Chapter Nineteen

The next morning Richard went with me to the precinct. Marc was there bright and early. He ushered me into his office. “I’m sorry man. I didn’t know her but I knew how much she meant to you. Can I get you a coffee?”

“Sure. What happened? Did you find out who did this to her?” I asked impatiently.

“No, but I can tell you it was someone really upset with her. We assume that the cause of death was her throat being slit, but there were numerous lacerations on her body. It looked like she put up quite a struggle.” The thought of Lexus having to defend herself in that way made me sick. She was a free spirit, kind beyond words. Who could have done this to her?

“Did they check her home and see if anything was missing? Maybe an intruder or someone wanting money. She took in all the low lives of the area. We welcome drugged up and mean spirited bums was the sign she displayed on her door.”

“Are you serious? She had a sign like that.”

“No, she should have though; that is the people that she attracted. Did you talk to anyone there? What about Peter? Where is he?”

“I thought he was staying at the home dealing with unresolved issues.”

“He was for a time but he started staying more and more with Lex. She agreed to let the workers do their evaluations at home. She would do anything to have Peter come home again. I think he was staying four out of seven days a week with Lex. Perhaps it wasn’t her day. And thankfully it wasn’t! How could we explain that to him? She was all that he had.”

“But he did not know that she was his mother. At least that is what I have been informed,” said Marc in a puzzled tone.

“You are right. He thought that he was a worker in the house, that’s all. Lexus always said he knew. I can only think that the Dissociative Identity Disorder fogged out his memory. I’m not sure.”

“Really Adam, do you think that perhaps he sensed some sort of familiarity with her? It is almost impossible not to know your own mother, to turn her off and on like that?”

“He has Dissociative Identity Disorder. I feel he had gone off somewhere deep within his mind. He is living a life completely different from the real world around him. This is a tool for survival.”

“Why would he need a tool to survive? What happened?”

“Lexus mentioned to me that Gritty assaulted him, both physically and mentally. With Dissociative Identity Disorder, he was able to pretend he was someone else and turn off the abuse. He obviously turned off Lexus as being his mother. He was just a worker, doing his job for her. Maybe he did at times know she was his mother. I cannot get into his sick mind.”

“Hard to believe how your subconscious works!”

“If you would let me use your phone I will call Daryl House and see if he is there.”

“Call, but better still, why don’t you make an appointment to visit him. I’ll go with you and perhaps he might know something.”

“Not if he were in the house!”

“We don’t know yet, just call!”

He handed me the phone and I was put through to the director’s office immediately. I identified myself and she seemed to know who I was. I guess that Lexus must have mentioned me as some kind of back up if she were not available. I made the necessary appointment for later on in the day, the sooner the better.

* * * *

The smell was the first thing that I noticed. A mixture of urine and man funk with a slight mix of body odor were thrown into the blend. Oddly enough there was hair on the floor, enough to be concerned. Maybe they had pets, but looking closer it was human hair. “What the hell?” was all I could say, as I looked over towards Marc for a clue.

He seemed oblivious to the whole situation, stepping over the human decay with not a care in the world. “You should see some of the crime scenes that I have witnessed. This is the Ritz compared to them.”

“This is supposed to be a nurturing place. What’s with the hair?”

I looked up as she answered. “They pull their hair out; simple as that! We sweep it at the end of the day. If you go further down the hall you will see body excrements as well. We are not strongly funded, and the cleaning crew does not live on-site. The murderers in prison are better cared for than the mentally challenged. The cleaners come in at the end of the day. Does that answer your question? Oh, and my name is Jennifer Quaid.”

Talk about being put in my place! “I’m Adam Garwood and this is Marc Girard. He is in charge of homicide at the Montreal precinct. I’m sorry Ms. Quaid about my ignorant remarks.”

She was beautiful. I imagined what she would look like, away from this environment, with her black bun set free and her hair falling out of its confines. She had oversized green glasses sitting on the edge of her nose. Her toned body gave her away though. No matter how she wanted to fool us with her stern attire and persona; she was one very sexy lady. “No need to apologize; I just wanted to clear up a few things. Our job here is to help our patients, not be janitors. Now what can I do for you gentlemen? You mentioned Peter! Such a sweet boy!”

“His mother was murdered. They found her body in the alley where she lives.”

