“You can understand why the owner’s bride was not thrilled with her new castle,” Adelaide said.
She came to a halt at the top of the stairs. The early morning light streaming through the tall, arched windows that lined one wall did little to alleviate the invisible miasma that seethed in the space.
The panic welled up out of nowhere again. This time it threatened to choke her.
“Are you all right?” Jake asked.
“Yes,” she managed. “Yes, I’m all right.”
She made herself take a detached look at the laboratory. The arched window that Ormsby had shattered when he leaped to his death had been boarded up, but aside from that it was all horribly familiar. She would never be able to forget it, she thought. The workbenches were littered with laboratory glassware of all shapes and sizes. Gauges, Bunsen burners, weighing machines, and various kinds of instruments lined the shelves.
The wooden upright chair where the orderlies had restrained her while Gill and Ormsby forced her to drink the Daydream drug sat in one corner. It looked so very ordinary now.
This time is different, she thought. This time you’re in charge. This time you’re not alone.
“I thought of it as the electric chair,” she whispered.
She was speaking to herself but Jake heard her. He came up behind her and touched her shoulder.
“It’s over,” he said. “You fought them and in the end you escaped. You beat the bastards. Gill and Ormsby are both dead. Conrad Massey is facing bankruptcy and prison. We’re going to find a way to make sure Paxton ends up behind bars. If you ever decide that’s not enough justice and you want him dead, too, that can be arranged.”
She touched Jake’s hand on her shoulder. “There’s been enough death.”
“Just be sure to let me know if you ever change your mind.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that. We’d better get busy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Victor is on the phone now, telephoning the local police. I’m not sure he bought your FBI agent act.”
“And here I thought I played the part so well,” Jake said. He angled his chin toward the office at the back of the lab. “I assume the files are kept in there?”
“Yes. I just hope Gill or Paxton didn’t move them for some reason.”
“Why would they do that? They would have considered this the safest possible place for the files because they assumed they had complete control over the Rushbrook Sanitarium.”
Jake went down the aisle formed by two workbenches and once again used the handle of his gun to shatter the glass pane set into the door. He turned the knob and went into the room.
Adelaide hurried after him. They both looked at the wooden file cabinets arranged against one wall.
“The files relating to the Daydream experiments are in the last cabinet,” Adelaide said, “the one that’s locked. Ormsby used to keep the key in his desk drawer, but I couldn’t find it the night that I escaped so I had to leave my file behind.”
“No problem,” Jake said. “It’s just a small, standard-issue drawer lock.”
He took a firm grip on the drawer handle and yanked hard. Adelaide heard something metallic snap inside the cabinet. The drawer popped open.
Together they looked down at the neatly arranged row of folders.
She searched quickly for her own file. The one in front was marked Patient B. She seized it and opened it.
“This is it,” she said. “This is my proof that they were running experiments on me.”
“Is there a folder for Patient A?”
Adelaide closed her own file and riffled quickly through the remaining folders. She shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I recognize some of these other files, though. They are the records of my father’s research, the files that went missing after he and my mother were killed in that explosion.”
“We’ll take your file and anything else we can carry out in this briefcase,” Jake said. “I want to know what the hell was going on here.”
Adelaide scooped out an armful of files and gave them to Jake, who stuffed them into the briefcase. When the drawer was empty, he fastened the case, straightened, and went to the desk.
“What are you looking for?” Adelaide asked.
“I have no idea.” Jake snapped the lock on the center desk drawer. “Here we go. This might be interesting.”
He took out a leather-bound notebook.
“What is it?” Adelaide asked.
“Looks like Ormsby’s appointment book and daily calendar.” Jake opened the book and flipped rapidly through the pages. He stopped. “Here’s the last entry. It’s a note about the need to prepare a dozen vials of Daydream. The date is the same day you escaped.”
“The perfume bottles that I saw on this desk that night,” Adelaide said. “The killer took them. They were full of Daydream, not the usual drug.”
“That’s how Paxton came by the Daydream he’s been using in Burning Cove.” Jake did not look up from the appointment book. “Damn,” he said very softly. “It’s all here, Adelaide. Names, dates, all the details of the drug operation they were running out of this place. This is everything we need to tie Paxton to the ring.”
The howls and moans on the floor below escalated sharply. The eerie, mournful chorus reverberated up the stone staircase. Adelaide shivered.
“The patients are becoming more agitated,” she said.
She knew the dreadful cries would only get worse before the orderlies managed to calm the wretches in the cell-like rooms.
Jake closed the appointment book with an air of grim triumph. “Ormsby’s note says that Paxton ordered the dozen vials of Daydream. It’s all clear now. I’ve been trying to figure out the link between Rushbrook and Madam Zolanda and Thelma Leggett. I couldn’t understand how they came to know each other. Gill worked here at the asylum. Zolanda lived in Hollywood. It’s not as if they would have moved in the same worlds. Paxton is the connection.”
“That makes sense,” Adelaide said. “He’s a Hollywood doctor. He would have known about Zolanda’s psychic business. I wonder how Paxton and Gill met.”
