He added, "It is priceless, and I want it back"
"What was the reason for the estrangement?" Sheski asked again. From the way the doctor avoided his question the first time, he got the impression that the man didn't really want to tell him.
Doctor Stone chewed on his lower lip, picked up his pen, tapped it nervously on the rosewood desk, and said matter-of-factly, "I might as well tell you ... it's no secret, really."
The lawmen sensed anger and pain as events of the Valentine's Day confrontation at their home were recalled.
"Rose and I were expecting Karen and a friend for dinner at eight o'clock. We were both happy to be seeing her since she had telephoned us to say that she would be bringing a very special date along with her, someone whom she wanted us to meet. We discussed who this could be, hoping that our daughter had finally found a steady boyfriend, perhaps even a serious relationship. Not that Karen had trouble getting dates," Lesley was quick to explain. "She's pretty, and intelligent, too. She just went from one man to another, wearing them down with her incessant demands. Karen always has to have her way, you see. I just don't understand how she got like that" He looked at the detectives, who nodded back but hid their lack of surprise at this last statement.
"When her present boyfriend wouldn't do what she wanted, she moved on to another, with no regrets. If it ever bothered her, you wouldn't know it." Lesley shook his head back and forth as he thought about Karen's need to be controlling.
"I was busy in the kitchen preparing del monicos and salads when I heard Karen's car pull up the lane. Rose had prepared the dining room with our best linen and china for what we hoped was a special occasion. She could really set a table, and went all out"
The troopers listened closely as he went on to tell the story. The gold tableware was in use and fresh pink roses were in a crystal vase on the table. Twelveinch pink tapers finished off the effect. Rose opened the door for the couple after the bell rang and immediately called for Lesley to join them in the living room.
Lesley noticed tension in his wife's voice, thought something might be wrong, and put the steaks back into the refrigerator. The sight of Karen with an attractive black man took him by surprise. Neither he nor Rose were prepared for what followed.
Karen informed the two of them that her date, Jess Walter, had asked her to marry him and that she had accepted. She had met him at one of her art classes at Bucknell University, where Jess was an Art History professor. They had been secretly dating for six months. Happiness shone on the faces of the newlyengaged couple as Karen waved a large solitaire in the air in front of her. She then leaned over to give Jess's arm a squeeze, beaming up at him.
Lesley's face was dark with anger. "Rose recoiled in horror. She couldn't believe what she was hearing and seeing, and loudly said so"
"What are you thinking?" Rose had screamed at the couple. "What will our friends think, Karen?" She exploded. "You come from a prestigious family, you can do better than this. You know how people in a small town can be. You will never be accepted here; there will be gossip when this gets out" Rose then turned to her husband, her face flushed with anger, her body shaking. "Say something, Lesley-for God's sake, don't just stand there."
Lesley told the police officers that he could barely speak. His daughter was obviously very happy, but she couldn't have given this relationship much thought, or reflected on what this could mean to her and her family. "Lord knows we aren't prejudiced, but this will never work," he remembered telling the two of them.
According to the doctor, Jess silently listened while his fiancee's parents presented all the reasons why the relationship should end and the nuptials should not take place. He recognized that this was not the time for a showdown and stated that he loved their daughter very much and was sorry that they felt the way that they did. With dignity and reserve, he then turned to make his exit.
Karen glared at her parents, told them they were big oted and hadn't even given Jess a chance, then followed him out the door. The whole scene hadn't taken more than ten minutes.
As the couple was making their way down the walk, Rose opened the door and flung the final insult their way. "You'll never get another dime from us, Karen, as long as that ... that man is in your life. If you marry him, everything we have will go somewhere else, anywhere but to you"
Karen slowly turned, eyes flashing, still holding Jess's hand. Choosing her words carefully, she made her own position clear. "I don't need your money," she rasped through clenched teeth. "My work is providing me with a very good living. And Mother," she said insultingly, "Jess has given me love. Something I was sadly missing!"
Walking down the glass-imbedded sidewalk, with tears in her eyes, Karen looked back and slung the final arrow. "Don't bother calling me until you two have changed your minds," she said. They knew she meant it.
Dr. Stone described how, from that time forward, the relationship with their daughter was changed. They didn't know where she spent her time, nor with whom. Karen and her parents hadn't seen nor spoken to each other since. That was almost nine months ago. It was now November and the holidays were approaching with no contact made. The Stones blamed the fiance for the schism, and never forgave him. Time only made it worse as the parents agonized over their daughter's stubbornness and prayed that she would come to her senses.
It was at this point in Dr. Stone's story that Sheski's pager vibrated against his right hip. The detective made his apologies as he reached down to read the message.
"May I use your phone?" he asked.
Dr. Stone nodded.
Sheski dialed his office number, wrote something down on a pad, and glancing at the doctor, said, "They've located Karen. She's in her studio behind her home. Lieutenant Anderson told her to expect us soon."
The psychiatrist stated that they should go on out and he would meet them at their car in a few minutes. From there, they could follow him to his daughter's home.
The officers started toward the office door. Before touching the doorknob, Sheski turned to the doctor and said carefully, "Oh, yes. I'll need a complete list of the jewelry your wife was wearing today, and we still have some questions about your gardener."