“Oh no!” She put her hand up to her face as if to shield her from the unsettling news.

“How do you think we should handle this? Who should inform him?” I asked.

She composed herself enough to answer. “Leave that to us. We have trained personnel who can handle that situation with the utmost care.”

“When was he allowed to visit his mother last? I believe that he goes home four out of seven days. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. If you want to wait a moment, I’ll get that information for you.”

She got up to leave and her perfume lingered. What was a beautiful woman like that doing working in a place like this? I knew that was a cruel assumption on my part, but I just did not get it. And from the slow stare Marc was giving her exit, I knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. She returned with a paper in her hand.

“I printed this out for you. I hope it helps. Yesterday was his last visit this week. They usually clock in when they are returned but not last night. I know that the receptionist left early due to a family crisis. I am sorry; his time of return was not written down.”

“The one night that we really need the information for! Do you have cameras at the entrance?

“Yes we do. I can get you the footage from yesterday if that will help?”

“It definitely would help. Do you have a digital timer attached to it as well?”

“Yes we do.”

“What is the soonest that you can have that for us?”

“I’ll have it for you first thing in the morning. I’m sorry about all of this?”

“No harm done. I’m sure that we’ll have enough evidence with the camera.”

I got up to go and realized that there were patients in the yard. He was there. He was sitting quietly under the old oak. They all looked like wax figurines. Very little movement; and when you did see a bit of a stir, it was a jerky interpretation of normality. I wanted to talk with him.

“Would it be okay if we went into the yard and talked to Peter? He is sitting alone and I would like to observe him for a few minutes.”

“Absolutely not. You might frighten him. He does not know you.”

“Quite the contrary. I was a good friend of his mother’s. I was constantly at the home and Peter talked to me on a regular basis.”

“How can I be sure you are telling me the truth and not perhaps taking advantage of a situation to question him? You are a detective, aren’t you?”

“I think Ms. Quaid that you watch too many Sam Spade detective reruns. We are not deceitful nor do we tell lies to get what we want. That is portrayed only in fictional characters. What do I have to prove in order to see Peter?”

“Well,” she said rather embarrassed. “Tell me something about him. Something that only I might know.”

“He constantly mentions a skiing accident, a delusion of reality that he believes in.”

“Follow me,” she said. “I am sorry but we have to protect our patients. They are gullible to the whims of others. They are lost souls searching in a world that is extraneous to them.”

“I understand completely.”

Upon approaching Peter his face lit up with recognition. He got up from his seat and awkwardly hugged me. I told him to remain seated and I would sit with him for a moment. Marc sat obtrusively on the seat near us. Peter did not seem aware of him or did not care that he was there. “How have you been?” I asked.

He looked down at his hands which seemed to be holding a shining object. He kept twirling it through his fingers. It might have been a gold ring or small piece of jewelry. It was the object of his attention. He looked up and said, “My leg is giving me a problem. You know that I was in a skiing accident. Went right into a tree. My leg will never work again.” The same story was repeated each time that I talked to Peter. I sat a while longer hoping that perhaps he might say something or do something that would give me a hint of what happened at Lexus’ yesterday. Perhaps there was nothing to say.

“Did you go home yesterday? Did you see Lexus?”

“No, I didn’t go yesterday. I went today.” Impossible I thought, but knew that his sense of reality and time were not in line with the real world. I would not make an issue of his statement.

“I have to go in now. I am hungry.” He could not wait to leave as he exited with a faster pace than I had ever seen before. He either did not like my line of questioning or he was truly hungry.

Marc and I remained silent on the way back to the precinct. I knew that tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough. When we entered his office, there was a parcel on Marc’s desk. He looked at me and said, “This is what they found on her body. You can go if you want Adam. It might be too hard for you.”

“No, I would prefer to stay.” I braced myself as he started to open the brown envelope. He pulled out her watch, all too familiar to me. I remember thinking how masculine it was hanging from her delicate wrist. She loved it and when asked about its size, she said that it reminded her of her father’s big watch. I knew not to continue my line of questioning when I saw the hurt in her eyes. I felt that one day she might tell me but now realized that one day would never come. I held back my tears as Marc continued.

He pulled out a broken chain. Where was her pendant?

Then I remembered Peter playing with something shiny.