Paxton spoke from the top of the laboratory staircase.
“I’ll be happy to answer that question,” he said. “Gill and I met in medical school.”
Startled, Adelaide swung around. Paxton took a few steps into the laboratory. He had a gun in his hand. It was aimed at her but he spoke to Jake.
“The orderlies told me that you were armed,” he said. “Put the gun on the floor. One false move and I’ll shoot Adelaide.”
Chapter 48
“Take it easy,” Jake said. “My gun is in a shoulder holster. I’ll have to reach inside my coat.”
“Get it,” Paxton said. “Slowly. Put it down on the floor. One false move, Miss Blake dies first.”
Jake took out his gun and crouched to set it on the floor. Adelaide caught a flash of lapis blue in his hand. She realized he had palmed his fountain pen when he reached for the pistol.
Paxton looked at Adelaide. “Kick it over here, out of Truett’s reach.”
She used the toe of her shoe to nudge the gun out of the office doorway. Her handbag containing her pistol was sitting on the edge of the desk. The weapon might as well have been a thousand miles away.
“Good girl,” Paxton said approvingly. “Now, both of you, come out of the office where I can get a clear shot if I need one.”
“Do as he says,” Jake said quietly. He did not take his eyes off Paxton.
Adelaide moved first. Jake followed. Together they faced Paxton.
“You’re the reason the patients suddenly got so agitated a few minutes ago,” Adelaide said. “They recognize you. They know you’re a murderer, don’t they? You were the man in the surgical mask who frightened Ormsby so badly he jumped out the window.”
“I spiked Ormsby?
??s coffee with some of the drug,” Paxton said. “When he started hallucinating, I followed him up here, lit a Bunsen burner, and aimed it in his direction. His mind did the rest.”
“You killed all of them,” Jake said. “Ormsby, Madam Zolanda, Thelma Leggett, and, last night, Gill.”
“I can take credit for all of them except Zolanda,” Paxton said. “Leggett is obviously responsible for that. She evidently was tired of playing second fiddle to the psychic to the stars.”
“You tried to murder us, too,” Jake said. “Where did you get the expertise with dynamite?”
Paxton gave him a thin, icy smile. “Don’t you know? I’m a hero of the Great War. Dynamite was everywhere on the battlefields.”
“You murdered all those people because you wanted to control Daydream,” Adelaide said. “But how will you produce it without Ormsby and a lab?”
“In my own lab, of course. The drug is still in the experimental stage, but I’m sure I can perfect it. I’ll use transients and vagrants for my test subjects this time—people no one will miss.”
“You’re a fool,” Jake said. “And you’re too late.”
“What are you talking about?” Paxton demanded.
“Didn’t the orderlies tell you? I’m with the FBI. Special Agent Jake Truett.”
“Yeah, the orderlies said something about that, but you lied to them,” Paxton said. “You’re not a government agent. You’re just a retired import-export businessman who is pals with Luther Pell, a guy with mob connections. Somehow the two of you found out about Daydream. You’re after the formula. Admit it.”
Paxton was trying to sound sure of himself but Adelaide thought he looked uneasy. She wondered if the unholy din of the screaming, howling patients was starting to affect him. The cries of a ward full of doomed souls were enough to rattle anyone’s nerves.
She took her attention off Paxton long enough to look at Jake. He appeared far too relaxed. He was almost lounging in the doorway of the office. She realized he was watching Paxton’s eyes, waiting for something—anything—to distract the doctor. The dark tide of wails and shrieks from the ward was having an impact, but more was needed.
“I’m on the trail of the drug,” Jake said, “but I’m working for the government. Ormsby tipped off the FBI months ago. We’ve had agents watching Gill ever since, but things got complicated after Miss Blake escaped. Like you, we had to find her. That took time.”
“I’m not buying that story,” Paxton said. “Not for a minute. Why would Ormsby go to the FBI?”
“That’s easy,” Jake said. “He traded the information about Daydream and the illicit drug operation here at Rushbrook in exchange for the promise of his own lab. It’s all right here in this appointment calendar. Evidently he was tired of being at the beck and call of what he termed a couple of shady doctors who had no respect for serious science.”
“Stop lying,” Paxton raged.
But Adelaide could tell that Paxton was starting to believe Jake’s story.
“By the way,” Jake continued, “the FBI is going to be the least of your problems. If anything happens to Adelaide and me, Luther Pell will be on your doorstep long before the government men get there. Or maybe he’ll just send someone to deal with you. As you said, he’s got connections with some very dangerous people. He can contract out that kind of work.”
“You’re making this up as you go along,” Paxton hissed. “Give that appointment calendar to Adelaide.”
Jake hesitated.
“Do it now,” Paxton said. “Adelaide, bring that calendar to me. Now, you stupid bitch.”
Jake held the calendar out to Adelaide. At the same time he let her catch another glimpse of the elegant fountain pen he held in his other hand.
She tried to signal that she got the message, but she was not sure if he understood. She took the calendar and started down an aisle formed by two long workbenches.
Jake needed a distraction.
