Ihope this isn’t a wild-goose chase,” Sierra said. “If Riverview turns out to be a dead end, we’ve wasted a lot of time.”
“Trust me, that has crossed my mind,” North said.
He drove into the tiny parking lot in front of the Riverview Psychiatric Hospital and shut down the SUV. He was still mildly astonished that Sierra had allowed him to drive her shiny new vehicle. Maybe she understood that he needed something to focus on besides the unnerving sense of urgency simmering inside him. The three-hour trip from Seattle had brought them to the rugged, remote coast of the state. Narrow two-lane roads, an unreliable GPS and the steady rain had required his full attention.
He rested his hands on the steering wheel and studied the big wrought iron gates and the high stone walls that enclosed the grounds around the three-story brick building. It had evidently been a private home at one time, a retreat for some nineteenth-century lumber baron. It was probably filled with rooms that had originally been designed for entertaining guests at large house parties.
He forced himself to concentrate on the problem at hand. It was easier to think clearly this morning, thanks to a good night’s sleep. As he had explained to Sierra, he didn’t feel normal—whatever that meant—and the knowledge of what he was missing by not being able to access his talent whenever he desired was frustrating and depressing as hell. But he was no longer standing right on the edge of the abyss. He had recovered some sense of inner balance and taken a few steps back. He could do his job, pursue the investigation, and at the moment that was all that mattered.
The hospital was tucked away in a remote, heavily wooded property. The nearest community was a small town a few miles away that boasted a grocery store, one gas station and a couple of rustic inns.
“I told you, Victor says he has a feeling about Delbridge Loring,” he said. “Ninety-nine percent of the time Victor’s gut is right on target.”
“And the other one percent?”
“Things usually go south in a hurry.” North opened the door and climbed out from behind the wheel. “In this case I’m inclined to agree with him, and more importantly, Lucas Pine does, too. Evidently, since escaping from this place a couple of months ago, Marge has been living quietly on the streets of Seattle. Then, within twenty-four hours of the attack on my father, her worst nightmare shows up trying to find her. It’s a hell of a coincidence.”
“The coincidences are piling up in this case, aren’t they?” Sierra opened her door and jumped down to the pavement. “But what possible connection could there be between Marge and your father and the missing artifact?”
“That’s what we’re going to try to find out. But Lucas did uncover some interesting information about Delbridge Loring.”
“What’s that?”
“There is almost nothing about him online, just a short, thin bio that Lucas says looks fraudulent. When he tried to confirm a few basic facts, like date of birth, he was unable to do so. He says that, for all intents and purposes, Delbridge Loring magically appeared about a year ago, just as the Riverview Psychiatric Hospital opened.”
“Interesting.”
There was a call box at the side of the massive gates. North pressed the button. A man answered.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
It was not the warmest of welcomes, North thought. The tone was impatient. Maybe suspicious. Definitely uninviting.
“We’re here to speak to Dr. Delbridge Loring,” North said.
“Dr. Loring isn’t here.”
“Can you tell me how to get in touch with him?”
“No. That’s confidential. Wouldn’t do you any good to give you his address anyway. He was called away on a personal matter. Did you have an appointment?”
“This is a matter of some urgency,” North said, sidestepping the appointment question. “It involves a former patient, a woman who left here a couple of months ago without medical approval.”
There was a short, startled pause.
“What’s your name?” the man demanded.
“I’m North Chastain. My associate is Sierra Raines.”
“Hold on while I check with Dr. Garraway,” the voice said. “He’s the director.”
There was another, lengthier pause before the voice came back through the call box speaker.
“Dr. Garraway says he’ll be happy to meet with you in his office. I’ll unlock the gates. Follow the path to the front door. I’ll meet you there.”
North heard a sharp electrical snick. One side of the gates swung slowly open. He glanced up and noted the cameras.
“The place looks old but the security is good,” he said. “Not state of the art, but decent.”
Sierra raised her brows. “You can tell the difference at a glance?”
“Being able to assess security is part of the job description for a Foundation cleaner.”
“Because once in a while you find yourself having to engage in a little light burglary or B and E work?” Sierra asked.
“You have a low opinion of my career path.”
“Can you blame me? Rumors about the Foundation have been circulating for decades.”
