by Unknown
'Jan Rider,' said Molly. 'She was an inpatient for several years, then lived in a halfway house as an outpatient for about six months. She was a housekeeper. Borderline psychotic. Delusionary, disassociated. Her neighbours had her committed when she went into the backyard stark naked and prayed to a tree. She believed it was the Virgin Mary.'
'Do you know where she is now?'
'The state hospital in Ohio. She was one of our failures.'
'Are you sure she's still there?'
'Yes.'
'Next.'
'Sidney Tribble. I'll tell you right off the top, he is from St Louis and he went back there after he got his ticket. Tribble has a sister there, they're quite close. He's got a good job making an acceptable salary. No psychological recurrences so far.'
'Why was he here?'
'Schizoid, paranoid, dissociative.'
'Why was he committed?'
'Court order. His wife left him and he began to delude. Thought she and her new boyfriend were taunting him. He stabbed a man in a shopping mall, someone he didn't even know, he just picked up a pair of shears in a hardware department and attacked him.'
'Did he kill him?'
She shook her head. 'The wounds were relatively superficial. The judge ordered confinement and treatment and his sister paid to have him committed here instead of the state hospital.'
'How long was he here?'
'A year in treatment, a little over two years as an employee and an outpatient. He worked here as our electrician. Went back to St Louis about a year ago.'
St Claire cast a glance at Vail, then made a note beside Tribble's name: 'Possible.'
'Okay, who's next?' Vail asked.
'Rene Hutchinson. She was also on the housekeeping staff. Very bright; in fact, she taught a class of ten-year-olds and was quite good at it, but she didn't want the responsibility. She worked as a housekeeper, then later she assisted in the infirmary. Pretty woman, kind of raw-boned. Pioneer stock.'
'How old was she?'
'Late thirties.'
'What was her problem?'
'She wasn't my patient,' Molly said. 'I would prefer you ask Dr Salzman. He treated her.'
Think he'll talk to us?'
'We'll find out,' she said, and went to the phone.
Orin Salzman was a small man with a greying Vandyke beard and neatly cropped black hair. His shoulders were stooped and rounded as if weighted by the burden of his patients. He wore a black turtleneck sweater, khaki slacks, and a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and seemed a bit put out at being interrupted. He appeared at Molly's door, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring at them through thick tortoiseshell glasses. Molly offered him a drink, which he declined.
'What's this about?' he asked in a stern tone, leaning against the doorjamb.
Molly introduced Vail and St Claire and explained the situation briefly, without going into too many details. Salzman was superficially familiar with the Stampler case, which helped.
'They're interested in Rene Hutchinson's case,' Molly said.
'You know I can't divulge my work with Rene,' he said.
'Look, Doctor,' St Claire said, 'we ain't lookin' to cause this Hutchinson woman any grief. But we gotta check all these people out. If we ask anythin' that you feel is privileged, jest say so, we'll back off.'
'Hmm,' he said. He slowly eased himself into the room and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Vail. 'So I gather you're looking for people with psychopathic tendencies, that it?'
'Kinda.'
He drummed his fingers on the coffee table for a few moments, then said, 'Well, if Molly says okay, I'm willing to listen.'
'What can you tell us - off the top - about her?' Vail asked.
'Her father was an army man, sergeant as I recall. She was born out west somewhere, lived all over the world. Left home when she was fairly young. Went to college for two years. University of Colorado. Very bright woman with an extremely fragile psyche.'
'Did you ever figure out why?'
'Not really. She had suffered a nervous breakdown before she came here, which she concealed from us when she applied for the job. It came out after she'd been here about two years. She was working the night clean-up staff here and going to school in the daytime, got exhausted and almost had a relapse. Then she was arrested for shoplifting.'
'What'd she steal?'
'Something inconsequential, a cheap purse as I remember. Kleptomania is often a cry for attention.'
'And how long was she here?'
'She worked here about three years. She was in therapy for the last six months of her employment, mainly to mend a damaged ego and shaky self-image and build back her strength.'
