Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Belleville was a sprawling landscape built off the countryside with a fountain out front and trimmed hedges lining the paths.
An estate sat in the middle of it all, two stories of all-white brick that glittered in the afternoon light.
Seth took in the view as his shoes clacked against the cobblestone leading to the front doors.
A place like this would cost an arm and a leg to live in—Seth would know. It reminded him of the rehab facility he went to in Upstate New York after his mom died. If he didn’t have help from Detective Landis, he never would’ve afforded it.
He pushed past the glass doors, met by the cool AC system. The all-white walls and neutral furniture made for a calm, but clinical atmosphere. As he gravitated past motivational posters and a rack of brochures, an older woman in floral scrubs, holding a clipboard, spotted him and beamed.
“Hello there! Are you visiting a patient today?” She had short, dark grey hair. The lanyard around her neck read Dr. Carol Levin. Probably the right person to talk to.
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to one of your staff members, Trevor Sloane. Is he here?”
Carol’s face fell. She hugged the clipboard to her chest with one arm. “I’m sorry, but Trevor isn’t in today.”
“Do you know where I might find him?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t. Can I ask what this is about?”
Seth showed his badge. “Detective Winslow. It’s nothing to worry about, but Trevor’s name came up in my investigation, and I was hoping to learn more about him.”
Carol hugged the clipboard with both arms now. “What kind of investigation?”
“Homicide, ma’am.”
Her hand immediately flew to her mouth. “Oh, Goodness, is this about those murders in Fairview? It’s all over the news… I’ve been avoiding it today…”
Seth prayed Carol would be helpful. Getting a warrant for mental health records would take time—time they didn’t have—so he was relying on whatever she was willing to share. “Like I said, Trevor’s name came up. He’s not in any trouble, I’m just looking for information. Anything you can tell me.”
“Oh, Trevor.” Carol’s voice was anguished. “Please, follow me.”
Carol agreed to let him record their conversation while they walked the paths outside of the clinic.
“He came to us when he was sixteen,” she explained as they passed by a bush of bright red roses.
“His father dropped him off here and asked us to take care of him. We don’t usually take minors, but his father was willing to pay extra. ”
“His father?”
“Yes, his foster father. He said Trevor’s parents died when he was a child, but he had taken him in. He had his records, his social security number, and he seemed like an earnest man.”
“Can you tell me why this foster father wanted to leave him at a mental health facility?”
Carol shot him an apologetic look, fidgeting with the silver rings on her fingers. “I’m sorry, Detective, I can’t get into the specifics without the right paperwork. I want to help you, but Trevor is still a former patient.”
“I know, and I’ll come back with all that, but it could take time. When you say a former patient, what do you mean by that? You don’t consider him a patient now?”
“His treatment has been on and off over the years. There are times when he needs care, and times when he goes months, even years, without therapy or medication. He’s become more of a resident than a patient.”
So maybe Trevor had never been diagnosed with a serious mental illness. If he had, they likely would’ve kept him on something.
“There’s something else too,” Carol said.
“After living here for a few months, we informed his foster father he seemed mentally sound and ready to come home, but his foster father insisted the facility was a better place for him. He offered to pay even more if we kept him here, so of course, we did. The payments were… helpful. They allowed us to get additional care for our other patients.” A wistful smile touched Carol’s lips.
“Years went on, and Trevor became a part of Belleville. We got him a job working on the gardens when he was eighteen. He’s had a good life here.
He’s a very smart boy, Detective. Highly literate. He reads all the time.”
“And what about this ‘foster father’? Did you ever see him again?”
“Oh, yes, often. Once every few months, at least. Trevor was always happiest before and after those visits. He told us that his father would take him home one day, that he was waiting for the right time, but…” Carol looked away, guilty.
“Perhaps we should’ve told him the man was leading him on, but we didn’t want to crush his spirit. ”
“But that happened anyway, didn’t it?” Seth asked, and Carol nodded meekly. “When did the foster father stop visiting?”
“Around six months ago. The payments stopped coming through too. When I tried to contact him, the number wasn’t in service anymore.”
Six months. When Sullivan was born, like Claire had said.
“But Trevor has been here for so long,” Carol continued.
“Of course we weren’t going to put him out.
