Hold Back the Dark (8 page)

J
osh watched Dave Bradley squirm behind his cheap-ass desk. Good—he deserved to squirm, if he’d created a situation that left two people murdered and their daughter institutionalized.

Mr. Bradley was the one who had hired Lois Bradley as one of his housecleaners and had given her the keys to the Dawkins’ home. The same-last-name thing? Not a coincidence. Lois and Dave Bradley were cousins.

Dave Bradley had found out that the news-breaking brutal murders were connected with Kwikee Clean when he’d gotten a call from the woman scheduled to clean the Dawkin house at ten that morning with her usual partner, Lois Bradley.

The woman had arrived and found the place cordoned off with crime scene tape and police officers crawling all over it. As far as she knew, Lois had never shown up at all. Dave had still been puzzling about what he should do about that when Elise and Josh arrived. Puzzling apparently took the form of sweating enough to leave big wet horseshoes under his armpits and clutching and unclutching his fat white sausage fingers a lot.

When Josh told Bradley that his cousin had packed up her apartment and disappeared, Bradley had turned white and sank into the chair behind his desk.

“So you were aware of your cousin’s record when you hired her?” Josh sat in the cheap office chair in front of the desk.

Bradley wiped his sweaty forehead with a tissue. “Yeah, I knew.”

Elise opened the trifold brochure about Kwikee Clean she’d picked up in the reception area. “Says right here that all your employees are bonded.”

Bradley nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down visibly in his throat.

“Exactly how did you manage to get your twice-convicted identity-thieving cousin bonded, Mr. Bradley?” Elise asked sweetly. She tapped the brochure on the edge of the desk.

Bradley gulped again. “I, uh, didn’t actually. There was no way. You can’t get someone like Lois bonded.”

“So you lied to all your customers?” Elise asked and then turned to Josh. “Does that sound like fraud to you? It sounds like fraud to me. Do you think the fraud division would be interested in hearing about this? I think they might.”

“Maybe,” Josh said. “But I think the ones who would really like this are those dudes on channel three who do those consumer protection spots. You know, the ones where they follow people around with their cameras and keep the businesses’ names up on their Web sites for months and months and months.”

“What do you think about that, Mr. Bradley?” Elise asked. “Do you think your customers would like to find out that you’ve been lying to them via a fraud investigation? Or do you think they’d prefer hearing about it on TV? Personally, I think people prefer TV. It seems more glamorous.”

Josh could have stepped in, but he could tell Elise was enjoying this and she needed to let off a little steam. It was far better if she let the steam off at Bradley than at him. Come to think of it, her husband probably owed Bradley a big ole thank you, too. He’d be sure to mention it the next time they got together for dinner. They could all toast Dave Bradley.

“I didn’t lie to all of them,” Bradley protested. “Only to the ones that Lois cleaned for. And it’s not like she was going to do anything wrong; she couldn’t risk another conviction. It’d be her third strike, you know.”

“We’re aware of that,” Elise said. “We’re surprised that
you
were aware that your cousin was a career criminal when you started handing over the keys to people’s houses. Did you give her a little map to where she could find their checkbooks and bank statements? Or did she have to find those on her own?”

Bradley shook his head, making his heavy jowls tremble a little. “You don’t understand. Lois isn’t a bad person. She got herself into some bad situations and tried to get out of them a little too easy. I’ve known her since she was a little kid. She was always trying to take the easy way out, but she learned her lesson. She didn’t like prison. Said it was like living in hell.”

“So she learned she didn’t want to get caught,” Josh said. “No more jail time for her.”

“Exactly,” Bradley said. “She hated prison. Said nothing was worth going back in there.”

“Maybe she was so determined not to go back that she was willing to kill,” Elise said, her voice smooth and dangerous.

Bradley was such easy prey for Elise, it was almost cruel. It was like watching a cat play with a three-legged mouse.

“No, no, no!” Bradley protested. “I’m telling you, you got it all wrong. Lois wouldn’t do nothing like that. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was the one would always catch the spiders and put ’em outside instead of squishing them. Made the rest of the crews crazy sometimes.”

