Chapter 23
It took a couple of gallons of coffee for the two of them to chase the night away, but by the time they were on the road, they were sufficiently caffeinated to face whatever came next.
“When someone pleads guilty by reason of insanity,” Tina explained, “they’ll get assessed by professionals, then sent to a state psychiatric facility for an undetermined amount of time.
They don’t get out until the doctors think it’s safe.
They often end up confined for longer than they would have been in prison.
As long as they’re considered a threat to public safety, they won’t be released. ”
“Which explains why Mark Peterson is still there.” They’d confirmed that before they left the Spotted Owl.
“Correct. Life on a psych ward isn’t like the movies, you know.
It’s very regulated and very boring. Long stretches of time with nothing to do.
Limited contact with the outside, not much to do besides watch TV.
Patients can feel very isolated. Set mealtimes, walks, a certain amount of treatment, a lot of meds.
I’ll have to take the lead, because I doubt we’d be able to see Peterson without a badge. ”
“I have no problem with that.”
The hospital was a large brick building with several wings, one of which held the psychiatric unit. Its decor was surprisingly pleasant, its walls a muted beige with touches of soothing blue-gray.
At the reception desk, Tina presented her badge, while Jack played the role of silent partner. No one questioned his presence. They were shown into a lounge, where a TV was playing a morning chat show, ignored by some patients, while others were glued to the moving images.
“Would we be able to talk to Mark Peterson in his room?” Tina politely asked the attendant, a burly Black man in scrubs.
“He’s having his morning exercise. He should be back in his room in fifteen minutes.”
She nodded her agreement. “We’ll wait here, thank you.”
When the orderly went to check on two patients getting into an argument, she whispered to Jack, “See if you can poke your head into his room. He might have photos or mail. Room twenty-six. I’m going to see what I can learn from this orderly.”
Of course she’d learned what room he was in, though he hadn’t seen it happen. Tina was exceptionally observant.
After making sure the attendant’s back was turned, he slipped out of the room. No one questioned him as he walked the long corridor. Presumably everyone who was permitted past the reception desk had been cleared.
The door of room twenty-six was propped open and he heard the sound of a vacuum cleaner just out of sight.
The cleaning staff hard at work. He stepped inside, already concocting a cover story—oops, wrong room, he’d left behind a coffee cup and didn’t want to leave more mess to clean up, but all the rooms look the same.
As he came deeper into the room, a young woman in gray scrubs, wearing headphones, was vacuuming the far corner, her back to him.
He calculated that he had less than a minute before she turned and spotted him.
He scanned the room, which was minimally furnished, little more than a bed, a built-in desk, and a chair with the same nubby blue upholstery as those in the lounge.
The only personal touch he noticed was a special extra pillow, red silk instead of the standard white pillowcases.
A whiteboard was mounted on one wall. Written in various colors of erasable marker were the names of that week’s nursing staff, along with times when appointments would be happening.
A postcard was jammed under the metal edge in the lower corner.
It practically glowed with that oversaturated blue that made an ordinary sky look like paradise.
He pulled out his phone, zoomed in, and took a quick photo of the postcard. The roar of the vacuum cleaner stopped and he swung around to see the cleaner staring at him. She had a green streak in her hair and a stud in one nostril.
He lifted his hands in apology. “Got the wrong room, sorry.”
“Wait…Denver Black?” She blinked at him.
Fuck. He really didn’t want to draw that kind of attention. He laughed and pitched his voice higher than Denver ever spoke. “I get that all the time, ohmigod. Doesn’t that dude have like, a scar or something?”
He watched her face as she shifted her perception of him, from brilliant detective to possibly gay dumbass.
“Can I help you? You’re not supposed to be in here.”
“I think I got the wrong room. Did you see a coffee flask in here? Bright yellow, like egg-yolk yellow, though I try not to think about that when I’m drinking my sixty-four ounces a day.” He shuddered. “Eggs, so cringe.”
