle as if they were a couple in love.”

  “He did that to you?” Jessica asked.

  The woman pointed a shaky finger at Hayley, still unable to look away from her. “Oh, this is nothing. He visits whenever he can just to make sure I’m staying quiet.”

  Hayley shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “I would have moved from this godforsaken neighborhood years ago if I had the money. But nobody would buy this house. I never married. I don’t have a husband or kids. This house is all I have.”

  “You have to come with us,” Jessica said. “The police will protect you.”

  “The police don’t care. The murderer down the street has convinced them that he’s the only one who’s not crazy. John Robinson is a decent talker. He could convince a brain-surgery patient to skip the anesthesia. He’s all talk, but his strong conviction and superior belief in his make-believe stories are hard to challenge. I could talk about what I saw until I was blue and it wouldn’t do anyone any good. But there you have it. He’s the devil. He’s egotistical, arrogant, and pure evil. He was the one who put a fist through the window of his car that night. He choked the girl until she passed out and then he carried her into his house.”

  “What did you do?” Hayley asked.

  “I grabbed my cane and I went to the house. I knocked on his door and I could hear her screams. He didn’t answer the door. He obviously didn’t care, so I ran home. Before I could grab the phone, I tripped and hit my head on the tile floor. It was all over after that. Days went by before the UPS man found me and called 911. I was in a coma for weeks, and it was weeks after that before I was brought home. Sooner rather than later, John Robinson began to pay me regular visits. I thought he was an angel sent from above. He brought me flowers and groceries and even made me home-cooked meals. But then the memories began to return and I made the mistake of confiding in my new friend. After that, he still visited every week, but only to make certain that I would remain quiet. His methods were quite effective.”

  “And nobody has seen the girl since that night?”

  “She could be buried in his yard, for all I know. John Robinson is a beast. I don’t want to know what he did with the poor girl.”

  When Jessica pulled her phone from her pocket, the business card she’d seen earlier fell out. She picked up the card and was about to make a call, when she read the name scribbled on the back again. “Belle Gunness,” she said aloud, followed by, “Shit.”

  “What is it?” Hayley asked.

  “John Robinson, Dennis Nilsen, and Belle Gunness. I know where I’ve heard their names. I learned about all three of these people during my last behavioral class.”

  “Spit it out,” Hayley said. “Who are they?”

  “They’re all serial killers.”

  Hayley went to the window and looked down the street toward John Robinson’s house. “Jared could be in there.”

  “John Robinson could be a man of many names, including Robert Beck, the adopted son of the embalmers,” Jessica said. “I’m calling L
izzy.”

  Sacramento

  Saturday, June 9, 2012

  Lizzy left Mrs. Trumble and climbed into her car at the same moment her phone rang. She picked up the call.

  “He is going to die. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Lizzy drew in a breath.

  “You don’t catch on quickly, do you?”

  “Call me slow,” she said. “So you’re a serial-killer wannabe, is that it?”

  “I’m God.”

  “Give me a break. You’re not even Satan’s cousin. You can’t even find your own victims. You have to use someone else’s leftovers,” she said, referring to herself.

  “I have something I believe you might want.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I believe his initials are J.S.”

  She closed her eyes but said nothing, praying Jared was still alive.

  “No smart-ass response?”

  “Fuck you.”

  He laughed. “Much better.”

  “Oh, good, because I aim only to please you.”

  “You are a gritty little bitch, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, stop, you’re making me blush. Since I have you on the phone,” Lizzy added, “what’s with the beetle fetish?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She didn’t believe that for a minute. “If you’re so sure of yourself, so confident that you can kidnap an FBI agent and not get caught, then hand him the phone and let me talk to him.”

  “Because I’m a nice guy, I’ll let you say your goodbyes. Because this is it, Lizzy Gardner. You and your boyfriend are finished, kaput, it’s over. You had your one chance at true love and you blew it, sister. How does it feel to recognize that you could have had it all, but you were too self-involved, worried about your own silly problems? How does it feel to know that you’ll spend the rest of your life all alone?”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “I’m not the one who took my life for granted. I really don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation. This will be the last time you’re ever going to hear his voice. This is your last chance to tell him how you feel.”