“All that stuff is upstairs.”
Bill came into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”
“I thought we would eat somewhere cheap and take Sonya out to Forever Peace,” Aron said. “Today is Carolyn’s birthday.”
“Is that right?”
Aron could recall Bill mentioning it to him at the L+M Market weeks ago. “We’ll take some flowers.”
Chapter Seventeen
Kristen, in her work shirt and yellow cap with a red rooster on the front, did a double-take at the register when she saw Sonya Neslund enter the Chester Chicken with her father and uncle, who was holding the coupons he had found in the Sunday Marine Press.
Sonya took in the smell of fried chicken as Aron ordered dinners for them, using one of the coupons. Sonya smiled at Kristen, but did not speak to her.
When Sonya was seated with Bill and Aron, she noticed that the dining area was not busy, with only two men sitting in booths; one looked to be over sixty, another in his twenties, with black hair and an olive complexion peppered with a little acne.
“I remember when it used to cost under ten dollars to eat here,” Bill said. “Everything is going up.”
Sonya bit into her fried chicken leg, the meat very hot.
“I can’t believe she would come back here,” Aron said.
“She must need her job,” Bill said. “Poor thing. Isn’t Taco Bell hiring?”
“She can’t help but get noticed; her face is bandaged and she’s wearing a name-tag.”
Sonya emptied her small Dr. Pepper with her meal, and decided to get a refill, going up to the counter. Kristen took her paper cup, placing it at the soda fountain, and pressed the button.
“How are things going tonight?” Sonya asked.
Kristen shrugged. “Okay. The same as last night. I thought Chip was going to keep me at the back, but he wanted me at the register.”
“Anyone bother you?”
“No. People have been cool by not saying anything, but some stare.”
“Are you getting a ride home?”
“Darius over there–” she pointed to the dark-haired young man in the booth–”is taking me home.”
“I thought you two broke up.”
“Darius doesn’t want to.”
Kristen’s expression was blank, almost bored, so Sonya dropped the subject. “Well, as long as you’re safe...”
“Garcia mentioned something about talking to Old Man Lister. He wants to get a list of the guys who worked for Lister over the last two years. Most them are ex-cons and illegals. I mean, some were like Tony, too, but Garcia is going to have to pick through all of them.”
“Just to find a peeper?”
“What else do they have to go on? Tony saw him at the mall, and couldn’t even remember his name. This guy is like the color beige, he just blends in, you know?”
More customers, an elderly couple, approached the counter, and Sonya returned to her seat, setting her refilled cup down on the table.
Bill was wrapping his half-eaten chicken breast into a napkin to save for Helga. “I didn’t feed her before I left...”
“Yes, you did,” Aron said.
“I did?”
“I saw you do it.”
“Okay. As long as she’s not hungry.”
“Has WorkStaffing called you lately, Dad?” Sonya asked.
“They asked me if I wanted to work third shift at Forge Plastics, and I almost took it. But I don’t like the idea of leaving you and Bill alone at night. Especially now.”
“You’re educated,” Bill said. “Even I wouldn’t work at a dump like Forge. The employees are all on parole, except for Sue.”
“If I keep turning down assignments, WorkStaffing might stop calling me.”
“Kyle and Trey got their jobs at Metal Concepts through WorkStaffing,” Sonya said.
“And what kind of experience did they have?” Aron asked.
“Mike said Trey used to deliver pizzas, then tried to work in construction,” Bill said. “Whispering Pines never finished those houses, so he got unemployment checks for awhile.”
Sonya looked to the front counter, wondering if the man Tony Beck saw at the mall was Trey Winstead. Kyle mentioned, on the night she babysat his brothers, that he knew Tony because he used to work with him.
Did Kyle work at Whispering Pines? she thought. If he did, then Garcia will be speaking with him soon. Trey, too.
*****
Piper looked over each face at the crowded coffee bar in Marine Booksellers, across the street from the Four Winds Mall.
Robin had dropped her off at the mall entrance, but Piper walked to the bookstore, the place where she and RomeoBoy/Ariel had agreed to meet.
Piper’s gaze stopped on a girl who looked to be seventeen, her dark hair in a pageboy, her features soft and small except for her nose, long and straight.
Piper came closer, and she caught the girl’s eye, who waved her over. Piper noticed the girl was wearing a blue cashmere sweater and jeans rolled up at the ankles, not unlike Piper, in her gray sweater and leggings.
The girl smiled at her, red lip gloss and a little mascara around bright brown eyes. “Hi. Piper?”
“Yeah. Ariel?”
“That’s me.”
Piper sat in a chair across from her at the small table. “I’m glad—”
“So am I.”
They both laughed nervously.
“Isn’t it strange how I can go on and on when I’m IM-ing, but I can’t have a decent conversation in person?” Ariel asked.
“That’s what the Web is for.”
“Without it, I don’t think I’d leave the house, except for school and my band.”
“Does your band have a name?”
“Second Skin. I play drums.”
“Really? Do you play around town?”
“Mostly at the Dive, an underaged club downtown. My brother’s the lead singer.”
“Do you play your own songs?”
