No Cure for Murder (32 page)
“I’ll tell the nurses you’re not to have any visitors.”
“I have a lot to tell you, Lola,” Kelly whispered as her eyes closed.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
To the bitter disappointment of the Brier’s administration, the hospital took on the atmosphere of a prison. It felt like the Medical Facility at Vacaville, California, the home of Charlie Manson and other notable serial killers, but without the barbed wire and security towers.
Besides uniformed guards at each entrance, new faces appeared throughout the hospital, especially on the wards.
Bruce Bryant sat with Ira Green. “How long can we keep this up?”
“Just give me the word and I’ll pull my officers, but in my opinion that would be a mistake.”
“Nobody will try anything in the face of such security,” said Bruce.
“You’re right. No normal person would.”
“I don’t have much choice, Ira,” said Kevin Walters, the DA for Alameda County. “I’m forming a task force. The press is all over this and it won’t end until we catch this son-of-a-bitch.”
“Can’t say I blame you or the press, Kevin, but four homicides and three attempted homicides at a community hospital will have CBS’ 48 Hours or Geraldo Rivera At Large camping on our doorstep before you know it.”
“I’m letting you run with this,” said Kevin, “but I’m adding two top investigators from the DA’s office.” He caressed his chin in thought. “What do you think of the Jacob Weizman connection?”
“Five out of seven were his patients. You don’t think Jacob had anything to do with this, do you?”
“Jacob Weizman delivered me,” said Kevin. “I think he delivered more than half our family. Jacob’s involvement in this is like believing that Santa Claus is a murderer or a pedophile.”
Ira smiled. “I’ve always wondered why Santa likes to bounce all those little kiddies on his lap.”
“You’re a very sick man, chief.”
All those years in Berkeley, and Jacob had never stepped inside police headquarters.
“Take it up with the city council!” the uniformed desk sergeant shouted at an angry middle-aged woman standing in front of his desk.
“I don’t know why I bother. Berkeley P.D. isn’t worth a damn!” she turned then departed.
The sergeant turned his attention to Jacob and stared a second in surprise. “Hey Doc. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see Chief Green.”
“What the hell’s going on at Brier?”
“That’s the question, Sergeant.”
“Just head up the stairs, Doc. It’s the first office on the right.”
Jacob entered through the frosted glass door. He introduced himself to the secretary, who said, “It’ll be a minute, Dr. Weizman. Have a seat.”
The door labeled Ira Green, Chief, opened and Kevin Walters stuck his head out. “Jacob. Come in.”
The dingy office looked all business with wanted posters and notices of all types on the stuffed bulletin boards that overflowed onto the chipped walls. The slow turning ceiling fan had gray dust fibers on its trailing edges.
Ira Green pointed to a small table in the corner. “Come over here, Jacob.”
Ira and Kevin sat on one side, Jacob on the other.
“Should I have my attorney with me?” Jacob asked, smiling.
Kevin smiled briefly in return then through tight lips began. “Jacob, we need your help.”
“Anything.”
“These killings, these attacks,” Kevin asked, “they can’t be random...they’re personal, they involve you, Jacob, don’t you think?”
“God, yes,” said Jacob, “but I’ve been searching my mind for a reason...even an irrational one. I can’t think of anything.”
“You’re a forceful outspoken person,” said Ira. “I’d guess you’ve had your share of confrontations with docs and other members of the Brier staff.”
“Life is conflict, chief, but such anger, such a grudge is way out of the norms of behavior that I think we’re dealing with psychopathology of some sort, a serial killer mentality. I’ve dealt with many angry people, and even a few who fit into the categories of Antisocial Personality or Borderline Personality disorders...I try to avoid them at all cost.”
“Rumor tells me that you’ve had your run-ins with nurses, physicians, and the chaplain,” said Kevin.
“I live for a good argument, gentlemen. A good argument keeps you on your feet and encourages a sharp mind, but for the most part these are intellectual sport...hardly the kind of thing that leads to murder.”
Ira looked at his notes. “We heard that things between you and the chaplain were getting hot and heavy.”
“Hot and heavy describes Lola and me.” Jacob smiled. “My hostility toward the chaplain is mostly philosophical, but...”
“What is it?” asked Kevin.
“I have my concerns about the chaplain, but I don’t think it has anything to do with what’s happening at Brier. I really can’t talk about it...it involves confidences that aren’t mine to break.”
“Jacob, if you have anything, you must tell us,” said Kevin.
“If I were in your position, Kevin, I’d take a trip through the Chaplain’s past, and a good look at what he’s doing with his TeenTalk group.”
The clock read four in the afternoon when Thomas Wells wheeled his cart to the nurses’ station and grabbed a handful of lab slips from the outbox labeled, Laboratory.
Mary Oakes smiled at Tommy. “Looks like they’re keeping you busy. I see you everywhere.”
“The whole system would collapse if I called in sick. Getting around is a little more difficult, but by now all the security guards know me.” He hesitated a moment then leaned over to Mary. “Not too subtle, these ‘new people’ we’re seeing throughout the hospital.”
“Brier can’t do much about it once they’ve acknowledged the risk. If they reduce security and someone else is injured or worse, the consequences for the hospital will be devastating.”
When Tommy left work, he felt the door closing on this chapter of his life. He longed to be nameless and faceless as he checked the streets in front of his apartment and glanced into his rear view mirror as he searched for a parking space.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
When Jacob arrived home, Lola was asleep on the couch. He added water to the coffee maker and made a fresh pot of decaf Columbia Supremo.