“Spiders can’t accuse you of identity theft and send you back to prison,” Elise said. “It’s easy to be nice to them.”

Josh almost snorted. He happened to know that Elise felt about spiders the way Indiana Jones felt about snakes. She’s sooner pop one with her 9 mm than let it share breathing space with her.

“No,” Bradley said with great conviction. “Lois wouldn’t do nothing like that. I know it. You’ve got to believe me.”

No one wanted to believe that someone they knew could turn into a cold-blooded killer. No mother ever thought her baby could become a rapist or a thief or a murderer. But someone’s baby had done this and had found it enjoyable. That was one bad baby.

Elise slid a pad of paper across to Bradley. “We need to have Lois tell us that herself. Think you could jot down the names of some of her friends or relatives that she might have run to?”

Bradley grabbed the pad and pen as if it were a life preserver.

Aimee started the tedious task of photocopying Taylor’s file for Dr. Brenner. She watched the first pages chug through the machine, then leafed through the notes from her second meeting with Taylor. It had been a blustery day, windy and cold and gray. Taylor had worn an old army jacket that had seen better days and a pair of jeans that made her legs pipestem thin.

“How’s it going?” Aimee had asked.

“Fine,” Taylor had said sullenly.

“Taylor,” Aimee had said.

Taylor had stared at her hands and said nothing.

“Look at me, please.”

Taylor had heaved a sigh that could have swept away half the Midwest, but she had looked up. Barely. “What?”

“Do we have to go through this every time you come in? Do we have to start from scratch?” Aimee asked over arms she’d crossed on her desk.

A smile had quirked at Taylor’s mouth. “I guess not.”

Aimee had smiled back. “Well, that’s a relief. So tell me about your week.”

To Aimee’s total amazement, Taylor had launched into a long and Byzantine description of high school hierarchies and shifting loyalties that left Aimee stunned. She’d scribbled notes as fast as she could, hoping she was getting names and affiliations correct. “And how does that affect you?” she’d asked once Taylor had finished.

“I don’t know.” Taylor shook her head. “I don’t get it. I don’t get why any of them did any of it.”

Aimee had laughed. “I think most of us feel that way about our high school years. I still can’t make sense of mine.”

“That’s what my mom says, too.” Taylor was looking down again and plucking at her clothes. “She says none of this will matter to me in five years. I won’t even be able to remember why I thought it was important.”

“Do you think she’s right?” Aimee had asked.

Taylor had shrugged. “Probably. I don’t see how she could be right now, but she says that that comes with time.”

“Do you often go to your mom to talk about your problems? Or to try and figure out things when you’re confused?” A solid supportive connection with her mother could make a huge difference for any girl. For Taylor, it could be a lifeline.

A shutter had come down over Taylor’s face. “Sometimes. At least, I used to.”

“What made you stop?”

Taylor lifted her hands up in a helpless gesture. “It was fine when I was a little kid. She always seemed to know what to do, what to say. Now she’s totally lame. She doesn’t have a clue about what my life is like.”

That echoed what Stacey Dawkin had told Aimee. She used to be close to her daughter; now there was a chasm that she couldn’t bridge no matter how hard she tried. She didn’t know what caused it. She just knew it seemed to have opened up a few months before, when Taylor’s behavior changed so drastically.

“Have you tried to explain it to her? Have you tried to tell her what your life is like for you?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “What’s the point? Her solutions to things were great when I was in preschool and my biggest problem was that Connor Sigal was always taking my crayons. Things are different now. It’s not as easy as asking somebody to take turns.”

“So what’s your biggest problem now?” Aimee asked softly.

Taylor had frozen and started examining her fingernails again.

“Taylor?” Aimee had prompted.

“I don’t even know,” Taylor had half whispered down into her lap. “I don’t know why I feel this way inside. I only know that some times I feel like I’m going to burn up from the inside out.”

“Taylor, tell me about cutting yourself,” Aimee said, her voice soft, but firm.

Taylor had stayed very still. She shut her eyes. “I don’t know. It makes me feel…” Her voice trailed off.

