Stealing a patient from a psychiatric facility is a little harder than your basic B&E. Congdon had multiple layers of security, beginning with the outside gates where a guard was posted twenty-four hours a day and the ten-foot tall iron fence enclosing the rest of the property. Then there was the building itself. Every exterior door locked from both sides and could only be opened with a security badge, except the main entrance, where visitors passed through metal detectors and checked in with another Taser-armed guard before being escorted to the appropriate room. Each floor and ward had their own entrances with their own electronic security. Not every badge opened every door. And if you happened to be trying to kidnap someone from an isolation room, no badge would work. The entrances to each seclusion unit opened with individual keys which were only held by the attendants on duty or the night security staff. Cameras in every hallway fed video back to the guard desk at the main entrance. If an emergency was spotted – like, say, someone trying to make off with a high-security patient – they could hit a button that would deadlock all doors, trapping everyone inside until the lockdown was lifted.
That was getting in. Smuggling the patient out and figuring out how to get as far away as possible without drawing attention was the other obstacle. People tended to notice stumbling mental health patients in straitjackets, even when they weren’t celebrities.
For three days I planned the rescue, making lists and detailed plans before burning the pages immediately afterward. It had to be a night job, when staff levels were the lowest. I began staying late after my shifts to catch up on paperwork and then stopped to chat with the front desk guard on my way out, pretending to be outraged at the rumors flying around about me while watching the security monitors and the pattern of the night rounds. Jason, the guard, had apparently been accused of sexual harassment once and was sympathetic in a way that made me immediately want to shower. On the third day, he told me he got off at eleven and had a growler with my name on it. We could watch Netflix and chill. I told him no thank you, marking the end of my first attempt at friendship. All in all, I called it a success.
The supplies I’d bought for the original search party were still piled in a vacant office in the administrative area, including extreme weather tents, subzero sleeping bags, and – most important of all – the locked, waterproof box filled with a random buffet of medicine: antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, cortisol steroids, every broad-spectrum pill or shot that might have provided Josiah the emergency care he needed. When we’d been preparing for the search, I’d brought the box so the associate psychiatrist could fill it and dutifully secure it with a Master No. 3 padlock, universally acknowledged as the easiest lock on the planet to pick. And, as an added bonus, the building’s security cameras were only used in patient wards. Over my three days of planning Lucas’s rescue, I exchanged ward bedding for sleeping bags, Advil for steroids, swapping items so the gear appeared intact and smuggling the supplies out one by one in the backpack I always brought to work.
On my next day off, Jasper and I took a longer than usual walk. We headed north out of Lincoln Park and started climbing the hill into nicer neighborhoods until we reached a two-story Victorian with window boxes full of spruce branches and an honest-to-God porch swing with snowflake-printed decorative pillows arranged on it. Rounding the block, we doubled back through the alley. I stopped near the house’s garage, pretending to pick up some dog poop while checking for motion in the house and then we slipped inside the gate and around to the side door. Houses in Duluth were built so close together that only the next-door neighbors could have seen me working on the lock, and luckily their blinds were closed.
I hadn’t used my lock picking skills in eight years and it wasn’t exactly like riding a bike, but luckily I’d saved my bump keys and the door was old. Closing my eyes, I put myself inside the lock, feeling the weights and springs, and tapping the bump with a screwdriver until the key turned. Jasper pushed ahead into a sun-soaked laundry room. I reined him in before he could get too far.
‘Anyone here?’ I whispered.
Jasper nosed the air and we both listened, waiting for any signs of life while my heart raced. When I broke into places as a kid, I’d never cared about getting caught; I had nothing to lose then. Now Lucas’s mind and freedom hung in the balance, and I couldn’t stop hearing his drugged, desperate voice. Don’t leave me here. Please, Maya. Please.
After a few minutes of total silence, I forced myself to relax and crept further into the house. It was like another world –
a Martha Stewart world. Curtains with gauzy stuff at the top set off the rich colors of the walls and sleek couches. Vases, books, and art filled the built-in shelves lining every room. I thought I’d done a good job with our bathroom, but every inch of this house felt manicured. The containers in the pantry had tiny chalkboards attached to their fronts that were scrawled in handwritten cursive. Red lentils. Protein powder. Each drawer had an organizer and each bin had a label. A church bulletin lay on top of an ornate-looking Bible near the fireplace. The air even smelled different here, like vinegar-dipped roses. Framed pictures of the ocean were scattered everywhere and I paused at one sitting on top of a piano.
In the picture Nurse Valerie sat at a table with a balding man as they held up some fruity drinks. They were both sunburned and smiling in that overly wide, forced way when you hold one pose for too long.
‘Hey, Val.’ I grinned at the picture and kept moving. ‘Hope you and the hubs are having fun in Cancun. Nice digs, by the way. My dad might need your advice on our kitchen.’
