Before she tackled Maggie’s death, Tracy wanted more background on the others who had died. Tracy picked up the first file she’d downloaded. It belonged to the first victim, Sandra Blackman.
Sandra was twenty-one when she died, six months ago. She’d been hospitalized for three months previous to her death and was a suicide threat from the first second she’d arrived at the hospital. Sandra had actually made two other attempts on her life. Besides basic information, including her list of medications, Sandra’s files were filled with the usual notes and progress reports. She’d been carefully observed for at least a month, and then allowed to mix with other patients more freely. But, despite all efforts, Sandra remained reclusive and depressed. She barely spoke to her roommate, Nora, who had recently been discharged.
Tracy went over the staff’s evaluation carefully. All seemed to be in good order. Tracy decided she wanted to speak to all the families first, before she questioned those at the hospital. The families knew the young women better, would have a more balanced perspective. Tracy knew how important it was to have a history of both the patients’ strengths and weaknesses. How else could she know what truly caused their untimely deaths? Tracy decided to call the families immediately and make appointments to see them as soon as possible.
Despite the late hour, Tracy immediately called Sandra’s parents, who picked up the phone right away.
“Who is it?” a woman’s garbled voice answered the phone.
“Mrs. Blackman, this is Tracy Wrenn from the FBI,” she started.
“FBI? What do you want from my life? Leave me alone, my daughter is dead. Isn’t that enough? What are you going to do now, blame me?” Mrs. Blackman sounded horrified.
“Absolutely not,” Tracy uttered. “We need your help.”
“Everyone in the neighborhood blames me,” Mrs. Blackman rolled right on. “Sandra was always hell bent on suicide, though. Is it my fault? Haven’t I’ve suffered enough?”
Tracy took a long breath. Sandra’s mother certainly had suffered enough, but Tracy still needed a few moments with her.
“Have you heard what happened at Ashton Pillars? I just need a few moments of your time,” Tracy quickly slipped in.
“I heard, I heard,” Mrs. Blackman’s voice got louder, “but I couldn’t care less. I have no comment. Leave me alone.” Then she hung up the phone.
Tracy was disappointed, but not surprised. Mrs. Blackman’s response wasn’t unusual. There were always uncooperative individuals to deal with. Tracy knew she had to use her time wisely and decided to let Sandra’s case go for now. She reached out, instead, for the second victim’s file, Deidre. Her death was more recent than Sandra’s anyway, only a month ago.
Tracy began reading the file quickly. Deidre had been a more active part of the community and her file was larger, filled with more comments by staff. Deidre had been admitted to Ashton three months ago, when her compulsion to cut herself intensified. Her parents, terrified, wanted to protect her from herself.
Tracy thought about those who cut themselves. She knew they did it in order to release unbearable emotional pain. The physical pain seemed to bring temporary inner peace. The physical pain was also a form of punishment, thought Tracy. It relieved these individuals of unconscious guilt. Some became masochistic, looking forward to the pain and enjoying it.
As was true for many patients of this kind, Deidre seemed otherwise normal, even outgoing at times. Her files noted that when she was deprived of the tools to cut herself with, restlessness and anger emerged. Deidre then went searching for anything to use to inflict pain on herself. At one time, the staff found forks stashed in her room. Hanna told them about it. Hanna had been Deidre’s roommate and Tracy made a note to talk to Hanna early on. Deidre’s file stated that she was also friendly with Ashley. The two of them spent quite a bit of time talking in the dayroom.
Tracy reached for her phone then and immediately put a call in to Deidre’s parents.
A male picked up. “Good evening,” he said somberly.
“Mr. Ray, this is Tracy Wrenn calling, from the FBI,” said Tracy.
A steely silence on the other end greeted her. “Yes?” he replied.
“Please forgive me for disturbing you,” Tracy started, “but I’m investigating a recent death at Ashton Pillars.”
“Good,” he boomed back. “High time someone stepped in to investigate that hellhole.”
Tracy was fascinated by the strength of his response. How was Ashton Pillars a hellhole? she wondered.
“Would you be willing to meet with me for a little while tomorrow morning and talk more about this?” she quickly asked.
“Absolutely,” he responded without hesitation. “My wife and I will meet you first thing in the morning, before work. We live in the city, near the Hudson River at the barge.”
“Thank you so much,” Tracy uttered.
“Be there at eight o’clock in the morning,” he continued. “We can spend an hour or so.”