“Do you feel numb otherwise?” Girls got overwhelmed and shut themselves down. They cut themselves to make sure they could feel something, anything. Seeing their own blood flow wasn’t part of a death wish or a suicide attempt; it was actually an attempt to make sure they
weren’t
dead, that they were still living, breathing beings with beating hearts still in their chests.

But Taylor was shaking her head again. “No. It’s not like that. It’s like I’m feeling and thinking too much. My head feels like all my thoughts are whirling around in it so fast that it’s going to spin right off. When I cut myself, it slows everything down. It focuses me and I can think. It’s like a relief.”

They were getting somewhere important. “How long have you felt this way?”

A wind gust shook the panes of glass in the window and a tree branch scraped the outside of the building. “I don’t know.” Taylor wrapped the army coat tighter around herself, losing her thin frame in its ratty bulk.

“Have you always felt like this?” Aimee pressed.

“No. Not always. There were times when everything was okay. I could think just fine.” Taylor leaned forward as if she was as interested in hearing her own answers as Aimee was. “Then sometimes I’d feel like this, like I couldn’t possibly make sense of stuff.”

“When were the times when things were okay? When did they stop?” Maybe Taylor’s behavior change coincided with when the “okay” times stopped.

“I don’t know. They just did. It’s not all the time, anyway. It’s just something that I need to do, you know, to get focused,” Taylor said with her eyes cast down.

Aimee’s heart clenched. She could see how hard it was for Taylor to talk about her self-mutilation. The shame that came layered on top of the pain of the behavior itself was another hurdle they were going to have to jump together. “It’s okay, Taylor. No one’s judging you for this.”

Taylor’s head shot up and her eyes blazed. “Are you fucking kidding me? Everybody judges me for this. Everybody.”

“Who judges you, Taylor?” Aimee sat back in her chair, glad to see the fire in Taylor’s eyes. Turning the anger outward instead of inward was a huge step.

“My mother. My father. Other kids at school.” She ticked the list off on her fingers with their chewed cuticles and black fingernail polish. “I’m a freaking cliché. The emo girl who cuts herself. I hate it. I hate me. I hate everything.”

Then she had begun to sob, and she hadn’t spoken again for the rest of the session.

Now Aimee thought about the blank look on Taylor’s face as she had rocked herself. What was going on inside? What horrors was she protecting herself against? What things that she didn’t want to feel were lurking inside there with her?

She placed a new set of papers into the photocopier. In the back of the file were some drawings Taylor had done during the three months they’d been seeing each other. Aimee unfolded the top one, a self-portrait. Taylor had drawn herself as a small figure in the lower corner of the paper. The figure’s face was stark white limned in black. The body of the figure was black with a red circle in the center of it. But that wasn’t what Aimee found herself staring at. It was the repeating pattern of trisected rectangles and circles across the top of the page.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed.

“Wolf here,” Josh said.

“Detective Wolf, this is Aimee Gannon.”

Damn, he liked the way her voice sounded even over the static of a cell phone. “What’s up, doc?”

“I’ve found something in my files on Taylor Dawkin that I think you should see.”

“That’s great. What is it?” He gave Elise a thumbs-up sign.

“You know the pattern that was on the walls at the Dawkins’? It’s in a drawing she did for me months ago, too.”

That was interesting, but hardly conclusive of anything. “Is there anything else in the drawing?”

“It’s a self-portrait. There’s just that pattern and Taylor very small underneath it. Detective Wolf, I need to see her. This is important; I’m sure of it. But the psychologist at the facility doesn’t want me to see her.”

“Do you think it might get her talking?” Anything that might break through to her would help.

She hesitated. “I don’t know, but I think it would be a first step in that direction.”

For crying out loud, could a shrink ever give a definitive answer? Still, a step was a step. And it wouldn’t exactly bother him to spend more time with Dr. Gannon. “Tell me again the name of the place they stashed Taylor, and I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning.”

A
imee swung her car into the Whispering Pines Center parking lot, tense with excitement. She was on to something, she was sure of it. She was going to be able to help Taylor. Her shock over the murders was gone, replaced by anger. Anger was good, much better than fear. Anger burned clean.

