'You said that the girl claimed that Allander spoke of parents, educators, and the law, correct?'
Travers nodded.
'Well, none of them stepped in and protected him when he was a child, when he was in need. So this is his payback. On the tape, he references Freud, discusses probing his unconscious and coming up with the truth-the truth that everyone should see, but doesn't. Allander has made his own diagnosis of society. Like Freud in Civilization and Its Discontents. And he's made a diagnosis of himself.'
'What is that diagnosis?' Travers asked.
'That he can see man's true nature and act upon it. He feels that others cannot. They can't see their true needs, just as they could not see that he was in need as a child. He's gouged out their eyes to illustrate that. He's written it on the bodies.
'And the pattern starts with the family. This may be a stretch, but maybe he arranged the bodies to mimic his parents. They have a healthy relationship, you've said. Maybe he's mocking that by posing the bodies in an embrace. He's portraying them as being happy in their ignorance.'
'Ignorance is bliss,' Travers said.
'Yes. Very appropriate cliche.'
Jade was quiet. Something was not fitting all the way. Something was missing.
'So it all comes down to Mom,' Travers said. 'Seems like it always does. Remember Kemper in Santa Cruz?'
Jade nodded. 'Fed his mother's larynx down the garbage disposal. Also Rivers, the Tower survivor. He got his mother.'
'With Atlasia, it's not just his mother,' the doctor said. 'Atlasia's anger was directed toward both parents. He included the father in the posing.'
'And the gouging,' Jade said. 'Well, we have full surveillance on the Atlasias.'
'I don't know if that's a concern.' The doctor shook his head. 'I agree with you that he references the Oedipal complex-'what there is in every little boy'-but serial killers almost always displace. They rarely kill the people they're really furious at. They pick others and vent their anger on them. It's easier.'
'Warden Banks told me that you hold on to drawings the prisoners make when they have Sketch Duty. I'd like to see some of Allander's.'
'Sure, sure,' the doctor said. 'Though I don't know how useful they'll be to you.'
He excused himself and returned a few minutes later with three drawings under his arm. He unfurled them on his desk. 'We have only three of Atlasia's,' he said.
The first drawing showed an enormous clown holding an uprooted tower under its face. A woman flopped carelessly out of a small window beneath the clown's curling fingernails.
The next picture was a sketch portraying hands. The first set of hands faced one another horizontally, fingers closed, fingertips a few inches apart. The hands were expertly drawn, right down to the lines in the palms. Beside them were two hands that seemed to be pointing at each other. The last image on the sheet was a solitary hand, its fingers together and thumb apart, pointed upward at a forty-five-degree angle.
The final drawing was an intricately detailed picture of a mountain range shaped subtly like the curves of a woman. Although it was at first difficult to notice the corporeal suggestion, there was something immediately erotic about the work. The drawings were made with crayons, but their clarity was exceptional. They were clearly the work of a skilled hand.
'The clown, of course, recalls the clown masks of his childhood captor,' Dr. Yung said.
Travers nodded. 'How about the others?'
'Well, this really isn't my forte,' the doctor said. 'But I find the mountain range interesting in how it incorporates female sexuality into the earth.'
'Like it's the basis for everything,' Travers said.
'Yes. That from which all else springs. An Earth Mother of sorts.'
'How about that one?' Jade asked, pointing to the sketch of the hands.
'For that one, Mr. Marlow, your guess is as good as mine.'
After studying them for a few more minutes, Jade rolled them up. 'Mind if I hold on to these?'
'Not at all, Mr. Marlow, that's why I brought them.'
Jade stood up. 'Well, I'll definitely be in touch.' He extended his hand. 'About that little mix-up in communication…'
'A mix-up, was it?' Dr. Yung smiled and took his hand. 'I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful. I'll take some time with it, think it over. I'm usually more insightful once I've sat with something for a while. Why don't you call me later this week?'
Chapter 32
' Has Marlow checked on the house yet?' Wotan asked. Smoke rose from the cigar in the ashtray on the side of his desk, curling like a white ribbon in the dim air.
'Yes, Wotan,' Travers said. 'He has some ideas about Atlasia, but he hasn't shared them with me. You want me to put pressure on him to reveal more?'
'I don't think that's a realistic option for you.'
Travers blushed.
'He is not our enemy. He is in charge of this investigation and you will assist him, not interfere with his efforts.' Wotan leaned forward slightly into the light, but the hollowness of his cheeks remained filled with shadow. The hole of his left eye was lost in darkness.
'We hired Jade Marlow for this case because he's an obsessive tracker. He has no hesitation about descending into the mind of the killer. Right now, his waking hours are spent thinking about Atlasia, and I am certain that when he sleeps, if he sleeps at all, he dreams of him. If you recall the Black Ribbon case, we almost lost him. That's a risk we run when we send someone into dangerous territory. But Marlow can go into the house of the enemy and not eat from his table.'
Wotan plucked a bullet slug from the ashtray and raised it to his face. He blew the cigar ash from it, then dropped it back in the ashtray, where it landed with a loud clink. A small puff of ash clouded the air, then dissipated.
'You shall not impede him, Agent Travers, even if it is at considerable cost to your ego.'
Travers nodded, biting her lip. 'I was not implying anything like that, sir.'
'Give him his space if he needs it.'
Allander stepped off the Greyhound bus and regarded the dimly lit station. Two chubby little boys ran after a shrieking girl in a yellow dress while their parents stood by and smiled.
Woodside had seemed like the most arbitrary place within the Bay Area that the buses stopped. Allander needed to put a safe amount of distance between himself and San Francisco, at least until the manhunt slowed down, but he also didn't want to stray too far away. Not while there was more work to be done.
He checked the crudely drawn map on the wall, which displayed the public buildings in the area. Two churches, a library, a small residential school, town hall. Quite a cultural hub, he thought, sneering inwardly.
The bus ride had gone well. It was a direct route, so although there were stops, he hadn't had to transfer. He had passed the journey in a back seat, his body pressed against the cushion so that his face remained in shadow.
FOOD, DRINK, TICKETS: Allander read the words on the large sign outside the station. All the necessities of a bare, forked animal. I am a man more sinned against than sinning, he thought. More sinned against than sinning.
He headed up a winding road that ran into the hills behind the bus stop. Turning off the road, he walked about a mile into a wooded area before curling up underneath a large tree. He lay on his side, breathing the crisp air. Finally, he dozed off. For the first time in years, he slept soundly.
Darby Atlasia sat quietly in the study, nursing a glass of red wine. The detective had stirred old memories, and now they swirled about, refusing to be laid to rest.
