night drenched in blood. Bill had wrapped the man’s arms around her, then went off to his room and peacefully back to sleep.”
“Good
“I’m afraid so. A very disturbed one, I remind you, one that had lost contact with any form of reality.”
“Did this Bill—or Mrs. Kingsley— talk about anything else?”
“Plenty. In her final days, she spent a good part of her time bragging about the other murders he’d committed.”
“What did she say?”
“Horrible things. Gruesome things. Some of the most disturbing I’ve ever heard—and trust me, I’ve experienced a lot here.”
“Details?”
“I’ve actually tried to forget them… but with a few, I’ve had a hard time doing that.”
“You can’t tell me?”
Doctor Faraday gazed out the window and shook his head very slowly. A tree branch shifted in the wind and threw an odd shadow across his face. “I’d rather not.”
I drew in some air, blew it out quickly. “Can you at least tell me why she’d dream up someone so horrible, let alone want to assume his identity? Who was this guy?”
He turned back and caught my gaze, held it for moment. “According to her, Bill Williams was the man who kidnapped and murdered her son.”
The hair on my arms stood straight up—on the back of my neck, too—and suddenly the room felt frigid. I didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then, “She assumed the identity of the man who killed her son…”
“Correction: the one she manufactured as the killer.”
“Why would she do that?”
“With the mentally ill, there really isn’t any rhyme or reason, Mr. Bannister.”
“She ever say why she thought he did it?”
“No, and it hardly much mattered since it was all made up, anyway.”
“I appreciate you taking the time, doctor.” I stood up, gathered my things.
“Welcome,” he replied with an expression that revealed absolutely nothing.
I reached over to shake his hand—it was still ice-cold—then, handing him my business card, I said, “My cell number’s there if you remember anything else.”
He led me back down through the hallway and out toward the reception area where a guard escorted me to the elevator. Penfield was standing there, staring at me. Once again.
“I’m going downstairs, Samuel,” she said, her eyes locked on mine, her expression bare. “I can see him out, save you the trouble.”
Penfield watched him move down the hall and then under her breath said, “I was here when Mrs. Kingsley died.”
I felt my heart clap twice inside my chest.
She went on, “And I
“What are you telling me? That she was murdered?”
“
Doctor Faraday’s voice, coming from around the corner.
She glanced quickly in that direction, then shoved the folder into my hands. “Take this, then get lost. And I mean it!
I dropped the folder down to my side, could see Faraday coming around the bend.
The elevator door opened, and I stepped inside quickly, the door closing just in time, barely revealing a nervous Penfield as she turned around to face Faraday.
Chapter Sixteen
They say angels come in the most unexpected disguises, but who knew mine would look like Aurora Penfield? The lesson, I suppose, was never underestimate the value of a bitter and disgruntled employee.
In my motel room, I opened the folder. Inside, were the notes—pages and pages of them—written by Faraday during Jean Kingsley’s stays at Glenview. I spread them on the bed, wondering which might hold the answers I needed.
The doctor’s messy shorthand was hard to decipher but still clear enough to show Jean Kingsley’s downward spiral growing more pronounced during her final stay:
Then:
Disturbing, but mild when compared with what followed next:
Then, toward the end of her stay:
And around the same time, something even more interesting:
No infirmary report in the file; nothing about the outcome there.
I also found a few notes about Jean’s delusional state where she assumed her new identity as Bill Williams. Although the general information reflected what Faraday had told me, there were no specifics on her rants regarding Bill’s murders. That seemed odd; surely the information would have been relevant to her treatment.