She cruised down the parking lane, finding a spot. A vintage green sports car angled across two spaces; she could construct an entire personality profile based on that parking job. It was probably a he. He’d be controlling and manipulative, extremely precise and ordered in his ways. Perhaps a victim of some kind of abuse as a child, he tried to create order in his outer life to keep the chaos inside himself under control. No wonder the guy was visiting someone when in a mental institution—he probably drove everyone around him crazy.

When Aimee entered the lobby through the automatic sliding doors, Detective Wolf unwound himself from one of the scratched chairs.

Aimee’s pulse picked up and she frowned. Fine, he was gorgeous. But she didn’t need to get involved with a cop—that would be just too clichéd.

“Thank you for meeting me.” Aimee walked toward him, eager to get this process started.

“Thanks for calling.” He smiled down at her.

She stared up into his dark eyes and felt a buzz in her bloodstream, a connection she hadn’t felt with anyone for a very long time. “I had ulterior motives,” she said.

Those were to see her patient, right? Not to stare up into those dark depths or admire that strong jaw. She was betting that Brenner would step aside to let Josh Wolf talk to Taylor.

“I gathered. Ready?” He smiled and gestured to the booth.

Aimee nodded. He took her elbow and a shiver ran up her arm. She sidestepped away. He was a distraction; she needed to be focused if she was going to help Taylor.

“I’m Detective Wolf. I’m here to see Dr. Brenner,” Josh said through the round metal grate.

The woman shoved a clipboard with a sign-in sheet through the Plexiglas slot and clicked on her microphone. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She clicked her microphone back off and picked up her phone.

Josh and Aimee both signed in and waited until one of the attendants, a short, round-faced woman with dusky skin and sleek black hair pulled into a tight bun, ushered them in and led them to Dr. Brenner’s office on the second floor.

The attendant knocked on an oak door recessed into the deep blue wall, and a voice told them to enter. The attendant opened the door.

“Come in. Come in,” a voice from inside the office said.

The attendant glided away and Aimee and Josh went into the office.

Dr. Brenner was tall, thin, and pale, his coloring a rarity in California where just walking to your car could put color in your skin. He looked beyond beleaguered. The circles beneath his eyes were dark and purple. His eyes were tinged with red, and his hair stuck out like he’d been running his hand through it.

Wolf settled himself in one of the chairs across from Brenner’s desk, crossed one of those long legs over the other, and leaned back. Purposefully nonconfrontational, or just playing his cards close to his chest, Aimee wondered? If it came to a pissing match, she had no doubt who would win. By the way Brenner’s Adam’s apple bobbed, he apparently didn’t have any doubts, either.

“Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Brenner. I’ll cut to the chase here. We need to see Taylor Dawkin,” Josh said.

Brenner sat down somewhat uncertainly. Aimee could understand why. It was Brenner’s office, but Wolf had made it clear within seconds who was running the meeting. “We?” Brenner asked.

Aimee leaned forward and offered her hand. “I’m Dr. Gannon. We spoke on the phone.”

Brenner’s lips drew tight. “And I’m certain I made clear that while I would very much value seeing your notes, I don’t think it’s in Taylor’s best interests to see more than one therapist at a time. She’s already confused and frightened. She needs stability.”

Wolf remained leaning back in his chair. “This isn’t necessarily about Taylor’s best interests, doctor. This is about a homicide investigation. Dr. Gannon is acting as a consultant for the Sacramento Police Department. She has valuable insights into the Dawkins’ family dynamics and into Taylor especially. We need her in there, and we need her in there today.”

Brenner cleared his throat. “Well, if that’s the case, I…”

“I assure you, it’s the case.” Wolf never raised his voice, but something in his tone made Brenner shrink back.

“Very well, then.”

Aimee and Josh both rose from their seats. “Thank you so much, doctor,” Josh said.

Aimee set a packet down on his desk. “Here are photocopies of my file on Taylor. I’d be happy to discuss any of it with you. My card’s in the file.” She doubted Brenner would call her, but it was worth the chance.