I checked all the coats in the front closet, the purses in her bedroom, the kitchen drawers, even the pockets in her dirty laundry. Nothing. This was a house where everything had a place, so why couldn’t I find what I was looking for?
After twenty minutes of frustrated searching, I spun toward Jasper. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
The door to Valerie’s detached garage was more exposed. I watched the nearby houses until I was sure no one was looking out their window and then Jasper and I ducked into the yard with the ring of keys that was thoughtfully hung right next to the back door. In the glove box of the Chevy Malibu I finally found the prize – her Congdon security badge, newly upgraded with isolation ward clearance.
‘Aww, Valerie.’ I dangled the strap from one finger and watched her perky photo spin as the rope untangled. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
Putting the keys back in the house, I relocked the door on my way out. I was practically skipping when I opened the gate and led Jasper back into the alley, until a man came out of the yard on the opposite side at the exact same time and did a double take when he saw me. Shit. Shit. Shit.
‘Oh, hey!’ I smiled and jogged over, pulling Jasper into a sharp heel at my side. ‘Do you know Valerie? I was supposed to meet with her today, at least I think it was today, and she’s not answering her phone.’
I scratched my temple like I was confused and made sure the stocking cap fully covered my head. As long as the maroon hair and earrings were covered, I could pass for a completely nondescript college kid, one of thousands in this town.
The neighbor looked me over, not replying, and I could sense him cataloging, judging. Jasper tugged on the leash and let out a growl, making the guy back up a step. Apologizing loudly and repeatedly, I ordered Jasper to sit and took the opportunity to duck my head, shirking away from his gaze. I glanced back at the house, as if unsure I had the right one.
‘That’s Valerie’s place, right?’
He finally spoke. ‘She and Rick are out of town.’
‘Oh crap, she’s in Cancun this week? I must have written the dates down wrong.’ I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and pretended to check it, playing it out, waiting for him to make any wrong move. If he went for his phone or backed into his yard, I was going to have to choose between knocking him out or running. This was the first real test. Surveillance, breaking and entering, stealing – that was kid’s play, literally the toys of my childhood. It hurt no one. But now this forty-something, UMD Bulldog sweatshirt–wearing guy waffling in the back alleys of the hillside was barging into my plan. Why hadn’t I stolen some jewelry or pulled out a few drawers? I could’ve at least made it seem like a random robbery if I was spotted, which would have sent the police in a different direction than Congdon. Breathing carefully, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and closed my fingers around a jagged rock. If all else had failed, I’d been prepared to break a window to get inside. Now I prepared myself for the first innocent bystander.
He seemed to ease up a bit, though, when I dropped the Cancun reference. I flashed him a self-deprecating smile. ‘She’s my mentor for this life skills program at our church. Or she’s trying to be, anyway.’
I laughed and he loosened up more, chuckling with me, a man who wasn’t going to take a rock to the head. We talked for a minute as he put his trash out, until I remarked on the cold and how I didn’t want Jasper’s paws to freeze.
‘Thanks for your help. I guess I’ll catch up with her next week.’
I pulled Jasper down the rest of the alley, acting like I was checking email or something, while adrenaline flooded my chest and Valerie’s security badge bounced comfortingly in the pocket against my hip.
The next day I went to Congdon prepared to kidnap Lucas.
It was a strange thing walking into your job – a place where you’d worked so hard, followed all the rules, and turned yourself inside out to be accepted as a professional – suddenly hoping everything went to plan so you could commit a felony. The delinquent kid inside of me was on high alert, noting every detail down to the number of clouds in the sky as I drove to Congdon. I parked and came in through the front door with a large duffel bag that immediately set off the metal detectors.
‘Hey.’ I unzipped the bag on the search table and nodded to the guard who resentfully got out of his chair at the monitoring station.
‘We’re having a jam session today. Want to come up to the third floor around three? It’s gonna be epic.’
The guard poked through the mess of tambourines, hand drums, sleigh bells, and whatever else I could find at the secondhand music store yesterday. ‘Um, I think I’ll pass.’
‘Your loss, man.’ I zipped the bag back up and flung it over my shoulder, heading for the employee locker rooms.
It was early enough that the night shift was still on, yawning into their sleeves and ready for the late winter sun to end their day. I nodded to a few of them and some even acknowledged me without smirking. Walking past the lockers, I took the bag through another exit into a stairwell and jogged down to the basement. There was no badge access down here and no video cameras as far as I could tell, so I set the duffel down and went to work on the lock. Twenty minutes later, just as I was starting to lose hope, the catch sprung and I swung the door open, peeking inside. A dim, open room housed a pile of miscellaneous furniture and on either side of the mess two hallways disappeared into blackness. I took the one leading right, mentally tracking the map of the building above me, until I got to the stairwell exit I wanted. Opening the duffel bag, I reached through to the bottom where I’d cut the lining, pulled out the tools I needed, and tucked them behind a dusty fire extinguisher.
‘See you in a few.’
Then I left the basement and started my shift.