"Of course," he replied.
The two men walked toward the elevator and got in, and Mike pushed the button for the first floor. They murmured back and forth and headed to the large front doors. Walking past the receptionist's desk, they saw Sarah speaking to John Deadly.
"Doctor Stone wants to speak to you immediately," they heard her say to the security man. Deadly frowned and hurriedly turned, almost bumping into Mike.
"Sorry," he said absently, and hurried off in the direction of the elevator.
As they looked at him, then back at Sarah, they noticed several of the female staff standing around, whispering. Somber faces turned to watch the detectives. They must have all heard the news, Sheski thought.
Sarah, the boldest of the three, stepped forward to intercept the officers at the massive front doors. "We just heard about Rose," she began. "How is Dr. Stone taking it?"
"He seems pretty shaken," Mike offered. "But I think he'll be alright"
"Well, I can't say that any of us here are too upset. Rose didn't have many friends. She was snobby from the first day we met her, waving that big gaudy diamond back and forth all the time. The few times that she came here, she walked past my desk straight to her husband's office without a word to anyone"
Sarah's face was flushed as she went on, and she looked at them as if expecting a comment. When none was forthcoming, she went on. "Rose made a lot of enemies in this town"
Sheski was taken aback by her harsh commentary. He knew that people often blurt out information to police officers in the heat of the moment, and later regret it. He believed this was one of those times.
"I'll be calling to set up an appointment to talk with you ... on the record," he said professionally.
Sarah composed herself and looked over the handsome detective from head to toe.
/> "I'll be looking forward to it," she said with a smile. With that, she rejoined the others at her desk.
When they had left the building and were in their car out of others' hearing range, Mike whistled loudly. "Wow. It looks like Mrs. Rose Stone didn't have any friends there. And what about the daughter and her boyfriend?"
Before Sheski could answer, Dr. Stone pulled up in his black Mercedes and waved for them to follow him. As they exited the Stone Haven parking lot, a large white limousine with tinted windows pulled in and parked close to the front door. The officers strained to see who would get out of one of its six doors, but no one emerged until their car was out of viewing distance.
SUMMER, 1892
Oliver Pratt lowered himself down onto his cot and stared at the high, cracked ceiling. He was on the top floor of the hospital, tucked under one of the gables of the west wing of the psychiatric unit, and it was so hot up there. The windows had iron bars over them so he was able to put the sash up about four inches for some fresh air. He stuck his face against the peeling paint and sucked in air. The heat began to lull him into a dreamy state, one in which he often permitted himself to be drawn. It made his life bearable, reliving those earlier years in Philadelphia when he was a bright young painter still living with his father, the respectable Dr. Pratt. Instead of being sent out like some criminal to an insignificant backwoods village hospital, he should be enjoying the good life in Philly, he thought.
A smile slowly lifted the corners of his lined mouth as he recalled what he considered to be the most fun of his existence. In captivity or out, he had never experienced more pleasure. He didn't want to think about how difficult it was for him now to not be able to exercise his passion.
To ease this discomfort, he drifted back to those earlier years. He found it interesting how easy it was to gain the trust of the beautiful little girls. He liked them beautiful and very, very young. Less than ten years old. And they liked him. At least at first. To get them to open up and talk, he spoke softly to them about whatever it was he thought would catch their attention. If they were holding a doll, he tenderly touched the doll first and told its owner how pretty it was. If they had a storybook, he quietly and sincerely offered to read it to them. And did so. It came so easily to him.
He often spent days alone in his studio behind his father's home, engrossed in his painting, so when he was able to isolate one of his lovely young victims, that was where he took them. A meticulously lettered No ADMITTANCE, ARTIST AT WORK sign hanging on the outside of his door assured his privacy while he taught the child about oils and pigments, and much, much, more.
The children's bodies were eventually found when a pack of wild dogs following a strong and familiar scent dug open one of the shallow graves. To the horror of those who witnessed the obscene display, the sweet, lifeless little girls, now covered in dirt and grime, looked like grisly dolls. Their dainty fingers and toes still held scant traces of bright-colored paint on the nails. It took the police a long time to piece all of the evidence together and finally figure out that the eccen tric young artist who spent so much time alone painting in his studio was the monster who preyed on these little ones.
Oliver mentally relived every moment of the time spent with each of his little sweethearts. His rapid breathing gradually became shallow and regular as he happily drifted off to sleep with visions of happier times playing over and over in his dreams.
On their way to Karen's home, the detectives discussed what they knew so far on this case. Sheski had something else on his mind, too. He was replaying his conversation with the woman who had found Rose's body. What if he had misjudged her, and she had something to do with it? It was a troubling question. He had no reason to suspect her, but he liked her and needed reassurance she was everything he thought she was.