“I’ll see you then,” said Tracy, incredibly grateful.
A hellhole on this earth. Tracy kept going over his comment. Of course it would be natural for a father who had just lost a daughter to hate the place where her death took place. Still, she was deeply interested in the way he put it. On the surface, Ashton gave a very different impression, as if all were well cared for and in perfect order.
Tracy then opened Maggie’s file and read through it quickly before putting in a call to Maggie’s family, as well.
Like Sandra, Maggie was admitted for chronic depression. That was a catch-all diagnosis that could mean many different things. What had Maggie been so depressed about? Tracy wondered. Had something hurt her recently? How did she respond to it? Details like that were noticeably absent. The rest of Maggie’s files weren’t all that helpful, either, just routine comments, lists of medications, and progress reports in therapy.
Tracy didn’t want to focus on the files right now. It would be the interviews with Maggie’s family and friends that would give her the key. Tracy decided to put in a call to Maggie’s family immediately. They lived in a fashionable suburb on Long Island, not far from the hospital. Perhaps she could see them tomorrow morning, as well?
To Tracy’s delight, someone at Maggie’s home picked up right away.
“Excuse me for calling so late,” Tracy started.
“It’s fine,” a male voice replied.
“And please accept my condolences,” she went on. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“How can I be of help?” he responded flatly, as if he had not heard what she’d said.
“This is Tracy Wrenn of the FBI,” she said softly.
A deep silence greeted her on the other end.
“Once again, I’m so sorry for bothering you at this hour,” Tracy repeated.
“You are not bothering me.” He gathered himself together, slowly.
“Can we make an appointment to talk early tomorrow morning?” Tracy went on quickly. “I can come to your home.”
“Absolutely.” The voice sounded resolute. “Come as early as you like. We can’t sleep anyway.”
Tracy decided to drive straight from the interview with Deidre’s parents out to Maggie’s home.
“Thank you so much,” Tracy repeated. “It should be somewhere around nine thirty or ten o’clock.”
“Fine.” The voice grew lower. “We’ll see you then.”
Just as she hung up with Maggie’s father, Tracy’s phone suddenly rang again. To Tracy’s distress, it was Wess once again. When things went smoothly, Wess was fun and interesting to be with. When turbulence arose, however, a completely different side of him came out. It was a side Tracy could not deal with right now. Whatever the consequences might be, she decided not to take his call.
*
Tracy woke at the first sliver of daylight, got ready, and quickly went to the Barge at the Hudson River, to meet Deidre’s parents. The Barge, a tourist attraction, was a large, old boat docked at the edge of the city, with a small cafe on it, a walkway near the water, and little benches to sit on.
When Tracy arrived the day was overcast. She walked onto the boat gingerly, enjoying the sight of the open sky and the gentle rocking of the water. Tracy breathed deeply and planted herself at the boat’s front entrance, so that Deidre’s parents could see her easily as soon as they arrived.
In almost no time a couple in their fifties walked right over to her. The man was much taller than his wife, who fluttered like a sparrow at his side.
“Tracy Wrenn?” he asked in a booming voice.
“Mr. Ray?” she responded.
“Yes, and this is my wife, Evelyn.” He motioned to the small woman beside him.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here,” Tracy said quickly, extending her hand to Deidre’s mother, who did not take it and seemed nervous.
“Okay, we have an hour,” Mr. Ray broke in quickly. “Let’s go to the walkway and talk. There won’t be anybody here this early in the morning.
“Come on, let’s start walking.” He motioned to a long plank on the boat along the water. “We can sit down on the benches further up there.”
The three of them started walking together as a cool breeze swept across their faces.
“Have you been questioned much about Deidre’s death?” Tracy turned to Mr. Ray.
“What makes you ask that?” His wife looked amazed. “Of course we were. We told authorities all we knew about Deidre, ever since she was a child. Why do we have to do it again now?”
Her husband leaned down over her. “Tracy is trying to help us, Evelyn,” he declared, then turned back to Tracy. “Actually, we were only spoken to briefly, a few cursory questions, no more than that. By the time they spoke to us everyone had made up their mind that Deidre killed herself. Convenient, I’d say.”
All too convenient, Tracy thought.
“You don’t believe that Deidre’s death was a suicide?” Tracy asked Mr. Ray directly.
“No, I do not,” he asserted. “I’ve said that over and over but no one listens. They chalk it up to the ramblings of a distraught father.”