“Those rumors started when the Rancourts were in charge. Things are different now.”
“Uh-huh.” Sierra glanced around at the thick woods. “As for the security here, it makes sense. The hospital is in a very remote location and they are housing a vulnerable population.”
“But is the security here designed to keep the patients locked up or to protect them?”
“Both, I assume,” Sierra said.
“You’re probably right. That’s how it works at Halcyon Manor.”
Sierra looked around at the barren gardens. “I wonder why Marge was locked up here. From what you say, everyone seems to think she’s harmless.”
“She believes she was kidnapped and used as a test subject here. But it’s possible a doctor or court decided she really is delusional and managed to get her legally committed. It happens.”
The front door of the mansion opened just as North reached out to press the bell. A burly man with a shaved head stood in the hall. He was dressed in green scrubs. His bulging arms were covered in tattoos. An orderly, North concluded. His name tag read Ralph. He narrowed his eyes.
“Follow me,” Ralph grunted. “I’ll take you to Dr. Garraway’s office. Most of the patients are in art therapy or watching television at this hour, but if you happen to see any of them, don’t make eye contact and don’t speak to them. Understand?”
“Got it,” North said.
Sierra did not acknowledge the instructions but Ralph did not seem to notice. He led the way across a small lobby furnished in bland, neutral shades. At the far end of the room he turned down a paneled hallway and stopped in front of a door.
He knocked twice.
“Come in,” a man called in a polished, authoritative voice.
Ralph opened the door.
“Ms. Raines and Mr. Chastain, sir,” he said.
Sierra entered first. North followed. The man behind the impressive desk rose to greet them. Garraway looked to be in his late forties. The lack of lines around his eyes and his tight jawline indicated he’d had a little work done. He was dressed like a lawyer or a CEO, in a jacket and tie. The outfit suited the richly appointed room, with its wood paneling, thick carpeting and cushioned leather chairs, but the jacket looked as if it had been pulled on in a hurry, and the knot of the tie was sloppy. Garraway had obviously put on both items of apparel in haste when he heard he had visitors.
“Please sit down,” he said.
“Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Garraway,” Sierra said, taking one of the leather chairs.
“Of course.” Garraway gave her a warm, professional smile and sat down behind his desk. “We don’t get a lot of visitors, as you can probably tell. Nor do we encourage them. Our patients require a tranquil atmosphere. They are easily stressed. What’s this about a former resident who walked off the grounds a couple of months ago?”
“Her first name is Marge,” North said. “We don’t know her last name, but she was under the care of Dr. Loring. We’re trying to find him because we want to ask him a few questions.”
“I don’t understand,” Garraway said. He frowned in polite concern. “Why do you wish to speak with Dr. Loring?”
“That’s the wrong question,” North said. “Your first question should have been something along the lines of ‘Is Marge all right?’”
Garraway’s eyes hardened. “I don’t have any idea who you’re talking about. Even if this Marge is a former patient, I would certainly not discuss her case with anyone except members of the family.”
“That’s especially convenient in this case, isn’t it?” Sierra said. “Because Marge doesn’t have a family. But we don’t want to talk about her. We’re here to find Loring.”
“Dr. Loring was called away on a family emergency. I have no idea where he is or how to get in touch with him.” Garraway stood. “Now, if that is all, I must ask you to leave. I am a busy man.”
“We think Loring was running some experiments on Marge and possibly on some of your other patients,” North said.
Garraway flushed and abruptly sat down. “Are you with the government? Because I assure you, we are in strict compliance with all the rules and regulations pertaining to our facility. I will also stress that this is a private institution, not a public hospital.”
“This is a personal matter,” North said. “You could say that Marge is a client.”
“You’re working for a woman whose last name you don’t know?” Garraway was incredulous. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t possibly expect me to believe that. And even if it’s true, it changes nothing. Loring isn’t here. I have no idea where he is and I have absolutely no intention of telling you anything about a member of my staff.”
North got to his feet and took a card out of the pocket of his leather jacket. “In that case, we’ll be on our way. If you think of anything that might be helpful, let us know.”
“That is not going to happen,” Garraway said, jaw clenched. He got up, circled the desk and opened the door. “Ralph will see you out.”