'What's her background?'
'Well, she wasn't particularly anxious to discuss her past.'
'Isn't that why she came to you?'
'She came to me because she had to. The judge ordered her to get psychiatric help.'
'For how long?'
'Six months.'
'Did she resent these sessions with you?'
'No. She was in pain, and believe me, mental disorders are as painful as your pain would be if you broke a leg. It's not the kind of pain you can take an aspirin for or rub away, and you can't take antibiotics to cure it, but the hurt is very real to those who are suffering.'
'How did she deal with her past?'
'She didn't. I never did really connect with her. The re-experiencing process is the most painful of all. It requires the individual to deal with their darkest side, examine motives and actions they'd rather forget.'
'And Rene resisted it?'
'Wasn't really interested. I strongly suspect she was sexually abused by her father although she never admitted that. She did tell me once that her father was physically and mentally abusive, but that was as far as she took it.'
'So she was uncooperative?'
'No, she was friendly and talkative, she just didn't want to deal with the past, and six months wasn't enough time to earn her trust.'
'You liked her, then?'
'I didn't dislike her. She was a patient I saw for three hours a week. We never got beyond her shielding, which is not uncommon at all.'
'Did you ever consider her dangerous?'
'No - well, to herself, perhaps, when she first came to me. She was verging on manic-depression, there's always a danger of suicide in depression cases. But I never considered her capable of purposely hurting someone else.'
'So you feel she was cured?'
'Let's just say we stopped the problem before it got too bad. She was never an inpatient, she just met with me for three hours a week and I had her on some antidepressant medication.'
'Worked at night, you say?' asked Vail.
He nodded. 'Five nights a week for four hours and eight hours on the weekends. She was the night housekeeping staff, cleaned the offices and meeting rooms.'
'So she would have had access to keys to the offices, for clean-up purposes?' said Vail.
'Uh-huh…'
'You say she was goin''t'school. Remember what she was studyin'?'
'Data processing. The wave of the future, she called it.'
'Where was that, here in Winthrop?' Vail asked.
Salzman chuckled. 'Obviously you've never seen Winthrop. It's about the size of your hand. She commuted to Shelbyville, about fifteen miles up the Indy highway. Drove an old Pontiac Firebird.'
'Do you know where she went when she left here?'
'Sorry. We lost track of her after she left. You might check with Jean in Personnel on the off-chance somebody asked for a reference.' Molly excused herself and went into her office. They could hear her talking to someone on the phone.
'One more thing,' said St Claire to Salzman. 'Did ya ever get any indication that Rene Hutchinson might have been psychotic, or have psychotic tendencies?'
'No, but that doesn't mean she wasn't. Psychopaths are consummate liars, among other things. She was aloof and could be very guarded at times. And
she had mood swings, but then, who doesn't.'
'Anything else you can think of?'
'Well, no, not really. She was excellent with young people, particularly in the eight-to-fifteen age range. They seemed to relate to her, if that means anything.'
'Did she ever mention Aaron Stampler or a fella named Vulpes? Raymond Vulpes?' St Claire asked.
'Not that I recall.'
Vail gave Salzman his card. 'If you think of anything else, would you give me a call?' he asked.
Salzman lifted his glasses, propping them on his forehead as he studied the card. 'DA, huh? What's your interest in Stampler?'
'I defended him,' said Vail. 'Before I became a prosecutor.'
'Huh,' said the psychiatrist, lowering his glasses. 'That's kind of a sticky wicket, isn't it?'
'I think you could say that,' said Vail with a smile.
'Well, tell Molly I'll see her later. Will you two be around for a while?'
'No, we'll be leaving shortly. Thanks for your help.'
'Not much help, I'm afraid, but it was nice to see you,' Salzman said, and left the office.
When Molly came back, she said, 'I have a little information for you. Jean says she got a request for a recommendation for Rene about two months after she left. It was from City General Hospital in Terre Haute. I just talked to the personnel director there. He says she worked there for four months, left around the first of the year. They've had no further contact with her.'