“Nope.” She was ready to be done with him, so he obliged and backed out of the room with another bright, “Sorry!”
Back in the lounge, Tina was talking intently with the orderly. He hung back until another conflict between two patients drew the man’s attention and he hurried away.
Jack dropped into the chair next to Tina. “What did he have to say?”
“He said Mark Peterson used to be a handful, really aggressive. But he’s calmed down a lot in recent years and he’s quite mellow now.”
“Did they adjust his medication or what?”
“He thinks so. I asked about visitors and he said only his family visits, but he gets regular postcards from one of his old doctors. Did you find anything in his room?”
“One of those postcards, looks like. I took a shot of it, just the front, not the back. It’s very interesting.”
“Let me see it.”
He handed her his phone before she could grab it out of his hand. She zoomed in on the bright blue photo.
“That’s the lighthouse in Lightkeeper Bay,” she exclaimed.
“Yup.”
“Why would his old psychiatrist send him that? Or was it someone else?”
“There’s only one way to find out. But I can’t go back there. I nearly got busted. You’re going to have to pull rank.”
“Right. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried off, leaving him alone with half a dozen mental patients and his thoughts.
He looked down at the photo on his phone again.
A generic postcard of the lighthouse in Lightkeeper Bay seemed innocuous enough, but if he had murdered someone at the inn, it was an odd choice, surely?
A reminder of his crime, of one of the worst moments of his life.
Or did it have nothing to do with Peterson’s past?
“Here he is,” said the orderly as he helped an elderly man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair toward the chair next to Jack’s. He was smiling slightly, his face smooth, with no worry lines. “You got visitors, Mark. How about that?”
“Who’s that?” Mark asked with a bare minimum of curiosity.
Jack stood up and offered his hand. “I’m Jack.”
“No. I’ve seen you. You’re not Jack.”
Did everyone at this hospital watch Dark of Night? “Sorry, you may know me as Denver.”
“Yes.” He snapped his fingers. He looked oddly happy for a psychiatric patient—or at least Jack’s idea of one. “Denver. Denver Black. Hello, Denver.”
“Hello, Mark.”
How surreal, to be exchanging greetings with a paranoid schizophrenic/possible murderer. He really wished Tina was here to ask the next questions.
The orderly helped Mark into the chair next to Jack’s, then went to tend to another patient.
Mark offered no resistance, as if he was used to doing what he was told.
His eyes were a similar blue as Linette’s in the age progression, maybe a shade less intense.
He was probably seventy or so, but he seemed almost childlike.
Was that due to the medication he was on?
Jack shot a desperate look towards the entrance, wishing Tina would appear, but he was on his own for now.
“I wanted to talk to you because I’m looking for your son.” What name did Mark Peterson call his son by? Jack had no idea.
“Son?” Peterson said blankly.
“Yes.” Instead of using a name, Jack pulled up the clearest photo he had of Adam Johnson/Seth Baker. “Do you know where he might be?”
Mark squinted at the photo. “Is he on TV like you, Denver Black?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Didn’t he know his own son? Supposedly Adam visited often. Or…maybe they’d taken a wrong turn on this journey and had the wrong guy. Jack’s heart sank at the idea this might be a dead-end.
“How about this woman? Do you know her?” He flipped to the age progression of Linette Mansfield.
“Pretty. She’s very pretty.”
Still he showed no signs of recognition. Maybe Jack needed to provide more details.
“Yes, she is. Did you know she got married to the man who owns the Lightkeeper Inn on Sea Smoke Island?”
Those names drew no reaction from Mark Peterson. Did they mean nothing to him?
Jack thought of the photo of the two little blond kids on the sled. Maybe something from the past would jog his memory.
When he presented the photo, Peterson startled. He leaned forward and stared hard at Jack’s phone. His smile drooped and he frowned in confusion.
“Fire,” he finally whispered.
With a sudden movement, Peterson swatted at the phone. That drew the attention of the orderly, who hurried toward them. “I’m going to need you to leave now,” he told Jack. “It’s time for his nap.”
