Talbot parked the golf cart under a canvas awning and switched it off. ‘He did ask about his father, though. Wanted to know if he was alive. When we assured him his dad was okay, the funny thing was, he looked scared, like a little kid about to be punished. I remember the boy’s exact words when we told him his dad was okay: Am I in trouble? Later on, somebody mentioned amnesia or delusions. Something about a… what’s it called… a fugue state.’
They returned to the house and a welcome blast of frigid air. ‘Let’s forget about the diagnosis for a minute,’ she said. ‘I’m interested in your impression of Tim. As a seasoned police officer, what was your gut reaction the first time you saw him, right after he was brought in?’
Talbot puffed out his cheeks. ‘Hard to say. Though one thing’s for sure. He didn’t look like a crazed killer. He looked like a scared kid. Not just lost, but…’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Haunted. Yeah, that’s the word. Like he’d seen a ghost.’
36
Albany, New York
June, Present Day
In an airless courtroom in Albany, Erin took a seat at a table by the lawyer appointed to Tim’s case. The judge, a stout woman with black hair coiled into a bun and a permanent crease between her eyes, studied the file in front of her before calling the proceedings to order.
Lydia Belmont and Dr Harrison were seated behind Erin, waiting to be called to give their accounts. For the past twenty minutes, Tim’s lawyer had presented the details of the case. In a moment, it would be her turn to provide the results of her assessment. Dressed in a navy trouser suit and black pumps, Erin hoped she projected the proper air of seriousness and restraint the occasion called for. What happened today would change the course of Tim’s life.
When asked to speak, she cleared her throat and sipped from a glass of water before standing to address the judge. With her notes on the table in front of her, she launched into it.
Having completed the mandated evaluation process, Timothy Warren Stern, Jnr, remanded to Atherton State Asylum for the Criminally Insane, now Greenlake Psychiatric Facility, in February 1978, after being declared not guilty by reason of insanity for the murders of his mother and sisters, was – in her professional opinion – neither a danger to himself, nor to others.
As long as he continued to take his prescribed medication and was offered the appropriate social support to assist his re-entry into the community, she recommended he be released into the care of his father.
As soon as she’d said her piece, Erin sat down and folded her hands in her lap, examining the judge’s impassive face for a sign of how things might go. Once the ruling was made, they would be informed of the court’s decision within three days.
*
When Harrison called two days later with the news of Tim’s release, Erin was not terribly surprised and also relieved to know that Tim would be living in a beautiful house in the Vermont countryside, and not shunted off to another state facility. But an undercurrent of unease still needled her gut, especially at night while lying in bed, waiting for sleep to release her from the worries of the day.
‘Thank you for letting me know,’ she said. ‘Is there anything else you need from me? Any follow-up?’
‘Nothing from our side.’ Harrison’s voice faded in and out, as if he were phoning her from the bottom of a well. ‘But I’d like to extend my heartfelt thanks and appreciation, Dr Cartwright, for the time and care you’ve put into Tim’s case.’
‘It seems to have worked out in everyone’s favour,’ she said, trying to keep any hint of doubt from her voice. Would it be overstepping the bounds to ask him to keep her updated on Tim’s status, once the move to Vermont had taken place? Though Lydia might be more sympathetic to her desire to stay in touch.
After hanging up the phone, she sank onto the leather sofa in her office, uncertain whether the feebleness in her limbs was a sign of relief or the beginning of a new wave of worry. Whatever the case may be, her part in the Stern family murders was over. As for Tim, the die was cast. Whatever happened now was out of her hands.
She opened the windows wide to let in the fresh morning air. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves and cast a golden glow on the lawns. In full glorious bloom at last, the celebrated meadows, an undulating tapestry of colour, shimmered in the breeze. If she were to walk amongst the throng of blossoms, they would surely be alive with the buzz and tumult of bees.
Closing her eyes, she tried to teleport herself into the landscape, until she could smell the scent of honeysuckle perfuming the air and feel the flowers brushing her bare arms. She took a deep breath. It was over. Tim Stern was no longer her problem to solve.
Though a few details still rankled. On the plane back to New York, following her meeting with Detective Talbot, she had briefly toyed with the idea of following up on the information he let slip about Stern’s alibi. The mystery woman who’d spent the