Brenner nodded and summoned another aide to take them to see Taylor. He apologized that he wasn’t going with them, because he was behind in his paperwork.

Aimee and Josh fell into step as they walked down the hall behind the aide. Aimee leaned in and whispered to Josh, “Consultant?”

A smile quirked the edge of his lips. He leaned down and whispered, “The pay’s not great and the hours stink. Sure you’re interested?”

His low voice against her ear sent a tingling vibration down her neck. “Definitely.” She swallowed hard, not entirely sure what she’d just agreed to.

He straightened and looked down at her. “Good. This isn’t exactly the part that I excel at.”

She gave him a smile. “We’re even, then. I’m not so hot at the part you just took care of.”

That earned her a rumbling chuckle. “Guys like Brenner don’t give me any trouble.”

He probably ate the Brenners of the world for breakfast.

The aide opened the locked doors of the ward. Someone screamed from one of the back rooms; a blank-faced woman shuffled down the hall, clinging to the walls like they were life support. Aimee walked through in front of Josh, his large, hard hand on the small of her back. This time, she didn’t pull away.

“They’re in the day room,” the aide said.

“They?” Aimee asked.

“Oh, you’re not Taylor’s only visitor today,” the attendant said. “She’s quite the popular girl. They often are, at first.”

After a while, family and friends stopped coming. It wasn’t nice, but it was true. People didn’t get that good-deed feeling after visiting a friend or relative in a mental hospital. Too often, the patients couldn’t or wouldn’t mirror the care and concern being offered them and people eventually drifted away. Psychological wounds took as long to heal or longer than physical ones, and people lost patience after a while. Unless they’d been through it themselves, they often didn’t understand why someone couldn’t “just get over it.”

Danny certainly hadn’t understood why Aimee couldn’t.

They turned the corner into a large open room filled with long tables. The far wall had high windows through which you could glimpse the trees outside, partially obstructed by reinforcing wires. Taylor and her visitors sat at a table near the windows.

On the surface, Taylor looked better. The cuts no longer oozed. She still sat with her arms tightly around her and rocked forward and back, but she was in a chair now and the rocking was less frantic.

Aimee’s heart clenched. She hated that this was progress. It wounded her to have such a bright girl with so much potential brought down to this level. It made her sick that someone this young had had to endure this much physical and emotional violence. It was the way the world worked too often.

Marian Phillips sat next to Taylor, knitting something. Next to her was a man Aimee recognized from somewhere. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a full head of neatly barbered dark blond hair and one of those suits that made a person realize why expensive suits cost so much. It took a second for recognition to hit her. He was the man in the photos with Orrin. He had to be Carl Walter, Orrin’s business partner and daredevil playmate.

He stood as they approached, and extended his hand when they introduced themselves. “Carl Walter.” His handshake with her lingered a little longer than Aimee was comfortable with.

“Carl is…” Marian’s voice trembled. “Carl was Orrin’s business partner.”

“And a family friend,” Carl said, crossing his hands in front of himself.

Marian smiled up at Carl, her look adoring. “A dear family friend.”

And a possible source of information, as someone who’d known Taylor for a long time. “It’s nice of you to visit Taylor,” Aimee said.

Walter’s mouth drew down. “It’s the least I could do. Orrin was like a brother to me. I’ve known Taylor since they moved to Sacramento. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Mr. Walter, my partner and I would like to stop by and talk with you sometime soon about Orrin.” Josh moved off to the side with Carl to make an appointment.

“Hi, Taylor.” Aimee placed her hand on Taylor’s back. Taylor didn’t shy away, but she didn’t look up, either. Aimee straightened. “Any change?” she asked Marian.

Marian shook her head. “Not really. I did get her to eat, but only a bit. They say she’s barely slept, too.”

“They should be able to do something about that with medication,” Aimee offered.

Marian looked distressed. “I know, but somehow I don’t want her so snowed under that she can’t talk. What must she have seen, to make her like this?”

“She saw too much, that’s for sure,” Aimee said grimly.

