Chapter 28
Ashe fled swiftly to his cage, quickly to his chair, and planted himself, with his head low and his eyes closed. Frustration and regret were becoming familiar emotions. His head spun and he didn’t know when the world would stop twirling around him. He couldn’t believe that he had put his hands on not only another human being but an inmate. That was something that could pile more problems onto the already existing stack of issues.
He sighed.
How long would it take for Franklin Barrett to rat him out?
Ashe had physically attacked Barrett and it could cost him his job and possibly his license. He sat further back in his chair. He tightened his eyes and tried to focus on what information he had been given by Barrett. What had he discovered? Upon considering the talk he had had with the killer, he was surprised at how little he had discovered that could connect him with Scott.
What had he discovered? Ashe asked himself. He opened his eyes, leaned forward in his chair, and wondered. He would have to treat Barrett as if he was just another inmate and try to diagnose him using the data gathered through their little chit-chat.
He thought about opening the Franklin Barrett file on his computer, but instead reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a notepad with yellow paper. Ashe found that his brain worked better when he physically wrote down his ideas. Putting a pen to paper was old fashioned, he knew, especially in the modern day of Twitter and Facebook. But it worked.
Ashe wrote.
Hallucinations, involving possible visions, are most likely present and the root cause behind the crimes. Franklin Barrett believes that a holy presence is behind these possible visions, giving it a grandiose quality.
These types of hallucinations could be a symptom of a severe mental illness, most likely a psychotic disorder. But which disorder? A number of disorders beneath the heading Psychotic Disorders include symptoms of Hallucinations.
He lifted the pen and thought for a second before adding: It must be narrowed down further.
The belief that his wife and son were plotting to kill him for his life insurance and family money might not be entirely based in hallucination but might also include delusions, delusions of betrayal. The presence of delusions might point toward schizophrenia or possibly delusional disorder.
But which?
Or were the ideas that his wife and son were plotting against him based in any fact? That would prove against the presence of delusions. But could that be proven at this point in time? And why hadn’t the police found any proof during the investigation?
Ashe thought about Sue Ann and Kennedy Barrett and for a second considered them devious and deceptive against their own husband and father. Could it be possible? Could the death plot actually exist? He remembered the eyes of Barrett behind the bars of his cell. He pictured them. It was the lizard behind the man, Ashe knew. It was the look of someone that could kill for false reasoning.
But even as he pictured the cold stare, Ashe considered the idea of searching for a truth behind the rants and raves of a man who felt himself betrayed by his wife and son. Discovering a death plot could be crucial.
The words of Franklin Barrett echoed, “Violence is deep within us…we all have a knack for it.”
Ashe knew it to be true. However, violence rarely came from nowhere. It always involved something deeper. He had a tight grasp on why Franklin Barrett had acted in violence. He even had a better understanding of what lied beneath the man’s eyes, which was different from what he had experienced that first session.
Had he been fooled?
Not entirely.
Gripping his pen tighter, Ashe began a line just beneath the section of notes he had taken about Franklin Barrett. He stretched the line a few inches before ending it with an arrow. Below the arrow he wrote…Scott.
The behavior of Scott Walters mirrors that of Franklin Barrett. The crimes were similar, involving murder while the victims slept, and similar language was used to describe the reasoning behind them.
MY EYES WERE OPENED.
What is the likelihood that the exact same phrasing was used in two crimes that appear in no way connected?
At this point the only concrete connection would be…me.
However, I had no connection to Franklin Barrett prior to him entering my office recently, which obviously happened long after the crimes against his wife and son were committed. My presence as a possible connection has to be a coincidence. How could it not be?
Steven Reynolds. The name has come up during sessions between Franklin Barrett and myself, whether it was for real or used as a personal attack by a man desperate for what little power he can still have. There is however a well-documented connection between Steven Reynolds and myself, connecting him to Scott.
But how could two people with limited connection to each other show similar symptoms of a possible mental disorder?
Drugs?
The same drugs taken by different people can show similar results, especially if it had been laced or tainted with a specific substance, like embalming fluid. But the exact same results in two separate people? What are the odds?
Ashe considered it but couldn’t wrap his mind around it. And before he would get the chance to jot down further thoughts, a voice came from his open doorway.
“Dr. Walters?”
The voice was feminine and familiar. It came from Warden Chase. Ashe tensed.
“Am I interrupting something?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he managed to say. “Please come in.”
As her petite form entered his office, Ashe stood to greet her.
“What brings you down to my cage?” Ashe asked. He was certain that he already knew the answer.
“I came down to hear it from you,” Warden Chase told him. “I wanted to hear it from your mouth.”
That didn’t take long, he thought. Barrett must have told the first guard that came by. Damn him. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Ashe insisted. “I don’t know what to say for myself.”
