39
Lands Drive
Sunday, April 15, 10:00 a.m.
Professor Orson Blume was sixty-eight years old. Based on the rundown Tony had received from one of his few remaining friends in the Bureau, the man inherited well, which explained his million-dollar estate on Lake Sinclair. He had a wife who had recently retired, as well. No children. None of his former colleagues at the college knew what he’d been doing since he retired. Not a single one was aware of his involvement in any project connected to the old asylum. A neighbor they had questioned this morning said that Blume and his wife were out of the country on a tour of Europe for their anniversary.
If that was true, then Blume was another dead end. Joanna insisted the voice that had given the orders while they were in captivity was male. There was a remote possibility it was Conway, but Tony didn’t think so. Someone higher up the food chain would have been in control of the subjects, merchandise, whatever. Conway wasn’t nearly smart enough to hold together this complicated maze of abductions, much less conduct any sort of organized operation. His haphazardness had been evident in his home movies.
Martin/Houser? Maybe. She’d appeared far smarter than Conway, but her lifestyle had been too risky. The person behind these abductions, and whatever the hell he or she accomplished with the results, was smart. Tony was sticking with the scenario that the abductions were related to some sort of research or were episodes to be sold on the internet. His money was on the former. Those taken for making snuff flicks or fight-to-the-death gladiator-type videos didn’t typically survive. But none of the victims in question had ever popped up in known cases involving those types of abominable behavior.
It was as if the college girls were taken, used, and then released. No harm, no foul. Except for the other girls. The ones no one knew about who didn’t survive.
Tony pressed the doorbell again. The chime echoed through the house. No barking dog. No television. Like last night, there was no one home. But at least it was daylight and they could have a look around.
As if she’d read his mind, Joanna said, “I’m taking a walk around the property.” She headed down the front steps.
“Hold on. We’ll do it together.”
With the front windows blocked by plantation shutters there was no way to see inside. Maybe they’d have better luck around back. If they were caught it would be easy enough to say they’d thought the property was on the market. The one next door was for sale. So far he hadn’t seen any nosy neighbors out and about other than the ones with whom they’d spoken. Tony had flashed his invalid credentials so the neighbors shouldn’t give them any trouble.
He caught up with Joanna in the backyard. The view over the lake was peaceful, serene. He wondered how often the couple had sat on the back deck with a beer or a glass of wine and contemplated their life’s work. When he reached that age would he have a body of good work on which to reflect? Or someone with whom to celebrate and travel? Not at this rate, pal.
A dock and boat garage along with a small private beach were among the amenities that went along with the lakefront property.
If Blume was involved with this—how many young women had suffered while the bastard sat in this elegant home?
Anger roared through Tony. His niece was out there, enduring God only knew what. Shake it off. Stay on track.
There was no time to waste. What they needed to determine as quickly as possible was if Blume’s work included abducting and using young women for his own sick self-interests? Did his wife know? Was she involved, too? She was some sort of scientist. She apparently had retired from a reasonably prestigious career in the field of Cognitive Science at the University of Georgia in Athens, some seventy-five miles north of Milledgeville. With the husband’s specialization in psychology, it almost made sense that the two were in this together—if they were involved at all.
Grasping at slim leads, Tony.
Maybe he was, but it was the only lead they had left.
Joanna walked up onto the deck and peered through the towering windows that allowed the lake view into the back of the home. No shutters or drapes obstructed the key feature of the home. Since the rear of the house faced east, sunlight poured into the hearth and breakfast rooms as well as the kitchen.
She said, “The neighbor might be right about the Blumes being out of the country. It looks like they haven’t been here for a while.”
Tony picked up on the same details. The sun highlighted the fine layer of dust on the black granite counters and rich wood table. He ran his hand over the thickly cushioned back of one of the deck chairs. Dust or pollen coated, as well.
“Feels like no one’s been around for a couple of weeks.” Had they taken the girls, and then disappeared? Were they with the girls? Conducting their bizarre studies or orchestrating movieworthy scenes?