“You are a distraught father,” his wife chirped. “And it’s possible Deidre did kill herself, isn’t it?” Then she looked over at Tracy. “I tell Don that all the time. He refuses to believe it, though. He blames Ashton Pillars for everything.”
“Ashton Pillars is a hellhole,” he repeated loudly.
“In what way?” asked Tracy, frightened, as two seagulls flew too close by.
“As soon as the patients are admitted they get them under their spell,” Mr. Ray continued. “They make them follow stupid orders, toe the line, and if they don’t listen, there’s hell to pay.”
“What kind of hell?” Tracy asked intensely.
“Hell, hell,” he yelled. “How many kinds of hell are there?”
“They need the discipline, Don.” His wife’s voice became shriller. “It’s part of the treatment, they’re protecting the patients.”
“They’re protecting themselves!” he growled, trying to overpower her and succeeding.
“Don has strange views.” Mrs. Ray rushed closer to Tracy. “From the time Deidre was born he never was willing to admit anything was wrong with her. She was always perfect in his eyes. But I knew different. Right away.”
“What did you know, Mrs. Ray?” Tracy shuddered.
“Deidre was odd from the time she was a baby. She was always knocking her head on the edge of tables and then looking at us. I kept telling her not to do that. But Don always laughed.”
“She was playing, Evelyn, just having fun,” Mr. Ray shot in. “I said it then and I’ll say it now.”
“Hurting yourself was never my idea of fun,” his wife responded, looking only at Tracy now. “Deidre’s behavior got worse as she grew older. She went from knocking her head to cutting herself, drawing blood. It terrified me. She once even told me she needed to cut herself. Life hurt too much, if she didn’t do it.”
“I can see how that would be terrifying,” Tracy responded.
“It was Evelyn’s idea to put Deidre into Ashton Pillars,” Mr. Ray boomed out then. “I didn’t like the place from the first minute I laid eyes on it. And I’m convinced that someone there killed my daughter.”
“Who?” asked Tracy, mesmerized by both of them.
“That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?” Mr. Ray now turned on her. “That’s why you asked us to meet you.”
“Yes, it is,” Tracy acquiesced, “but I also want to know who you think might have done it?”
“I know that security isn’t so good.” He suddenly sneered. “Deidre told me that at visiting hours lots of people visit. I don’t believe they screened visitors the way they should have.”
Mrs. Ray sighed loudly. “It wasn’t a jail, Don. They were careful enough.”
“No, they weren’t,” Mr. Ray insisted. “Maybe Deidre had some visitor who came to see, for all we know it was a man. Maybe he made her do things with him.”
“Please, please, don’t smear the dead.” Mrs. Ray looked as though she would faint.
“For all we know he even killed our daughter,” Mr. Ray continued.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Ray burst in. “I don’t believe that.Mrs. Ray began trembling. “It’s over, Deidre’s gone. Why ruin what’s left of our memory of her?”
Mr. Ray’s large jaw jutted out fiercely. “Because someone else just got killed there yesterday morning. She died exactly the same time that Deidre did! For all we know the same person could have done it!”
Mrs. Ray put her head down into the palms of her hands and began crying.
“Evelyn”—he shook her shoulders lightly—“someone else got killed, just like Deidre.”
“Someone else?” She seemed dazed.
“Yes, I told you, don’t you remember?” he demanded.
“I remember now, but I forgot.” Her voice was muffled.
“Do you think your daughter was killed, Mrs. Ray?” Tracy took a step closer to her.
“I don’t know what to think, I really don’t,” she answered. “Don would know more. He visited Deidre all the time. Me, I couldn’t step foot in that place. I begged her not to hurt herself for years. She didn’t listen, no matter what I said. Now I couldn’t stand to see what had become of her. This was her fate and she asked for it!”
“This is our fate now, too,” Mr. Ray interjected. “And I can’t live with it. I really can’t. I should have known something like this would happen. There were clues, there were signs. Sometimes when I went to see Deidre, she wasn’t around. Staff told me she had a personal visitor. I asked them who, but they wouldn’t answer.”
“I’ll check all this,” Tracy reassured both of them, also wondering who the visitor could have been.
“There’s nothing to check, it was hospital policy to allow visitors in,” Mrs. Ray insisted. “It was Deidre’s business who she saw. She deserved her privacy.”
“No, she didn’t,” Mr. Ray bellowed, “someone came who shouldn’t have been there! Security was compromised. My daughter was killed. I’m positive of it.”