Ralph, as it happened, was conveniently standing in the hall. He looked startled when the door opened abruptly. North was pretty sure he had been eavesdropping.
“This way,” Ralph said.
The screaming started when they reached the lobby.
“No, no, don’t let them get me. They’re monsters.”
North looked at the stairs on the far side of the room and saw a man in his early twenties who was obviously a patient. He was dressed in a gray robe and slippers. He stared at North and Sierra with a wild-eyed, panicky expression. An orderly gripped the patient’s arm and spoke to him in low, soothing tones.
“It’s all right, Carl,” the orderly said. “They’re leaving. They won’t hurt you. You’re safe here.”
“You don’t understand,” Carl wailed. “I can see them. They’re strong, just like Dr. Loring, except that the colors are different. Don’t let them put me in the light room. I’ll be good. I promise. I’m cured.”
“Remember the rule,” Ralph said quietly to North and Sierra. “Don’t make eye contact.”
But it was too late. North was looking straight at Carl. He knew that Sierra was, too. Carl stared back, stricken.
“It’s all right, Carl,” the orderly said. “They’re just visitors. They aren’t here to give you any treatments.”
He steered Carl away from the top of the stairs and guided him down a hallway.
“Are you sure?” Carl asked. “Because I really, really hate the lights.”
“There won’t be any more light therapy today, Carl,” the orderly said. “Dr. Loring is the only one who gives you the treatments. He’s not here.”
“I don’t like Dr. Loring. He’s one of the monsters, too.”
The pair vanished down the corridor.
“Don’t mind Carl,” Ralph said. “The poor guy is delusional. He was self-medicating with street drugs when he was brought to us.”
Sierra looked at Ralph. “Carl is one of Dr. Loring’s patients, I take it?”
“Yeah.” Ralph crossed the lobby and opened the door. “Loring’s got some theories about using light along with drugs as therapy.”
North slipped him a card. “We’ve got a lot of questions about Loring. If you feel like answering a few, call the number on this card. I’ll meet you anywhere you choose. My client is willing to pay for information.”
“You mean the woman named Marge?” Ralph snorted. “I know who she is. She doesn’t have a dime to her name. She was living on the streets of Seattle when she was picked up and brought here.”
“Marge just came into a large inheritance,” North said. “Trust me, money is not an object.”
Ralph scowled. “What’s this about Marge getting an inheritance? And what’s that got to do with Dr. Loring?”
“Sorry,” North said. “Can’t discuss the details. Client confidentiality. I’m sure you understand. But if you want to chat about Delbridge Loring, be sure to get in touch. We’ll be staying in town tonight.”
He followed Sierra outside. The door closed behind them. The sound of heavy bolts sliding into place could be heard. Neither of them spoke until they were on the other side of the big gates.
“Ralph knows who Marge is,” Sierra observed.
“Garraway knows, too. But he’s not concerned with Marge’s welfare. Loring is the one he’s worried about.”
They got back into the SUV. North fired up the engine and drove out of the parking lot.
“Are we really going to spend the night in town instead of driving back to Seattle?” Sierra asked.
“Yes,” North said.
“Because you expect Ralph to call?”
“That would definitely be a plus,” North said. “But the main reason we’re staying overnight is so that I can get a look inside Loring’s house.”
“Putting aside the pesky legalities of breaking and entering, I would like to point out that we have no idea where Loring lives.”
“It’s a small town, Sierra. Everyone in the area will know where Loring lives. What’s more, he’s not from around here. He’s an outsider working at the psychiatric hospital a few miles up the road.”
“So?”
“The locals won’t feel any obligation to protect him. Someone will be happy to tell us where he lives.”
Sierra sat quietly for a while, watching the narrow road that wound through the trees.
“That patient, Carl, could see our auras,” she said at last.
“Yes.”
“He said our energy fields looked like Loring’s. Different colors but equally strong.”
“Which tells us something very interesting about Loring,” North said. “He’s got some high-end talent.”
Sierra folded her arms very tightly beneath her breasts. She did not take her eyes off the road.
“Carl thinks we’re all monsters,” she said.
“Only a real monster would run experiments on a helpless street person like Marge. I’ll call Victor and give him an update.”