“I guess that rules out finding the victims in the basement,” Joanna offered. “I was really hoping it was almost over.”
Tony shrugged. “Maybe the victims aren’t here but, if the Blumes are involved, there could be useful information in the house.”
“The problem is, as Phelps will see it,” she offered, “there’s no true probable cause to go after a warrant.”
He nodded wearily. “That’s right.”
Joanna stared at him for a long moment. The sun highlighted the weariness in her eyes and on her face. No matter how tired she was, she still looked far younger than her thirty-six years. Especially with the T-shirt and skinny jeans she’d grabbed at Walmart. She could be one of the college seniors visiting her professor. Looking at her made Tony feel old, though he was only a year older. And exhausted.
“I’m desperate,” she said. “Am I in this alone, Agent LeDoux?”
“Former agent,” he reminded her. “And no, you’re not alone.”
She lifted her chin in challenge. “Does that mean you’re willing to break the law?”
They’d already bent it considerably. To be clear, he said, “Willing, ready and able.”
She smiled. “Let’s do this then.”
He checked the rear door. Locked. Then he checked each of the windows. The third one from the door that looked into the hearth room moved.
“There could be a security system,” she reminded him.
“Give me a minute.”
He hustled down the steps and back to the end of the house where he’d noted the electrical meter as well as other typical utilities. The power had been turned off to the house. No power, no security system. Strange though. If the Blumes were on a vacation in Europe surely they intended to return. Why turn the power off? Wouldn’t that present an issue with the insurance company?
He hustled back to the deck where Joanna waited. “Oddly enough, the power is off.”
“That’s weird, right?” She frowned. “People don’t turn the power off to go on vacation.”
“They don’t,” he agreed.
Tony raised the window and ducked inside. Joanna eased in behind him.
They moved through the downstairs rooms. Other than the recent layer of dust the home was tidy. Shelves were lined with books and photos. Artwork still hung on the walls. Drawers and cabinets contained the usual household items. But there was the distinct hint of that closed-up smell that went along with the idea that the owners had been gone for a while. Upstairs the bedrooms were in order. Clothes in the closets. Jewelry in the jewelry box. The house was stuffy without the circulation of the heating and cooling system.
Once back downstairs they headed for the basement. He’d spotted a flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers so he grabbed it en route. The door to the basement was in the hall off the kitchen. He clicked on the light and moved down the stairs. The basement was quite large. Thankfully four hopper windows lined the wall near the ceiling, allowing morning light to fill the room. He switched off the flashlight.
“Looks like they used this space as a shared office.”
“Looks that way,” she agreed.
Two large desks sat in the center of the space facing each other. Shelves lined with books covered most of the wall space. A couple of dead plants sat on the top shelf below the windows. A large, vault-style door stood at the end of the space. The digital lock was dark. No getting in there.
A file cabinet stood on either side of the door. Tony said, “Start going through the file cabinets and see if you spot any familiar names.”
Since she had kept up with all those who’d gone missing over the years it would be easier for her to pick up on any familiar names. Though he doubted Blume would be careless enough to leave important files out in the open in file cabinets without locks. He figured the vault door was for those sorts of files.
While Joanna went through the drawers crammed with file folders, Tony went through the desks. The first, the wife’s desk, was well organized. The top was neatly arranged with only a photo of the two from what appeared to be an awards ceremony. The wife held a plaque. The print was too small for him to read. The blotter pad was a crisp expanse of unmarked white. The desk drawers were uncluttered. Pens, pads, pencils and other office supplies were carefully arranged.
The husband’s desk was completely opposite the wife’s. The blotter was barely visible beneath the stacks of notepads and printed articles. He skimmed the notepads. Lecture notes. He moved to the desk drawers. More notepads, pencils, pens and other supplies—not so neatly arranged. In the bottom drawer he discovered two files. Tony sat down in the man’s chair and opened the first of the two. The notes were recent. The files were not college students but those of patients at the forensic hospital for the violent, criminally insane still operating on the old asylum property. Apparently Blume had consulted on the two cases. So maybe this was the involvement his resource had meant.