“A few. Mostly covers. My brother likes punk, so we sound like that right now.”
“Does the band have a webpage?”
“On FriendsRing. I try to get my friends to download our two or three original songs.”
“Where do you go to school?” Piper asked.
“North Marine. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, I’m okay. Do you normally meet other girls like this?”
“Not often. I like to be careful. My parents don’t know, and I’m not really ready to come out. But I’d also like more gay friends, you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. Actually, my mom thinks I’m shopping over at the mall.”
“Same here.”
“I’ve never been to the Dive.”
“It’s a cool place. We usually play on Friday nights.”
“Do you like school?” Piper asked.
“No. But I have enough friends to tolerate it. One more year, and I’m done.”
“You want to go to college?”
“Probably not.”
“I don’t know what I want to do, either.”
“Your FriendsRing page made you seem like you were into everything. I didn’t think you would be interested in me. I’m not a cheerleader or anything.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t even try out this year. To be honest, I’m a little bored.”
“Your page said you were into the Twilight saga.”
“I read all of the books over the summer.”
“Do you like the movies?” Ariel asked.
“I think they’re okay, but I like the books more.”
“Do you think Stephenie Meyer might write another one?”
“Well, Bella and Edward have a baby, so Meyer could write about that.”
“What would that kid be like?”
“Very pale and hungry.”
*****
Piper spoke with Ariel for another half-hour. They did not exchange phone numbers, but Piper said she mi
ght go to the Dive, see Second Skin play some Friday night. She liked Ariel, but the girl seemed as if she was trying too hard. Piper figured she was just insecure, eager to make friends more like herself. Piper mentioned the attacks, and Ariel was keeping up on the Blue and White blog.
Piper was walking across the parking lot, ready to return to the mall, when she saw Rick and another man standing near a parked motorcycle. She cut between two vehicles, trying to get close without being noticed.
The other guy was medium height, long brown hair in a ponytail. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, and Piper did not miss the tattoo of a blue diamond on his bicep, although he was without a leather jacket or vest. Rick was having a civil conversation, his demeanor seemed calm. Piper recalled him breaking Bobby’s fingers and just walking out. For a moment, Piper believed he could be the Ravisher.
He turned his head, and Piper ducked between an SUV and a car. She walked back to the bookstore, staying in the foyer.
She pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed Bobby. “Did you know Rick is out?”
“Mom told me when I got home from school,” he said. “But she said she didn’t pay the bail, one of his friends did. Rick called Mom, but she told him not to come back here, that she wants to press charges against him for hurting me. That way, he will be court-ordered to take his medication.”
“Where is he going to stay?”
“I don’t care. I like the peace and quiet. How was your date?”
“It was just coffee. I might see her again.”
“Sonya can cross RomeoBoy off her list.”
“Her step-dad remembered what happened to Justine’s mom, and I have a feeling that he or Garcia may be going over to Haven Rest to talk to her.”
“Just the kind of attention she likes.”
“She won’t give anything away, so she’ll drive the cops crazy.”
*****
Garcia could not decide which task was more underwhelming; his interview with Justine Kent, or searching through previous patient files in the basement at Haven Rest.
Justine, dressed in her sweatsuit, her baby face puffy with medically-induced sleep, gave him her deep stare with the little-girl expression that Garcia recalled from her mother’s ordeal, all those years ago.
Garcia put on the demeanor as the gentle father figure, keeping his questions friendly. “Do your parents visit you often, Justine?”
“Mom comes at Christmas and on my birthday. I don’t see Dad.”
Garcia saw the deep brown of her eyes turn stony, almost black. Her parents were a touchy subject, so he decided to deflect it for awhile. “Do you hear from any of your old school chums?”
“A few.”
Her back went straight, she was sitting up close against the table, the tall glass sheet separating them. Garcia, when he entered the room, thought the glass was a bit much to deal with one teenaged girl.
“How do you go to school, Justine?”
“Tutors come. I‘m in a classroom with other kids.”
“Nothing like your days at Crandall, huh?”
She sighed. “Yeah...”
“You ever hear from Piper Jones?”
“We e-mail.”
“You e-mail her?”
“From the computer lab. I have privileges.”
“As long as you behave?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you made friends here?”
“Not really.”
“Not even a few?” Garcia asked. “Maybe a friend who didn’t stay for long?”
“A lot of kids come and go.”
“Justine, you only see your mother twice a year, your father not at all. I found out they separated after you were sent here. You have no brothers and sisters. Teenaged girls like having friends.”
Nurse Lauren, standing behind Justine, shifted a bit on her feet, keeping her expression neutral. Justine shrugged. “I sleep a lot. I don’t make friends anymore.”
Garcia thought about his next question, wording it carefully. “Do you remember when you and your mother were kidnapped? Taken to the cabin?”
She rolled her eyes. “You mean, when Mom was raped by the men my dad hired? Those guys were supposed to kill me. Did you know that, Detective?”
“Why would your father have wanted to do such a thing?”
Justine shrugged. “He always hated me. All I did was get in the way of what he wanted. He would see my mom scarred forever than have me in his life.”
