Absent Feeling, page 7
In the background, Simon was on the phone with the town’s main psychiatric institution.
“Yes, yes, I understand that you can’t give out patient information without a warrant, but I’m not asking for that yet. I’m simply trying to confirm whether Raymond Werdly and David Banks both worked there with you. If they did, then we’ll get the warrant you need.”
Amber guessed that Simon was hoping Detective Heart would come back with the warrant before it became an issue.
She had her own research to keep going with, though. Amber called a local hospital, waiting to get through to them. There was always the possibility that the two men had worked on a psych ward there. It took a while before she got through to anyone there, a man’s voice answering the phone impatiently.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“My name is Amber Young; I’m working with the FBI on the investigation into the deaths of Constance Banks and Raymond Werdly. We’re calling local hospitals in the area to see if Raymond Werdly worked there at any point and, if so, if he worked alongside a man called David Banks.”
“What did you say your name was again?”
“Amber Young.”
“And you’re an FBI agent? I’ll need to check your badge number before I hand out that kind of information. We’ve had a lot of reporters calling.”
No wonder he sounded so impatient. It was probably hard enough working in a hospital without reporters trying to get information for their stories. Amber knew firsthand how persistent, and in some cases how unscrupulous, some of them could be.
“I’m not an agent,” Amber said. “I’m a consultant working with the FBI.”
“Without a badge number, I can’t help you,” the man said, and hung up.
Amber’s hand tightened on the phone in frustration. She could understand why people wouldn’t just give out information to a stranger like that, but it was far too big a reminder of the strange in-between space she currently occupied, not quite an agent, not quite a civilian. She had worked with Simon a couple of times now, but both times, there had been a clear puzzle that she could bring her skills to bear on, justifying her inclusion in the case.
Now, she couldn’t even find out if two men had worked in the same place at the same time. Her first instinct was to hand the call over to Simon, but he was still caught up with his own call. Besides, what was the point of her being there if she couldn’t do anything to help?
Amber set down the phone, taking out the inkblots from the crime scenes. If she wasn’t able to make any progress on the possible links between the second victim and the husband of the first, then maybe she could do something with this. After all, she’d managed to unlock the last two cases by looking more closely at objects associated with the murders. Maybe there would be something here too.
Amber’s first observation was that the two patterns were identical, spreading out in a dark red stain across the cardboard that seemed to Amber to echo the pools of blood they’d been found in.
No, not just echo. Amber had seen the crime scene photographs, but she called them up now, forcing herself to look closely at the bloodstains that had been left after the murders. It was hard, staring at pictures of the dead like that, hard to force herself to look past those dead bodies and take in the shape of the bloodstains.
Amber was sure of it now; they were identical. She found a number for the coroner and put in a call to them.
“This is the coroner’s office,” a man’s voice said. “Who is this please?”
“My name is Amber Young. I’m working with Agent Simon Phelps on the Constance Banks and Raymond Werdly murders. I need to ask a question about bloodstains at the scene.”
“Hold please, I’ll fetch the coroner.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, in which Amber found herself staring at the design on the card. It wasn’t quite symmetrical, which surprised her, because she had assumed that all the Rorschach cards were.
“Hello, this is Dr. Herb. My receptionist tells me that you have a question about the bloodstains. I have to warn you that spatter pattern analysis isn’t really my field.”
“That’s not my question,” Amber said. “Is there any sign that the bloodstains at the crime scenes were interfered with somehow? Spread out in different directions to fit particular patterns?”
There was another pause on the line, presumably as the coroner considered the question.
“My people did find evidence of blood partially scrubbed away and wiped into different spots with a cloth. My initial thought was that it was about collecting some of the blood as a trophy or as part of a very poor attempt to clean the scene that the killer gave up on.”
“At both scenes?” Amber said. She could imagine someone trying to clean the blood away from a murder in a panic at one scene but not at both. In any case, that wasn’t what she thought was happening.
“Yes, evidence of tampering with the bloodstains was present at both scenes,” the coroner said.
“Thank you,” Amber replied. “That helps a lot.”
She hung up, staring at the two cards from the murder scenes. Was it possible that the killer had deliberately smeared the blood at the crime scenes to match the pattern here? If so, then understanding that pattern seemed vital.
Amber searched for the Rorschach cards, and the first thing she found was that this wasn’t one of the standard Rorschach designs. It was reminiscent of them, still with the appearance of an inkblot pattern, but this was something different, something custom designed.
Amber knew that inkblots had been around as art well before Rorschach had ascribed diagnostic qualities to them. She found herself going down the rabbit hole of searching for them, looking at historical examples of inkblots, trying to find one that was the same. If the killer had picked out this particular inkblot, then there had to be some meaning in it for them. If Amber could identify it, maybe she could get at the meaning and help to make progress on this case.
“Amber?” Simon said. “What are you doing?”