Tony read over the notes related to a number of private sessions Blume conducted with the two inmates. Using his cell phone, he snapped a photo of the next of kin information for the two patients. Questioning the patients wouldn’t be easily accomplished but talking to family would be simple enough. He might not have bothered at all except the patients were a part of the pockets of activities Griffin had mentioned still taking place on the property.
“I may have something,” Joanna said.
Tony put the two files back into the drawer and joined her at the file cabinet on the right side of the vault door. She pointed to a heading on one of the folders. Test Subjects 1-10.
All the files that would have been behind that heading were missing.
“So he’s either taken the files someplace else or he’s destroyed them,” Joanna offered.
“We can’t be sure he’s the one. These files may be his wife’s. And they might not have anything to do with what we’re searching for.”
She looked at him. “Videos. We should search the whole house for videos.”
“You make a good partner, Jo,” he confessed.
She looked away, closed the file drawer. “Thanks.”
“You don’t mind if I call you Jo?”
She shook her head, met his gaze. “I guess, if we’re partners, I should call you Tony.”
He smiled. As tired as he was, it felt good to smile. “You should.”
They went through the office first. They checked each shelf, each book. No hidden files. No hidden videos. Room by room, the first floor, then the second, they moved through the house. Not one file or video was tucked away. The search stole more than an hour.
“What we do have,” Tony offered when she looked crestfallen, “are the names of family members for two patients Professor Blume was treating or consulting on at the forensic hospital still operating at the asylum. Maybe we can get some idea of the kind of work he’s doing from the families.”
Jo countered, “Or maybe the neighbor is right and the Blumes are over in Europe seeing the sights. Or maybe they took a detour and are in Barbados soaking up the sun.”
She looked ready to pull out her hair.
He cocked his head and pretended to ponder their dilemma. “As soon as I find my niece, I’m thinking I’m way overdue for a vacation. Barbados sounds perfect.”
“Just promise you’ll take me with you.”
Before he could tell her that he had already considered extending the invitation, she walked out of the house and down to the car. From the front door Tony watched her settle into the passenger seat. He hoped like hell for his niece’s sake—for Jo’s sake—that he had one more hero card left in him.
As they drove away from the Blume residence, she said, “Tell me about this Nick Shade you called. I know Gentry is a detective. You told me what happened to her.”
Tony wasn’t sure a week would be enough time to explain to her who Nick Shade was. He had single-handedly turned the Bureau on its ear. They’d watched him for years, primarily because of his connection to Dr. Randolph Weller—a serial killer and the man who raised Nick. Tony and Nick had become allies of sorts when the Storyteller returned to Montgomery for the one that got away—Bobbie Gentry.
“Nick is a whole different kind of animal.” Tony made the turn onto the highway. “He was raised by Dr. Randolph Weller, a renowned psychiatrist and a serial killer, one of the most heinous and prolific in recent history. He murdered more than forty people, including his own wife, and orchestrated the murders of numerous others. Nick was the one to discover his secret life and to turn him over to the cops.”
“Good for Nick, but that had to be tough for him to get past.”
“He had it rough for a while, that’s true. What he did was dedicate his life to finding monsters like Weller, particularly the ones no one else can find. He’s saved a lot of lives and brought countless serial killers to justice.”
“Do you think he can help us find Blume or whoever is orchestrating these abductions?”
“I believe he can help. He’s like a natural-born profiler. He can instinctively feel what the rest of us struggled for years to learn.” Tony had concluded that truth had been part of the problem with him and Nick in the beginning. Tony had felt threatened by him. He was human. He’d worked long and hard to reach a high point in his career and Nick came into it with nothing more than his instincts. He was one of the few people Tony counted as a friend.
“I hope he can help.”
Tony nodded. He was counting on Nick. Time was running out way too fast.
Merry Drive, 11:45 a.m.