“What did he want?”
“To control my mom and be free at the same time. And she’s weak, she needs him. Don’t think they’ll stay separated for long.”
Justine returned to giving vague, slightly hostile, answers and Garcia decided to leave the girl alone, her nurse walking her to her room.
Lauren returned, and Garcia asked to see the administrator.
“I’ll take you to her office,” she said.
“Thank you, um...”
“Call me Lauren.”
“What is Justine really like?”
“She’s quiet most of the time.”
Garcia followed her out of the room and into the hall. “I understand that she’s here because she stabbed a classmate at the Crandall Academy...”
“She’s never harmed anyone since. The medication helps. The delusions are almost gone.”
“Does she speak to a therapist?”
“Not always, although she is monitored to make sure the meds stay effective.”
“She says she has no friends here.”
“A few have come and gone. She usually befriends patients she can dominate in some way.”
“Were any of them male?”
“Not that I can recall, but I’ve only been here for a year now. Besides, Justine considers herself a lesbian.”
Garcia continued to walk behind Lauren between the gray walls to the administrator’s office. “Does she ever mention a Piper Jones?”
“A blonde-haired girl? She’s been here to visit. A few days ago, brought a boy with her.”
Garcia met the administrator, a woman in her mid-sixties, who took him to the records department in the dim, gray basement. He told the clerk, a man also close to retirement, that he wanted to see the records of every male patient from the last two years. The clerk, a tall, pale man, his iron-gray hair in a comb-over, blinked a few times behind his glasses, but went to the computer.
“If it helps,” Garcia said, “I don’t need the whole file for each patient. I just need names, a picture, and some basic description of their behavior. Preferably, young men who have cut up the faces or bodies of someone else.”
The clerk scratched his head. “I‘ll do my best...”
“Do you know how long the therapist has been here?” Garcia asked.
“We get a new psychotherapist every few years.”
“And there’s only one, right?”
“Yes.”
“And how many patients?”
“Close to forty.”
Garcia nodded. “And how long have you worked here?”
“Almost thirty years.”
“I need to narrow down my search. Have you heard of the attacks in East Marine? Three girls had their faces slashed.”
“Yes. I read the Press.”
“I think the attacker may have been a recent patient here.”
“We have a search engine to use with our own files. The problem is that the software can’t distinguish between a patient who cuts others or only themselves. So it will take time—”
“A patient who cuts their own skin isn’t always violent towards others, right?”
“That’s something to ask the therapist, but she’s at a conference this week in Toronto.”
“But you can try the search engine?”
“Absolutely. It’s a place to start. Haven Rest has patient records going back before World War II, all of which were transferred to computer.”
“I just wan
t the last few years for now.”
“Do you think the Ravisher could be so young?”
“I think he could have been a patient around the time Justine Kent arrived.”
The clerk turned around in his seat at the computer, Garcia behind him. The only light surrounding them was a desk-lamp with a bendable neck, making the skin on the clerk’s forehead shine. “She keeps to herself now, but she thought she could run the place at first.”
“What do you mean?”
“They made the mistake of giving Miss Justine a roommate, and the girl died within a week. The nurses said she had a seizure and Justine didn’t get her any help, just sat there and watched her lose consciousness. Justine said she was asleep from her meds and never saw the seizure happen, only finding the girl’s dead body when she woke up. Justine hasn’t had a roommate since.”
“Did she make friends with any of the boys?”
“The boys are afraid of her.”
“What about the other gay patients?”
“It’s patient confidentiality around here. I can’t tell you for sure which patients are gay, unless the patient discloses it.”
“Could info like that be found in the search engine?”
“Maybe. I could try.”
“Can any of the records be sent out of Haven Rest by e-mail?”
“No. You can only go through the records here. Once again, confidentiality.”
“Even with a warrant?”
“You’d have to talk to administration.”
“She seemed not to know herself.”
“The police haven’t visited much since Adam Moore.”
“Do you ever use the computers upstairs? In the lab?”
“Sometimes.”
“Who looks after those computers?”
“I do. I’m the closest to I.T. Haven Rest has. If it’s bad, I call the Geek Squad.”
“Do all of the patients have e-mail accounts?” Garcia asked.
“If the patient has privileges. Usually a free account with Yahoo is set up.”
“Do you help the patients with computer use?”
“Usually, they can do it themselves. Maybe one of the nurses helps if I can’t.”
“Could you print me a read-out of a certain patient’s internet activity?”
“What’s the name?”
He sighed. “A little stinker named Justine Kent. You can include that with the files.”
Garcia found himself with close to fifteen files in front of him; male patients with a history of cutting others or themselves. The clerk went off to print the read-out of Justine’s time on the Web, leaving Garcia to dig in at the top of the files.
Adam Moore was first, which Garcia tossed to the side, knowing Moore was still incarcerated out of state. He sorted through the next fourteen files, most of these patients having cut others in isolated incidents, but not always on the face. Very few of these boys would cut themselves in violent fits of anger, only wanting to hurt others. Some of these boys were from divorced parents, some did not. Most of them were from upper-middle class homes. They were all white.