“I think I’ve found something to do with the inkblots,” Amber said. “They aren’t true Rorschach images, so I’m trying to establish exactly what they are.”
“That’s great,” Simon said, “but weren’t you meant to be calling around the local hospitals to find out if Raymond Werdly and David Banks worked there?”
“They won’t talk to me,” Amber explained. “Because I’m not an agent, they think that I might be a reporter just trying to get information.”
Simon shrugged. “You know that when you take Palliser up on her offer, you won’t have that problem?”
“When?”
“Well, I hope.”
Amber knew that, but she also knew that it was more complicated than that. “Saying yes isn’t that easy.”
“Isn’t it? I know you’re worried about losing part of your current life, but there’s more to the world than puzzles.”
“Puzzles are what I’m good at!” Amber shot back. “Puzzles are the reason that I’ve gotten to work with you at all.”
“You’re working with me because you’re good at solving complex situations and because you have good instincts,” Simon said. He gestured to the inkblots. “I think you’re trying to find a puzzle here because that’s what you’re comfortable with, but the job isn’t just about puzzles. It’s about finding a killer before he has a chance to strike again. Our best way to do that is through the connection between Raymond Werdly and David Banks.”
Amber knew that he had a point, but she wasn’t sure how much she could usefully do to pursue that connection when she wasn’t an agent.
“Did you have any luck with the psychiatric institution?” she asked.
Simon nodded then. “I think so. The administrator I spoke to was able to confirm that they both worked there. I’m waiting for them to call back. Detective Heart is going to send over the warrant to them as soon as he gets it.”
Even as Simon said it, his phone rang. He put it on speaker.
“This is Agent Phelps.”
“Agent Phelps, this is Lucy Dern, from the Guisborough Wellness Institute. We have received a copy of the warrant you sent.”
“Does that mean that you’ll be able to look through patient records for us now?” Amber asked.
“Some of them, at least,” the voice on the other end of the line confirmed. “Certainly for the last decade. There was a major computer crash before that, and no one ever quite got around to reinputting everything. Our paper files are good enough if we really need to look in the archives.”
“So, just to confirm,” Simon said, “both Raymond Werdly and David Banks worked at your institution?”
“That’s correct, yes.”
“We’re looking for patients whose cases they worked on together,” Simon said.
“That would potentially be a lot of cases,” Ms. Dern pointed out.
Probably too many to go through them all. They needed to find a way to narrow it down. Amber realized that she could help with that part, at least.
“If this is someone looking for revenge, it would be someone released from your care recently,” she said, because if someone had been released earlier, why wouldn’t they have started killing back then? “My guess is that it will be someone they were responsible for committing to your institution against their will, someone violent. Possibly someone who has used a knife before.” She thought about the Rorschach inkblots, and the kinds of things they were used as a diagnostic tool for. “Maybe someone with schizophrenia.”
“That narrows it down considerably,” Ms. Dern said. “In fact, if we apply all those criteria as filters, we get … yes, just one record. One of our patients, Matthew Aymes, was released recently after it was decided that he was no longer a danger to others. Previously, he had stabbed three people, although not fatally, because his paranoid schizophrenia meant that he believed they were trying to kill him.”
“Thank you,” Simon said. He looked over to Amber as he hung up. “That’s what you’re here for.”
“What, to narrow down some information?”
“To find us a clear suspect, one we can’t ignore. We need to talk to Matthew Aymes at once.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amber could feel her worries growing as she and Simon pulled up to the address they’d found for Matthew Aymes. It was getting into evening as they arrived, the light just starting to fade. It was a brownstone apartment building near the center of town, with an alley running down one side and a fire escape waiting there.
“What if he runs?” Amber asked. This was the only man who fit the criteria that they’d set out. They might be about to talk to a murderer. If he ran or fought, then the two of them would have to deal with that. Amber had completed her training, but the potential for the situation to get out of control was still worrying.
“Then we chase him, and we catch him,” Simon said. “If he does run, it will be a good reason to bring him in.”
They headed into the apartment building together. It seemed pleasant and well cared for, looking as though the foyer had only recently been repainted. The address they had for Matthew Aymes was apartment 4B, so the two of them took the stairs. Amber found herself looking around for any signs of trouble as she and Simon kept going up.
If there was trouble, what would she do? She had the training to take down a suspect hand to hand, but Amber wasn’t armed; she didn’t even have handcuffs. She would have to rely on Simon if things went wrong, although there were definitely worse people to rely on. He always seemed ready to leap into action if needed. Amber found her nerves on edge, listening out carefully for any sign of someone trying to run.
There weren’t any as they reached the floor they were looking for and stopped in front of the door to apartment 4B.
Simon hammered on the door, loud enough that anyone inside wouldn’t be able to ignore it. “Matthew Aymes! This is the FBI. Open up please!”
