“You think he killed his aunt?”
“Not really, but he fell on his alibi like it was a long-lost puppy, so he might’ve known when she was being killed. He’s connected to it all somehow, and I’m guessing he’s the weak link we need. We have to squeeze him hard enough to make him act. The girlfriend’s name is Ginny Levasseur. Find out what you can about her, too.”
Back in my office, I reached for the phone. It was early yet, and I hoped I could catch the Skyview’s attending psychiatrist, Dr. Andrews, before his workday took hold of him. Encouraged by my conversation with Hennessy, I wanted to find out if Bernie had seen something that might have traumatized him-and whether or not I could find out what it had been.
I was doubly lucky. Not only did Dr. Andrews answer his own phone, having just come into the office, but he exhibited none of the vagueness about Bernie that Harry the orderly had claimed he might.
“Wonderful guy,” said Andrews. “Full of stories. And a fascinating case. In my own experience he’s the only post-traumatic stress disorder to exhibit such deep-seated symptoms. Usually, they’re either transient or episodic in nature, although they can last for years at a stretch, especially if untreated, but Bernie seems permanently afflicted. He may have an element of what’s called Korsakoff’s syndrome, which is a classic alcohol-induced memory-loss phenomenon. It would exacerbate the PTSD and may explain why he can’t remember much after the early fifties.”
“Everything since then is blocked?”
“Well, no. That’s why I said he had an element of Korsakoff’s. There are times he appears more lucid, when I’ve noticed he assimilates current events into his dialogue. The problem is, I can never be absolutely sure of that. Nursing home life is bland, repetitive, and predictable, which is good-but it makes some forms of clinical observation a little difficult. I often wish I had the time and resources to put Bernie into an environment where I could really study him. As it is, I have a catch-as-catch-can relationship with him.”
“Have you seen him since the murder?” I asked.
“No. I haven’t had the time-typical, I’m afraid. I heard he was very worked up following the event.”
“Do you think he could’ve seen the murder take place?” I asked hopefully.
There was a long, thoughtful silence at the other end of the line. I expected a speech about the difficulties and dangers of assuming too much from a couple of brief encounters, but he surprised me by admitting, “That’s quite possible. His attack on the other resident may well have been an acting out of the event. I also heard that he’s been expressing himself exclusively through his warrior persona, which might be another indicator that he witnessed something violent.”
“How could I get him to talk? I need a description of whoever killed her.”
His response was cautious. “Lieutenant, this man will not be the kind of witness you’re used to. If I were you, I wouldn’t pin too much hope on getting anything useful out of him, assuming he even saw what you hope he did.”
“I realize that. But right now I have nothing.”
“Well, I wouldn’t look to Bernie for your salvation. For one thing, I can pretty much guarantee you won’t get any verbal description. I have a theory-largely unfounded, by the way-that in some cases, one’s abilities fade in the reverse order in which they were learned as an infant. Thus, the verbal skills in a patient like this would be among the least reliable. He talks a mile a minute-that’s not what I mean-but he doesn’t make much sense anymore. Just as a baby’s first words are haphazard and often erroneously linked to what it’s trying to describe.”
“So what’s that leave me?” I asked.
“Well, some of the earliest senses are touch and sound. Another is the bonding reflex. I know that Bernie was terribly attached to his daughter, and that he has an affinity for young-looking slender women with long dark hair-the way his daughter looked when he last saw her lucidly. I’ve noticed he’s more relaxed among people fitting that description. Music can be helpful also, as can the touch of a docile animal, like an older cat or dog.
“What I’m saying is that if you can get him sensorially anesthetized, he might be able to express some of what he saw. But it’s liable to be very vague, assuming it surfaces at all, and it may demand a good deal of time.”
“Is there any harm in giving it a try?”
“I can’t imagine any harm, but if he’s never met you, there’s likely to be a barrier neither one of you could overcome in a single encounter.”
“You could though,” I said flatly, “especially if I supplied the woman, the cat, and some music.”
He burst out laughing. “You certainly make it sound easy-a Shake-’n-Bake therapy session. All right, I’m willing to give it a try, but I’ll have to think about the approach a bit, visit Bernie myself, and call you back on the timing. Is that acceptable?”
“Absolutely.”
“There is one thing I’d recommend in the meantime,” he added. “If you do have a specific woman in mind, have her meet him several times before the session, and have her bring the animal. The prior exposure will be important, and while he may not remember the woman from one meeting to the next, he might recall the animal.”
“Okay,” I said, “you got it. I’ll wait to hear from you.” I hung up smiling, imagining Gail’s reaction.
Unfortunately, my good humor was short-lived. Moments later, the intercom buzzed, and Tony Brandt’s voice came over the speaker. “You better get over here, Joe. We’ve got problems.”
With memories still fresh in my mind of the earlier meeting with NeverTom, Wilson, and Nadeau, I crossed the hallway to Tony’s office with no small feeling of dread.
But although Tony was alone in his office, his expression was still grim as he waved a letter in the air. “Tom Chambers’s lawyer just sent me this, stating that unless we bring formal charges against his client, he’s going to sue the PD.”
I took a seat, depressed by how fast our stab at discretion had gone for nil. “For what?”
“That’s been left purposefully vague, but it obviously has to do with our current inquiries. What’s our status there?”
“Sammie got a subpoena this morning to grab all of Eddy Knox’s papers. She was hoping to pull him in this afternoon for the initial interrogation.”
“Does she think he’ll give us NeverTom?”
“I haven’t talked to her today. But if Tom Chambers is kicking up dust already, it sounds like Knox caught wind of what’s going on and went straight to him for help. Either that, or NeverTom heard through his own sources that we’ve been checking him out.” I pointed at the letter. “Maybe that’s a good sign. Why would NeverTom care about the smoke if there wasn’t any fire?”
“Possibly because he’s a mean-hearted son of a bitch. If he knows he’s innocent, this is a perfect opportunity to prove we’re out to drag him through the mud. And he’ll be able to pull in both Wilson and Gary Nadeau as witnesses to how uncooperative we were just a few days ago. I told you then he had something up his sleeve.”
I leaned forward and picked up the letter, scanning its contents quickly. “Does this affect our investigation?”
Tony shook his head. “It’s just a threat so far, and a bogus one at that-you can’t sue a department for making inquiries. He’s just trying to put us on the defensive. He probably also has more than a few indiscretions he doesn’t want us digging up by accident. I just wanted you to know we got his dander up. This is most likely just the opening shot, by the way. He’s perfectly capable of calling another press conference and railing at us in public. He’d have little to lose, guilty or not.”
I got up, nodding. “Okay. Thanks, Tony-keep me posted.”