'So she was there at the time of the Balfour kill,' said St Claire.
'And it was just a nervous breakdown, she didn't show signs of any other mental problems?' Vail said.
'Maybe,' said St Claire, 'she was an adroit liar, as Dr Lowenstein would say.'
'You really think she was psychotic?' Molly asked.
'I'm askin' you, ma'am,' St Claire said, and smiled.
Molly lit another cigarette, considered his question carefully before she answered. 'If she was, Orin didn't detect it,' she said finally.
'Where did she come from before she worked here?' Vail asked.
'Accordin' to her record on this sheet, she came here from Regional General Hospital in Dayton, Ohio. General housekeeping,' St Claire answered, checking the computer printout. 'You also got a picture of her, if that's what this here checkmark means.'
'I'll have Jean pull it,' Molly said.
'May I show you something?' St Claire said. He led them into her office. 'Got a couple of hair pins?' he asked Molly.
She laughed. 'Afraid I don't use them.'
'How about paperclips. I need two.'
He took the two paperclips she gave him and straightened them out, then inserted them into the bookcase lock. Working with both hands, he moved the two wires around until he felt the tumblers in the lock. He twisted both clips and the door clicked open. It took about thirty seconds. He reached in, took out one of the tape boxes, and removed the tape, then put the empty box back. He turned to Molly and handed her the tape. 'When's the last time ya looked at one of these, Doctor?'
'I have no idea,' Molly answered. 'I haven't looked at them since I got my ticket. Four years, maybe longer.'
'She was workin' at night, had a key to the office, came in, popped the lock, took a tape, maybe two or three, returned them the next night. Nothin' to it. You never woulda known the dif, 'less a'course you happened to check the particular box she borrowed. That's if it was Hutchinson, a'course.'
'You think she knew how to pick a lock?'
'No big secret, ma'am. I mean, it ain't some inside cop thing. I read it in one of those books, y'know the kind? 101 Things You Always Wanted to Know How to Do But Nobody'd Tell You kinda books? Point is, she coulda got into the tapes, she was missin' for two months before she applied for work in Terre Haute, and she had mental problems. Nobody else here fits the bill except Tribble.'
They returned to the sitting room. The personnel director had sent 3x5 colour mug shots of Rene Hutchinson and Tribble to the office. Molly handed them to Vail and then turned over the photograph of Linda Balfour's body, which was lying facedown on the table. She stared down at it.
'You think a woman is capable of this?' she asked.
'Ma'am,' said St Claire, 'I think a woman can do anything a man can do but sire a child - and I ain't even too sure 'bout that any more.'
Thirty-Two
Angelica Stoddard was short and resembled her mother. She had a trim, tight body, good posture, and blue eyes so pale she almost looked blind - a striking young woman in an extra-large sweater that hung down halfway to the knees of her bleached-out jeans. She wore jogging shoes with white sweat socks that sagged over the tops and a black felt hat over ash-blonde hair. The hat was pulled down almost to her ears. She looked sombre and walked quickly with her head down. Venable fell in beside her. Angelica paid no attention at first but finally turned and looked up at Venable.
'Hi,' said Venable, 'I'm Jane Venable. I'm your mother's lawyer. Can we go somewhere and talk for a few minutes?'
'Not here,' the young woman answered in a whisper, looking around furtively.
'Anywhere you say.'
'Anywhere but here,' Angelica said.
Venable had her car drive them to a coffee shop off campus. They found a table in the back of the small cafe. Angelica ordered cappuccino and Venable had black coffee.
'Why did you come to the school?' Angelica Stoddard said. 'Why didn't you call first?'
'I tried, but I couldn't get through.'
Angelica's shoulders sagged. 'Oh, yeah, it's a hall phone,' she said, shaking her head. 'It's always busy. I'm sorry I said that, but I… I'm so embarrassed by all this. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it.'
'It's okay, Angelica. It's absolutely understandable, you don't have to apologize to me.'
'What do you want?'
'I need your help.'
'To do what?'