Paxton barely looked at her as she moved toward him. She realized that as far as he was concerned she was not important, certainly no one he needed to worry about. She was just Patient B.
She stumbled as she went past a workbench, and lurched to the side. She put out a hand as though to grab the edge of the counter. Instead she swept everything within reach off the bench.
A storm of glass beakers, flasks, test tubes, and instruments crashed onto the tiled floor.
Paxton flinched in reaction. Instinctively he turned toward Adelaide, aiming the gun at her. She dropped to the floor behind the workbench just as the pistol roared, shattering more glass.
Paxton turned back around to confront Jake but he was too late.
Jake had already thrown the lapis blue fountain pen as if it were a small knife.
Paxton reacted violently, reeling back a couple of steps. He screamed and clawed wildly at his throat. Simultaneously he squeezed the trigger in a reflexive action. A window in the office exploded. The screams from ward five rose in a muffled roar.
Moving very fast, Jake charged toward Paxton, who got off one last shot before losing his nerve. He swung around and ran for the stairwell.
Jake went after him.
The Duchess appeared in the shadows at the top of the stone staircase. Paxton shoved her aside. The Duchess reeled back against the banister, shrieking in dismay.
Paxton tripped over the long skirts of her old-fashioned gown. They both started to fall. Jake grabbed the Duchess’s wrist and hauled her into the safety of the laboratory.
Paxton screamed and toppled headfirst down the stone staircase. Adelaide heard a series of sickening thuds, and then it was over.
The moans and wails on ward five ceased very suddenly. An ominous silence fell.
Jake went down the stairs. Adelaide followed. She stopped midway and looked over the iron railing. She could see Paxton sprawled on his back on the bottom steps. His head was twisted at an unnatural angle. Jake’s fountain pen was sticking out of his neck.
Jake reached the body, crouched, and checked for a pulse. He looked up at Adelaide, his eyes burning hot with the aftereffects of violence. He shook his head once.
He retrieved his fountain pen, wiped it clean on Paxton’s white linen jacket, and got to his feet. He looked up at Adelaide again.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think so. What about you?”
“I’m all right,” he said.
The Duchess appeared at the top of the stairs.
“One of the servants told me that you had returned to pick up something that you had left behind, dear,” she said to Adelaide. “That was a very risky thing to do.”
“Yes, I know,” Adelaide said. “That’s why Mr. Truett accompanied me. Don’t tell anyone but he’s a government agent who is on a secret mission. That man on the floor is a criminal who came here to steal some drugs.”
“The deliveryman?” the Duchess said. “I’m not surprised to hear that he’s a thief. I never did trust him. Whenever he showed up a few valuables always went missing. He was here the night you left, my dear. He was wearing a surgical mask, of all things, but I recognized him. A very rude man.”
The orderlies appeared at the bottom of the staircase. They were disheveled and flushed.
“We thought we heard gunshots,” Buddy said. “We took cover.”
“Gosh, that was quick thinking,” Adelaide said. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you to come to our rescue instead of cowering in the nurses’ station?”
The Duchess tsk-tsked. “So hard to get good staff these days.”
Victor eyed Paxton’s body. “What the hell happened to him?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” the Duchess said in regal tones. “He fell down the stairs.”
Buddy and Victor both eyed Jake with suspicion.
“He fell, huh?” Vict
or said.
“Obviously,” Jake said. He didn’t offer anything else.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Adelaide looked at Victor. “Did you call the police?”
“No,” Victor said. “We couldn’t get to a phone.”
“Oh, right, because you were taking cover in the nurses’ station,” Adelaide said.
“Who called the cops?” Buddy asked, bewildered.
“I think I know,” Jake said. He looked at Adelaide. “Come with me. There’s something we need to do before the police get here.”
“All right,” Adelaide said.
The Duchess looked at Jake. “You’ll take good care of her, won’t you? Wouldn’t want her to end up back in that dreadful room at the end of the hall.”
“Trust me,” Jake said, “I’ll make certain that Adelaide never returns to the Rushbrook Sanitarium.”
The Duchess smiled in approval. “She doesn’t belong here.”
Jake looked at Adelaide. “I know. She belongs with me.”
* * *
• • •
The car Paxton had driven to Rushbrook was parked behind the sanitarium’s kitchen. There was a large hatbox in the trunk. It was stuffed with envelopes and packets of photographs, diaries, letters, and assorted papers.
“That must be the stash of blackmail material that Zolanda and Thelma Leggett collected,” Adelaide said.
“Looks like it,” Jake said. He hoisted the hatbox out of the trunk. “With luck the diary will be inside this box.”
“What are you going to do with the rest of the extortion materials?” Adelaide asked.
“The police don’t need to know about this hatbox,” Jake said. “We’ll take it back to Burning Cove and destroy the contents.”
The first of the police vehicles rolled up to the guardhouse and stopped just as Jake closed the trunk of Luther’s maroon speedster. A man in a Rushbrook Police Department uniform climbed out from behind the wheel.
“Got a message for Special Agent Jake Truett,” he shouted. “Anyone here by that name?”