“I’ll take him to his room,” Jack offered. That mention of fire had changed everything. They were on the right track. This was the right man, those two kids on the sled were his, and the age progression matched Adam Johnson.
“No, that’s against regulations. You go on now.”
Peterson clung to the orderly’s arm as the man helped him rise from the easy chair.
Why did he have trouble walking? Jack thought suddenly.
He didn’t have any physical injuries, did he?
Maybe the medication had that effect, or maybe years of being in confinement, with only walks for exercise, had sapped his strength.
Or maybe he had other diagnoses beyond paranoid schizophrenia.
“Where’s your friend?” the orderly asked Jack. “She’s not supposed to be wandering around.”
“Sorry, had to take a call,” said Tina, reappearing with impeccable timing.
“Ain’t no cell phones allowed,” the orderly said sternly. Jack discreetly slid his into his back pocket.
“Right, that’s why I went outside to take the call.” Tina tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’d styled her hair in its usual professional knot today, but quite a few strands had come loose. Had she run into some kind of trouble?
Mark Peterson happily waved goodbye as the orderly steered him out of the lounge. His unworried smile had returned, and Jack saw no trace of the confusion that had gripped him at the sight of that long-ago photo.
“Let’s go,” Tina murmured.
Jack had never been so glad to leave a place, not even when he’d been forced to participate in the network upfronts.
“What happened? You look a little flustered,” he murmured to Tina as they strode through the lobby, nearly running in their eagerness to get out of there.
“The postcard was gone.”
“Damn it.”
“That’s okay. I got it, but I had to do a quickie search through a garbage bin.
Someone interrupted with more trash and I had to hide behind the bin.
It was one of those times when I give thanks for my size, and that doesn’t happen very often.
Then I had to stop in at a bathroom and scrub my hands, because I didn’t have any gloves with me for that disgusting search.
” She shuddered and picked up the pace even further.
“Who sent the postcard?”
“I just gave it a quick glance. Let’s get to the car and take a closer look. How was your conversation with Peterson? I can’t believe I missed the whole thing.”
“You didn’t miss much, except maybe you did.”
“Huh?”
They reached his Audi. He pulled out his fob and clicked it to unlock the door.
“He thought I was Denver Black. He didn’t recognize Adam or Linette, but he had a strong reaction to the old photo from Sea Smoke Island.
But the name Sea Smoke didn’t seem to ring a bell.
The whole thing was really weird. Why wouldn’t he recognize his son who apparently visits often? ”
“Any chance he was faking?”
“I didn’t get that impression. Is that a feature of paranoid schizophrenia, forgetting people?”
“Not that I know of, but we can look into it. From what I remember, they can believe family members are plotting against them, that sort of thing. But they don’t forget them.”
They got into his car, where they both sat for a moment, collecting themselves, as if they’d just journeyed through some strange land populated by unexplained dangers.
He sniffed. “You smell like medical waste.”
“Gee thanks. Exactly what a girl wants to hear,” she deadpanned. She tugged the postcard from her pocket and held it up so they could both see what was written on the back.
The message was simple. “Hope you are doing well. The month of September is beautiful here. It’s an international destination! Too many tourists for comfort, so we’ll move on very soon.” It was unsigned.
“Strange message,” said Jack.
“Agreed. It’s also strange that someone tossed it right after we showed up. As if they don’t want us catching onto something.” She studied the postcard. “It sounds like some kind of coded language. Like the writer is trying to convey something about Lightkeeper Bay.”
“Like what?”
“Not sure. We need to find out more about this former doctor of his.”
They both stared at the postcard. His nostrils prickled. Damn, that smell really was—
“Get out of the car,” he said grimly, grabbing Tina’s arm.
“What?”
He shoved open her door and pushed her out, then launched himself out of the driver’s side. He stumbled around the car to her, and grabbed her hand. She didn’t ask questions, just ran with him.
A moment later, his Audi burst into flames, intense, fast-moving, all-consuming flames.