“It is just a shame,” she said. “I had to see it on the news first.”
“The news?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”
“The news conference…about your son,” Warden Chase told him. “The one that is going on right now?” She looked at Ashe’s face and then began to visually search the walls of his cage. “You still don’t have a television down here?” Digging into the pockets of her khaki pants, she pulled out her cell phone. After pushing several commands on the screen, she handed it to Ashe. Her phone was small and thin and void of any physical buttons, unlike his phone which flipped open and was nothing but buttons. The screen was dark and he wasn’t sure whether or not he had to push something on the screen. He was about to ask when the screen lit up.
Dead center of the screen was Oscar Harrison, standing in front of what appeared to a thin group of reporters. He leaned closer to a cluster of microphones that were attached to the podium behind which he stood. As he opened his mouth, Oscar broke his word and began to speak about Scott. At the bottom right corner of the screen, a photograph of Scott appeared, just above the words Channel 5 News and LIVE.
“I repeat,” Oscar began, “the suspect is still at large and may still be in the city of Youngstown or the surrounding areas. He may or may not be armed, but I want everyone to consider him dangerous. I will only be taking a couple questions.” The detective scanned the handful of reporters. “Sasha?”
A Latino woman began to speak, “Sasha Cohen, Channel 5 news. Do you believe that this Scott Walters is connected to all three of the murders? In the apartment complex and the park?”
“I have already stated as such,” Oscar answered, “and we have evidence supporting it. But the exact evidence will not be disclosed at this time.” He turned his head to find the next question but was quickly pulled back to Sasha.
“Has a
motive for the crimes been discovered?” Sasha interrupted.
“The motives behind the crimes are still in question,” Oscar replied, before quickly pointing to another reporter. “Alan?”
“Alan Whitcomb, 21 Action News,” the tall man began. “I have a source that tells me that Scott Walters is the son of Ashe Walters, who currently works as the forensic psychologist at Wilson Maximum Security Prison along with being a former consultant for your homicide unit. Is that true?” The reporter didn’t give Oscar a chance to reply before adding another question. “And does this have any connection to the death of Susanne Walters several years ago? A crime connected to the Eastside Slasher.”
“Your source told you that?” Oscar asked, growing irritated. “I will say this once. There is no connection between the Eastside Slasher and Scott Walters. The Eastside Slasher is long gone. He or she is either rotting in some prison for other crimes or dead and rotting in a shallow grave somewhere. Either probability is fine by me.”
“There seems to be one connection, Detective Harrison,” Alan insisted.
“And what might that be?”
“Ashe Walters,” the reporter replied.
“This conference is over,” Oscar declared. “An official statement will be released later today. Thank you for coming.” He turned and walked off the screen.
The thin phone felt like a brick in his hand. Before the screen cut off again, Ashe looked at the wall in the background and knew that the conference had taken place at the police headquarters.
He took note of that fact.
Handing the phone back to Warden Chase, Ashe didn’t know what to say to her. So he didn’t speak and let her take the lead in the conversation.
“Was that the personal business that you had to take care of yesterday?” the Warden asked.
Ashe nodded.
Warden Chase shook her head and said, “You could have told me about this, you know. I would understand if you needed a little personal time because of what is going on with your son. I am not stone, cold and unfeeling. Besides, you’ve earned some time off. I can’t remember the last time you missed a day, besides yesterday that is. I should have known something serious was going on when you left early. Anyway, I want you to leave and deal with your personal situation. I’ve already brought in someone else to take over your load.” She turned and called to the doorway. “Doctor Osborne?”
A woman about the same height and weight as the warden walked into Ashe’s cage.
“Doctor Osborne will take over your cases,” Warden Chase stated. “We will cancel anything that does not absolutely have to take place.”
“Sally,” Ashe said, nodding to his colleague. “How are things in the private sector?” Dr. Sally Osborne looked around her. “Not so…claustrophobic.” She smiled. “How are things in prison?”
“Claustrophobic,” he replied.
Ashe knew Sally Osborne from whenever he had the obligation to present his professional opinion to the local and state courts. She used to work exclusively as an expert researcher and assessment administrator for the court system, but a year or so back she chose to leave the courts behind and go into her own private forensic practice, where she was merely a lapdog for the prosecution. She was good at her job and Ashe knew she would handle his case load with care and competency.
“I would like you take some time and get the good Doctor up to speed,” Warden Chase said. “And then I want you out of my building,” she joked. “Call me when you can and give me an update on what is going on.”
And with that, the warden was gone.
Through the outrage Ashe was feeling toward his old friend, he managed to greet Sally’s smile with one of his own. The smile originated with an internal image, Oscar’s neck with Ashe’s hands wrapped around it.