Tracy Wrenn stood in front of the class in criminal psychology at John Jay College, speaking to her students, who were listening enrapt. The room bristled with a sense of excitement. Mid-autumn, a chill was in the air and everyone was waking up.
“Our views of insanity have made us insane,” Tracy spoke uncompromisingly. “Our mistaken understanding of mental illness has opened the door to mayhem of every kind. We have become experts in justifying the worst kind of character deficits.”
Tracy refused to hold back. These students were being trained to do a vital job. Many of their lives would be on the line.
Tracy went on. “Don’t be fooled. Lack of true understanding encourages the worst human beings are capable of. Do not go along blindly with traditional diagnoses--you will only create more confusion. Look for yourself. Who is the criminal standing before you? What does it truly mean to be insane?”
Not one person stirred as Tracy spoke. Beautiful, in her early thirties and already one of the top criminal profilers in the country, Tracy commanded respect.
“The entire art of finding a violent killer,” Tracy continued, “rests upon the courage to see things as they truly are. No sugar-coating. A master profiler must do what the killer does; step out of the boundaries of society and see things from a larger point of view. How else can you know who you’re up against?”
Tracy paused a moment and looked out at the room. The students were absorbing everything she said.
“How many of you are willing to look at reality for yourselves?” Tracy lowered her voice a moment. “How many of you are willing to stand strong and speak your truth, no matter what others think?”
A young male Latino student in the front row nodded. Tracy could see that he resonated. She loved it when she touched others. It was exciting to train new students to have courage. They were going to need it, whether they knew it or not.
Another student, a young woman sitting beside him, seemed discomfited. She tapped a pencil on her briefcase as Tracy spoke.
Tracy smiled at both of them. She realized her talk was making the young woman nervous. That was perfectly fine. Everyone here had to get used to being nervous, to being pushed into rough corners of all kinds.
Tracy looked down at her notes for a moment. “In this class we will go over different definitions of insanity in depth,” she went on. “The insanity defense has become all too common. Most of the time it’s a get out of jail free card, no matter how heinous the offense. But, of course, that’s a total illusion. One thing you have to remember is that nobody gets away with anything. There’s no such thing as a free pass. There’s always a punishment for every crime. And, as a consultant in a hospital for the criminally insane, I can tell you that being sent there is worse than being sent to jail.”
The young Latino student grimaced, seemed to know exactly what Tracy was talking about.
“Going to a hospital for the criminally insane is going to hell,” Tracy continued, as the door of her classroom suddenly opened and Brian Shephard walked in. Brian, a colleague on the faculty, was tall, lean, and affable. He and Tracy respected each other and backed each other up. He stood near the door now, beckoning her to step outside.
Tracy felt a slight chill. Brian would never come into her classroom unless something important was going on.
“Okay, let’s take a five-minute break.”
*
As Tracy and Brian stood in front of the high, narrow windows in the hallway, cracked light shone in on them.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about the deaths at Ashton Pillars?” Brian started.
Tracy quickly ran through her memory. She remembered hearing something about it, but it wasn’t clear.
“Vaguely,” she replied.
“It is a mental hospital for those in their twenties and early thirties in Queens,” Brian quickly replied. “It offers a unique model of mental health care and has gotten a lot of publicity recently.”
“Oh yes, I remember hearing something about it.” Tracy recalled that the hospital was in the news about a month ago.
“About six months ago a patient unexpectedly died there. She was found dead on the floor of her room,” Brian zeroed in. “Then, last month, another patient was also found dead in the same way.”
Tracy shuddered. She fully remembered now. That story had been in the news for a couple of days.
“Both deaths were considered suicides, right?” Tracy continued.
“They were. Two assumed suicides,” Brian commented tersely.
“And now?” Tracy knew more was coming.
“This morning another patient there was also found dead.” Brian’s voice was clipped. “Same way, bleeding on the floor.”
“Terrible,” Tracy murmured, “horrifying.” She thought of the chaos that was always festering just below the surface in mental hospitals. There was the sense that anything could happen at any moment. And often, it did. And was covered up quickly.
“All three patients were found dead in exactly the same way,” Brian continued, “right after breakfast, throats slashed, bleeding out on the floor of their rooms, unconscious. The latest victim, Maggie Henderson, was twenty-three years old.”
A wave of nausea swept over Tracy. “Are they claiming it’s another suicide?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what they’re claiming, but the FBI has been called in this time,” Brian continued. “They just called here, looking for you. They want you on the case immediately.”
“Why me?” Tracy was startled.
“Why not you? You’re the best they can get and they’ve got a ticking time bomb on their hands,” Brian spoke quickly. “With only a month between the last two deaths, there could be a serial killer at work in the hospital.”
“Did Hunter request it?” Tracy was jarred.
“Who’s Hunter?” Brian raised his eyebrows.
“Hunter Jordan. He’s the head of FBI Behavioral Unit in Boston,” said Tracy.
Brian shook his head. “The head of New York FBI Behavioral Unit, Aldon Blank, put in the call. Maybe Hunter recommended you?”
“Maybe,” Tracy wondered.
“Aldon’s waiting to hear from you,” Brian continued. “Call him immediately, then finish up for today and get out of here, fast.”
Tracy looked at Brian, shaken. Sudden changes of plans were the norm around her. But that was how this job went. You had to be able to take it as it came.
“I’ll call Aldon now,” said Tracy.
“You’ll cover my classes while I’m gone on the case?” Tracy asked.
“Of course,” Brian responded instantly. “This is high profile and they need you. We’re all thrilled you’ll be on the case. It’s good for everyone.”
*
Tracy called and arranged to meet Aldon at Ashton Pillars in a couple of hours. The hospital was about forty-five minutes out of the city and he said the FBI would provide her with a car so she could get around with ease.
“Dr. Meyer Wright, the main hospital administrator, will be greeting you when you arrive,” Aldon informed her. “I’ll be there shortly after. Police units are in the hospital as we speak. They’re cordoning off the crime scene, collecting forensics, talking to the patients. No one is allowed in or out. The killer has to be in there somewhere.”
“No chance they slipped out before the victim was found?” asked Tracy.
“Possible, of course, but unlikely,” Aldon replied. “We’re operating on the theory that the killer is holed up at Ashton, probably drifting around just like everyone else.”