I told him nothing would change. He’d live here like he always had, keep working, and be happy.
But he insisted his father would come back for him.
I think after the third month, he started to lose hope. ”
“What changes did you notice after that? Did his moods darken?”
“Considerably. He became quiet, withdrawn, angry. He started lashing out, but he refused therapy.”
“I know you can’t give me a name, but this foster father—was a he a big guy? White hair, short beard, light blue eyes?”
Carol looked apprehensive, rightfully afraid to say the wrong thing. But she nodded.
Ron Dyer.
Of course it’d been him.
But why the hell would Ron invest years of money into keeping Trevor here? He wouldn’t. Not unless he needed Trevor to be quiet about something.
Seth’s skin pricked, the urge to know more. He wished he had a damn warrant, but when it came to medical records, especially involving juveniles, it wasn’t that easy.
“Do you think I could see Trevor’s room?” he asked. “Just to take a look. I’m curious what kinds of books he’s been reading.”
Carol kept fidgeting with her rings, her eyebrows woven in distress, but she nodded. “Of course. It’s this way.”
There was an old farmhouse built around the back of the main building, much more rustic than the rest of the facility. A staff house, Carol told him. They stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall on the second floor.
“Here it is,” she said, opening it up.
The blinds inside were shut, making the room dark, even in the middle of the afternoon.
Carol flicked on the light. It was a clean room—a rug over hardwood, a single bed up against the left wall, a desk up against the right, stacked with books.
Seth stepped inside. A floorboard croaked beneath his foot.
Maybe it was in his head, but the energy felt charged in here, like the room itself had a pulse.
He approached the desk. The books on top came into view—glossy hardcovers in a neat stack.
Little House on the Prairie.
The Lord of the Rings.
Eragon.
Zodiac.
Zodiac?
Seth frowned and stepped closer, making sure he’d read that right. It was definitely the same Zodiac book he’d read while studying criminal justice. Zodiac, who’d sent cryptic letters to journalists and law enforcement.
He turned back to Carol. “He reads true crime?”
Carol shrugged, clueless. “I didn’t think so. He likes family sagas like Little House on the Prairie and Fantasy books. We have a wide library available on site, though, for all types of special interests.”
“Does that library include books about serial killers?”
Carol laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was ludicrous.
“Heavens, no. We don’t keep anything that might upset any of the patients.
No murder, assault…” She was visibly shaking now.
“If he has books like that, he must’ve gone to the nearest town to get them…
he has been going out a lot lately… sometimes for days…
but he’s not a prisoner, Detective. He’s allowed to have a life outside Belleville. ”
Seth moved closer. He didn’t have a warrant, but Carol didn’t stop him from shifting more Little House on the Prairie novels aside to find another pair of books.
Night Stalker.
Forensics.
Jesus Christ.
He’d been studying.
“Carol, when was the last time you saw Trevor?”
This time, when he looked at Carol, she had tears of realization streaming down her cheeks.
She covered her mouth with her hand. “A few nights ago. He took one of the vans and drove off.” She pinched her eyes shut, more tears falling.
“Oh, God, please tell me he isn’t the one who hurt those poor girls. ”
“Was it a light blue work van?”
“Yes,” Carol croaked. “Yes.”
Seth’s head spun. Carol sobbed, turning away. Seth went to take out his phone, to text Chief Wells, just as his foot brushed against something on the floor. A piece of debris by the rug.
No, it looked more like a shred of wood.
Carol spotted it too. Her face pleaded at him, like she didn’t want to know the truth, but she didn’t stop him when he went to flip the rug up.
The first sentence carved into the floor made his heart sink.
WE ARE FAMILY
The others followed as he kicked back the rest of the rug.
HE WILL COME BACK
HE PICKED ME
IT WAS ME
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME
Claire lay flat on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts sloshing around inside her head. The fact that no one was home when she got back, and no one had called her cell, lulled her into a sense of safety. She’d gotten away with talking to Seth.
For now, anyway.
She leaned up on her elbow and caught her reflection in the full-body mirror leaning against the wall. Her legs, exposed below her denim shorts, long and smooth; her tank top, fitted nicely across her chest in a way she hadn’t thought about till now; her hair, spilling over her bare shoulders.