The two of them stood there in front of the door and, to Amber, the seconds seemed to stretch out. There wasn’t any sign of someone coming to answer the door, and that only made Amber think about the possibility that Aymes might be trying to run. She found herself remembering the fire escape, and listening out for any sounds that might be someone opening a window or heading out onto the metal surface of the fire escape. She couldn’t hear anything, but maybe that just meant that the door was too thick.
Amber found herself considering that door. “Do you think we should break it down?”
She had no doubt that Simon could do it if he tried. One kick and he would probably shatter the wood around the lock, letting them both into the apartment. Even Amber might be able to do it. In fact, she took a step back, considering exactly where to stomp to achieve the maximum effect.
“Amber, we’re here to talk to this guy, not to break his door down,” Simon said. “Not unless he gives us a reason to.”
He hammered his fist against the door again, calling out louder this time. “Mr. Aymes! This is the FBI! Open the door!”
Amber heard the sound of footsteps now, but they weren’t running away. Instead, they approached the door. It opened, revealing a woman in her late twenties with dark hair and striking, strong features. She was wearing jeans and a dark sweater.
“What’s all this about?” she demanded. “Why is the FBI banging on my door?”
“We’re looking for Matthew Aymes,” Simon said, holding up his badge. “We need to talk to him urgently.”
“I’m Sara Aymes. This is my apartment. Why do you want to talk to my brother?” She folded her arms as she said it, blocking the doorway as if to make it clear that they weren’t going to get past her without a good reason.
“It’s about his time at the Guisborough Wellness Institute,” Simon said.
That didn’t do anything to make Sara Aymes step aside. If anything, she seemed more determined to keep Amber and Simon out of the apartment.
“My brother is doing everything he can to put that behind him. I don’t want to make it any harder for him.” There was a stony determination there that had no give in it.
A voice came from behind her, though, a man’s voice, slightly tired but even and calm, nonetheless.
“It’s all right, Sara, I’ll talk to them.”
The man who came forward had to be Matthew Aymes. He looked a lot like his sister, average height and dark haired, with angular features and high cheekbones. His dark hair hung almost shoulder length, as if he might hide behind it.
Amber had expected someone wild looking and aggressive, or frightened and ready to run. He looked nervous, but he seemed more in control of himself than Amber might have expected.
“Are you sure?” Sara Aymes asked. “They can’t just barge in and make you talk to them.”
“But we’re going to invite them in,” Matthew Aymes said. “Whatever this is, it will be all right.”
He seemed much more … together than Amber might have expected given his condition, especially if he was off his meds and killing people.
“Come in, both of you,” Matthew said. He gestured for Amber and Simon to step inside the apartment. That was enough to get his sister to step back to let them inside, although she glared at both of them as they did so as if daring them to do anything that might hurt her brother.
The interior of the apartment was decorated in soothing pastel blues, with elegant modern furniture and relatively little clutter, or maybe that was just in comparison to Amber’s place. Certainly, though, the whole place looked neat and cared for. Matthew Aymes gestured for Amber and Simon to sit in a couple of chairs, then took a third for himself. Sara Aymes stayed standing.
“Why do you want to talk to me?” Matthew asked, leaning forward slightly in his seat.
“Have you seen the news, Matthew?” Simon asked. “Two people are dead. We’re investigating those deaths.”
“You mean Raymond Werdly,” Matthew said. “The doctor who put me in … that place.”
For the first time, there was a sense of pain there in his voice.
“Him and David Banks,” Amber said.
Matthew looked slightly surprised and then nodded. “Yes, how did you know that?”
Simon answered. “His wife is the other person who has been killed.”
Amber saw Sara take a half step forward. “And you think that my brother had something to do with it? Why? Because he was ill before?”
Simon didn’t back down, though. “The two victims were stabbed. Matthew, you were sent to the Guisborough Wellness Institute because you stabbed three people. Isn’t that correct?”
Matthew looked pained for a moment or two. Amber half expected him to jump up and make a run for it. Then he seemed to settle in place, nodding his head.
“I did that. I can’t deny it. And I know what you’re suggesting: that because Dr. Werdly and Dr. Banks were the ones who declared me insane, I must have wanted revenge on them.”
“Did you?” Amber asked. It was the most obvious way that all of this could have gone. Of course, she didn’t expect Matthew to just come out and admit it.
“You can’t just ask my brother something like that,” Sara said.
“We need to,” Simon replied. “Matthew, did you have anything to do with the deaths of Raymond Werdly and Constance Banks?”
Matthew shook his head hurriedly. “No, of course not.”
Amber tried to watch his face for any sign that he might be lying. The problem was that, as her training had made clear, it was never as simple as that. Spotting a liar was anything but easy. The best liars almost made themselves believe what they said, so that they wouldn’t show any kind of tell-tale signs that they weren’t telling the truth.
Amber heard Matthew sigh. “Dr. Werdly and Dr. Banks might have been the ones to declare me insane and might have been in charge of some of my treatment, but I don’t blame them for that. I needed help. I wasn’t well, and I hurt people. I did that, not them.”
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