The men continued their discussion as they followed the Mercedes to the farmette that Karen Stone called home. They talked about Jess Walter, Karen's fiance, and his importance in their investigation. In the darkness, they made a turn down her dirt lane. The house was a far cry from the luxurious mansion at Sweetriver, but it was homey and welcoming. When they got closer, both studied the moderate-sized nineteenth-century farmhouse with an adjoining outkitchen, perched on a knoll of gently rolling farmland. Against the November sunset, a stand of yellow pines framed the southern exposure of the white clapboard dwelling. Flower gardens hemmed in by mountain stone held promises of irises, daffodils, and cosmos to come in the spring. Birdbaths and tiny water ponds dotted the landscape. On the west side of the home, a gently flowing brook fed by an artesian well from an upper copse of trees made its way into a small wooded area.
An artist's home, Sheski thought.
The two cars slowly snaked their way down the lane, past a red banked barn and two empty corn cribs.
Karen had already received a call from an officer at the State Police barracks, so she knew they were coming ... and why. She initially was in shock, walking unseeing and unfeeling from room to room, twisting a small diamond pinky ring repeatedly around her finger. Now, she was peering anxiously through the sheer curtains of a front room window. The kindly state policeman on the phone had told Karen that her mother was found dead at home, apparently murdered, and that Lieutenants Sheski and James would be there shortly. He broke it to her as gently as one could tell such grisly news over the telephone.
Karen's lover, Jess, was not at the farm. He had explained to her earlier his intentions of staying in his office most of the day to work. She called to tell him what had happened, but he didn't answer. Initially, in her nervousness, she was having difficulty pushing the correct numbers and figured she had dialed the wrong number. She tried calling the campus operator, who said Professor Walter had signed out after an earlier meeting and hadn't been seen since.
Karen then called the janitor in Jess's building and insisted that he check the space where her fiance had parked his black sport utility vehicle. He did as she asked, and called right back to tell her that it wasn't there. She hung up on him without a thank-you, and thoughts frantically raced through her mind. Where is he? He said he'd be in his office. Maybe the janitor made a mistake. She tried Jess's office again with no success.
The call from the state policeman played over and over in her mind. He wouldn't answer any of her questions despite her insistence on knowing the details. Old habits are hard to break and Karen found herself bullying the statie. Ignoring his kindness, Karen demanded to know his name and that of his superior. She would see to it that he was called on the carpet for not giving her what she wanted. Who did he think he was? She wasn't just any ordinary citizen, she was a well-known artist and the daughter of a wealthy family. Angry and upset, she was ready for the lieutenants.
Dr. Stone pulled into a parking space, got out of his Mercedes, and approached the policemen at the side of their car.
Sheski and Mike were reaching for the door handles when the radio squawked. It was Doug. He had news about the gardener, Barry Brown. Sheski briskly turned his back to the others, walked away from the cars and dialed Doug on his car phone.
Not wanting the victim's spouse to overhear private police business, Mike quickly took him aside and asked him a few more questions. The two of them then stood at the back of the Mercedes and waited for Sheski to finish.
Doug recounted how he had tried to find the gardener, with no luck. He put out an all points bulletin in the hopes that someone would come across him or his truck. If Barry tried to leave the area, they wanted the police ready to pick him up.
Doug said he had learned quite a bit about the gardener from Jacob Zimmerman, the owner of Zimmerman's Gardening. Jacob had given him a thorough description and the background of the worker who was assigned to Dr. and Mrs. Lesley Stone's property.
Barry was referred to Zimmerman's Gardening by Dr. Richard Burns when the psychiatrist couldn't find other employment for his former patient. The doctor believed the borderline menally retarded, with a primary diagnosis of Explosive Behavior
Disorder, was now wellcontrolled through medication and therapy and could make a positive contribution to the community. Besides, Barry was the grandson of the owner of a large real estate business who was a friend of the Burnses.
Prior to the Stone Haven psychiatrists' getting him stabilized on a combination of psychotropic drugs, Barry had given his family much to worry about. There had been several occasions when he was housed in the Montour County jail for assault and battery. The fami ly had a pending lawsuit from an incident a few years back when, in an apparent rage at a local bar, Barry had pummeled a much younger, much stronger man over a disagreement. Weeks later, after the man was released from the hospital, he had initiated a lawsuit against Barry Brown's family for not doing something about this dangerous relative. That's when Barry ended up in Stone Haven's care and Dr. Burns stepped in. Since he'd begun working for Zimmerman's, there had been no further incidents. Although he was not outgoing, Barry was the best gardener that Jacob had.
Jacob told Doug that Barry drove an old red Ford pickup, battered from years of hauling tools and supplies. The gardener used it to access Sweetriver via a dirt road behind the Stones' home.
Barry was plain-looking, with brown hair, brown eyes and a hooded gaze. He spoke very little, giving minimal eye contact from dull, unexpressive features. He was a small man, and, when he took his meds, posed no problem. An excellent worker, he was meticulous about his job. The Stones' property attested to that. Barry handled the grounds without assistance, and satisfied even the fussy Rose Stone.
When Doug recounted the details of the murder, Jacob was unconvinced of Barry's involvement. "It doesn't fit," he had said. "Barry's only interested in his work these days. Besides, he barely even speaks to anyone anymore. No, they were wrong," the gardener's boss had told him. "Barry's a changed man and couldn't have done that." The police were unconvinced.
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