Lola sat up and stretched. “That smells great. You can bring an old lady a cup.”
Jacob carried both cups to the coffee table and sat beside Lola.
“How did it go with the police?”
“They really laid it out this time, and I can’t disagree with their conclusion that these killings are aimed at me.”
“It makes sense. We were too close to see it but when you look back at the cases, I don’t see any other conclusion.”
“It’s not like we haven’t experienced more than our share of evil, Lola, but here it’s hidden. I don’t know who or why.”
“I don’t know why either, but I’ll bet that when they find the killer, his motives will be related to you in the most tangential way.”
“You’re assuming it’s a man.”
“It’s almost always a white male, but women are on the march and account for 16 percent of serial killers. I don’t want to sound sexist, but these killings feel like the kind of thing that comes from a man.”
“Well, they’re looking at anyone who might have it in for me but I’m finding it difficult to accept that premise.”
“Talking about someone who isn’t one of your biggest fans, tell me what you discovered about Carleton Dix.”
“You remember Terrence Wilcox?”
“Of course. He’s in the Midwest somewhere.”
“South Dakota, Sioux Falls to be exact.”
After Jacob finished paraphrasing Terrence’s findings, Lola stood in anger. “My God, Jacob, the chaplain is a child molester, a regressed type of pedophile. Technically, it’s ephebophilia but that’s a mouthful and I’ll stick with more common term, pedophilia. That explains a lot, maybe more than you think. Sarah Hughes’s instincts were right, and Kelly Cowan...?”
“I never liked the guy. Now I know why.”
“It all fits. He fulfills the typical profile: a man over twenty-five and never married; he lives alone; and he has an excessive interest in children, in this case young girls. I’ll bet you’ll find that he rarely dates and has few friends...it all fits.”
“Does he fit as a serial killer?”
“I’ve been around for a while and I’ve learned in practice that the only thing certain about human behavior is its uncertainty. Can a pedophile become violent? I don’t doubt it, but I’d expect it only under two circumstances: First, if the person has a mixed diagnosis like an Antisocial Personality Disorder, or second, if he reacts with aggression to the threat of exposure.”
“What should we do?”
“As a professional, I have an absolute obligation to report this to Child Protective Services. That’s the easy part. The hard part will be helping his victims, especially Kelly Cowan.”
The next morning, when Lola came to see Kelly, she was asleep in bed. The nurses reported that she’d been up only once, to use the bathroom.
“I’m going to get a cup of coffee,” said Lola. “Wake Kelly, get her breakfast, and I’ll be back in an hour.”
Lola spent the time in the medical staff library, reviewing several recent psychoanalytical review articles on pedophilia. When she returned to the ward, Kelly stood looking out the window. She smiled when Lola came and sat beside her.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
“I’m feeling great. I can’t remember sleeping that long.”
“I think you were physically and emotionally exhausted. Can we talk...are you up to it?”
“Of course, but first I’d like to apologize for my behavior. I should have handled it myself...my dad is big on self-help.”
Lola rose, walked to the door of the room and closed it. Kelly coughed several times and began twisting a lock of her hair.
Lola recognized Kelly’s anxiety. “It’s okay. I’m here to help, and I assure you that you can’t tell me something I haven’t heard many times before.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I know all about Carleton Dix.”
“Know what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Please, let me help you. You did nothing wrong. It’s not your fault.”
Kelly turned her face away from the window, lowered her head and cried.
Lola placed her arm around Kelly’s shoulder. “He’s a sick man. He used you for his own satisfaction. You were vulnerable and he took advantage.”
Kelly tuned to face Lola. Tears streaked down her face. “You don’t know. You just don’t know...”
“I know about him, and I know about you. Let me help.”
“I’m in love with him. He’s everything to me. He loves me, too. We’re going to be together.”
“No Kelly, he doesn’t love you. He used you. I think you know that by now. You weren’t the first, not by a long shot, but by God, if I have anything to do with it, you’ll be the last.”
Kelly lowered her face into Lola’s lap and sobbed. After she cried herself out, she looked up at Lola. “There’s more...much more...I’m so ashamed...”
“Let go of it, Kelly. I mean all of it.”
“I just wanted to protect him.”
“Protect him?”
“He was upset...under too much stress. I just wanted it to stop.”
“Kelly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The bloody doll...the phone calls...the emails...it was me. I did it to protect him. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but I did...I hurt Sarah. How can anyone ever forgive me?”
Lola gasped in shock. Surprising her wasn’t easy. Lola took a deep breath. “What you did was cruel, heartless, and let’s face it, evil. I don’t think you really knew what you were doing, but you did it, and you need to take responsibility. That’s the first step in getting you well.”
“Please, Lola...I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“Stop it, Kelly. Think about others he’s injured. Think of the next girl that he’s going to use and discard. Who’s going to protect her, if we don’t?”
Kelly looked up at the ceiling, tears continuing to flow.
Lola faced the girl. “Do you think you were the only one?”
“What are you talking about?”
“My experience and what I know about the chaplain, shouts for all to hear that he’s been involved with others, many others.”
Kelly crept back into bed, placed her head under the pillow, and shook with tears.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Lola shook her head in surprise when Zoe called Monday night. “Can I come and talk with you?”