Taylor began to rock a little faster.

“Maybe we should talk outside,” Aimee suggested. She looked over at Josh, who nodded.

Carl and Marian followed them out into the hallway. Aimee turned and nearly bumped into Carl, who was so close on her heels she almost tripped over him.

He was solid, muscled like a rock under his tailored clothing, and he wore enough cologne to make her want to sneeze. She stepped back and thought she caught a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I’m glad you’re both here. We have to make Taylor feel safe if she’s going to come through this. Knowing that there are people to protect her will help so much,” Aimee said.

Carl took a step toward Aimee, his hand on her arm, warm and strong. “Of course,” he said with a slight catch in his voice. “Anything for Taylor. I feel like she’s practically my own daughter.”

He was handsome, but he knew it, too. He was too confident, too assured. His stance was too studiously casual. There was something else about him, too. Something in his eyes.

“Dr. Gannon,” Wolf said, clearing his throat and reminding Aimee that they were here for more than a social call.

“I was hoping we could have a few moments alone with Taylor,” Aimee said, looking from Marian to Carl. There was no telling how things would go with what Aimee planned to do. She’d just as soon not have an audience or any distractions.

“Do you have a lead?” Carl asked. “Something solid?”

Aimee shook her head. “No, but there are some things I want to follow up on with her. At least as much as I can right now.”

Marian frowned. “Why can’t we be there?”

Aimee took Marian’s hand in hers. “I think Taylor is trying to communicate with us, but something’s stopping her. I’d like to remove as many variables from the process as possible until she feels like she can talk again.”

“But—” Marian began to protest.

“This is a police investigation, Ms. Phillips,” Wolf cut in. “If we need to talk to Taylor alone, we’ll do it.”

Aimee glared at him over her shoulder. It was fine with her if he intimidated the heck out of Brenner, but not so fine if he pulled that macho act with Marian.

“I think it would be easier on all of us, especially Taylor,” she said.

Walter stepped into the fray. “Come on, Marian. I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Aimee threw him a grateful smile as he shepherded Taylor’s aunt down the hall.

Josh glared at Carl Walter’s retreating back. That guy was all shiny shoes and carefully styled hair and clothes way more expensive than Josh’s police salary could ever provide. Josh had seen him when he came into the hospital while Josh waited for Aimee in the lobby. He hadn’t thought much of him then, and his opinion wasn’t improving. He didn’t like how close Walter stood to Aimee or how often he found an excuse to touch her. And that smile that Aimee gave him? Josh was definitely not crazy about that.

He liked it much better when she was smiling up at him, which she was
not
doing right now. Instead she was walking back into the room where Taylor Dawkin was sitting. Fine, then. Straight down to business was fine with Josh.

Aimee sat down next to Taylor. Josh took the chair on the opposite side of the table.

“Hi, Taylor,” Aimee said in that sweet contralto. “How are you doing?”

The kid said nothing. Did Gannon really expect her to start chatting? He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know you’re frightened, sweetheart. I know this is hard, but it’s very important.” Gannon reached into her briefcase and pulled out a file folder. “I found some drawings in your file that you did for me back when you first started coming to my office. I was hoping we could talk about them.”

Taylor didn’t look at Aimee, but she did make a little snorting noise and Josh thought the rocking might have slowed.

Aimee took a piece of drawing paper out of the folder and spread it open on the table. “Do you remember this drawing, Taylor? You said it was a self-portrait. Do you remember drawing it?”

Taylor snorted again and the rocking picked up speed.

“You told me that the drawing was of how you felt sometimes. How sometimes you felt so tiny and insignificant and things were pressing down on you, threatening to squash you. Do you remember saying that?” Aimee put her arm on Taylor’s shoulder. The girl flinched away.

“Taylor, can you look at the drawing?” she asked.

Taylor rocked faster and didn’t look at the drawing.

Aimee took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She traced the design at the top of the drawing with her fingertips. “Can you tell me what this design means, Taylor? I know it must be important, because you drew it again at your house. Is there something you’re trying to tell us, Taylor? Can you help me understand what it is?”