'I want you to come with me to see your mother.'
The young woman looked shocked. 'I can't do that,' she said urgently, but still speaking almost in a whisper. 'She absolutely forbids me to—'
'Angelica, she must put up a fight.'
'You don't know my mother. Once she makes up her mind…'
'Look, for God's sake, she's not deciding what kind of car to buy, her life is on the line here.'
'What can I do?'
'Tell her to defend herself.'
'She won't listen to me, and she won't change her mind. I know her, Ms Venable. I talked to her. They let her call me. She kept saying, "This is the only way." '
'You've got to go with me to see her and back me up.'
'She'd kill me!' Angelica said, then quickly added, 'Figuratively speaking, I mean.'
'Angelica… do they call you Angel?' The young student nodded. 'Angel, you tell her you and your dad need her. She can't just stand by and get maxed out by the state. If she'll put up a fight we can win this case. Do you want her to spend the next twenty years in state prison?'
'No! Oh no. Oh God, what's happening to us?' Angelica shook her head and started to cry.
'Trust me,' Venable said. 'Just do exactly what I tell you to do and trust me.'
Vail had secured wiretapping permits for the pay phone in the hall outside Vulpes's door and in his room. The two electronics experts in the investigative department had set up a listening and watching post in an empty loft across the street from the halfway house. One of them, Bob Morris, had graduated from electronics school and had attended the FBI academy. His partner, Reggie Solomon, was a classic nerd, who was interested only in the mysteries of electronic surveillance. A second team comprised of Randy Dobson, a young, lean detective who wore baggy khakis and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt under a leather jacket, and Kirby Grosso, a tallish, raw-boned woman wearing a jogging outfit - the two best shadows on the DA's investigative staff - was on standby in a car a block away. Grosso had a Hi8 videocamera secreted in her athletic bag so she could videotape Vulpes without being detected.
They watched Terry bring Vul
pes to the halfway house and help him carry his belongings to the second-floor room. Vulpes had a large old-fashioned leather suitcase, a stereo, TV, and VCR, his tool chest and two large cardboard boxes of books and tapes. They listened on the monitor when Vulpes entered his room, and Morris, using a 500mm telephoto lens, videotaped him through the open window of the room. They heard the supervisor running down the rules and regulations, the most important of which was a 10 P.M. curfew that was strictly enforced. The supervisor, whose name was David Schmidt, had a pleasant, reassuring voice.
'You'll do just fine, Raymond,' he said as he left the room.
'Thanks,' Vulpes answered. A few moments later he appeared at the window of his room. He leaned on the sill and looked up and down the street. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air.
Actually, Vulpes was studying the terrain. He was certain the phone and his room were bugged, just as he was certain that he was being observed from somewhere in the old building across the street. Excellent. Vail had taken the bait.
Then he closed the window, pulled down the shade, and turned on his CD player. In the loft across the street, the sounds of a Judas Priest album roared into Solomon's earphones and he pulled them off.
'Well, shit,' Morris said. 'There goes our sound and picture.' He snatched up his portable phone and punched out the number of the chase car.
Grosso answered. 'Yeeees?' she said pleasantly.
'This is Bird Watch. Got Fox in his den, shades drawn, music drowning out our sound. Suggest you cover the back door.'
'Way ahead of you, Bird Watch. Got it in view.'
'See ya.'
'Over and out.'
Morris and Solomon settled back to watch and wait.
'You sure he can't see in here?' Solomon said.
'Not with his shades drawn.'
'How about when the shades are up?'
'Not unless he's Superman.'
'What are we on this guy about, anyway?'
'I dunno,' said Morris. 'All I know, Stenner said he's dangerous, whatever the hell that means.'
Vulpes stood in the middle of his room and surveyed his surroundings. It was large enough to include a bed, dresser, night table, and lamp. On the opposite side of the room was a small loveseat covered with a blanket and an easy chair with a battered coffee table between them. Against the wall was a table large enough to hold his TV. He lifted the blanket on the loveseat. Grey duct tape held a large rip together.