Virginia Ruley was more than happy to talk. She invited Tony and Jo into her home and promptly proceeded to let it all out.
“My brother Eli was a sick man, there’s no denying that fact,” she said. “But what someone in that place did to him was just wrong.”
“Who is it you believe did these things?” Tony asked since she didn’t mention Blume by name.
She shrugged. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
Beside him, Jo sagged with defeat. They needed a connection to Blume, not another going-nowhere lead.
Tony asked, “Can you tell us what sort of things you mean?”
“Damn straight I can,” Ruley piped up. “It’s not like I can’t talk about it. The lawsuit was dismissed. Since I’m not getting nothing for what that place put him through, I might as well tell anyone who asks what they’re doing out there.”
Tony exchanged a look with Jo.
“They were bombarding Eli with videos. No one was supposed to know. The hospital claimed Eli signed, giving permission to do all this experimental stuff, but I don’t believe he would ever have imagined that it would be videos of people hurting each other. Murdering and maiming. It was sickening.”
“You saw these videos?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Eli told me about them. He said they worked him up something fierce but then they made him calmer. Said he didn’t have no desire no more to hurt nobody, just wanted to watch other people doing it. I was glad for him but I found it disgusting.”
“Did he say if it was men or women in the videos?” Jo asked, her voice hollow.
“Women. Young ones. He said it looked as real as anything he’d ever seen.”
“So you confronted his doctor about this?” Tony asked.
“Sure did. He said I must have misunderstood. But I knew Eli wouldn’t lie to me. Why would he make up such a thing? Didn’t make a lick of sense.”
“Who was your brother’s primary physician at the hospital?” Tony needed a name.
“Dr. Lance McLarty.” She shook her head. “He had a car accident right after I filed the lawsuit. Killed the bastard.”
McLarty. Tony hadn’t noticed the name in any of Blume’s notes. Interesting that, like Dr. Alexander, he died in an automobile accident. “The lawsuit was dismissed despite your brother’s statements?”
She nodded resignedly. “He had a heart attack right after I went to see a lawyer. So I didn’t have no evidence except my word and that was considered hearsay since the person who said it was dead.”
“Did any other doctors work with your brother?” Jo asked. “Do you know a Dr. Blume?”
Tony wished she hadn’t mentioned Blume’s name. They needed the facts, not supposition. If Blume had been involved with what this woman—a potential witness—knew, she would have said so. Leading her to what they wanted to hear was the wrong move.
The older woman perked up. “Do you mean Professor Blume from out at the college?”
Jo nodded as if she had realized her mistake.
“Oh yes, he was so kind. A friend of mine who works over at the college suggested I talk to him. He went over to talk to my brother about two months ago. He wanted to help. But my brother died pretty quick after that so I was too late. Professor Blume told me how sorry he was and that he’d see what he could find out anyway, but I never heard from him again.”
Tony’s hopes hit rock bottom again. Ruley certainly wanted to see Blume as the angel of mercy or hero of sorts, but was he the reason her brother had the heart attack? Didn’t help the investigation that the persons of interest kept dying on them.
Jo asked, “Were there any other patients that you’re aware of who had a similar experience at the hospital?”
“I talked to another woman, Geneva Corliss,” Ruley said. “She was a patient in the hospital for a while. She claimed they did stuff to her but she couldn’t remember much. She was seventy and never had any problems with her memory until her stay at that hospital. She was bedridden and dying of cancer. That’s why she got out. But she refused to talk to the lawyer about it. Then she died. As you can see I didn’t have no choice but to let it go.”
“You’ve been through a terrible ordeal,” Tony offered. “Did you ever speak with Professor Blume outside the hospital? In a private office perhaps?”
So far they hadn’t found one, past or present.
“No. He hadn’t seen patients for years, spent all his time helping the kids at the college. What he did for me was mostly a favor.”
“Did you know his wife?” Tony asked.
Orson Blume wasn’t the only Dr. Blume. Tony might be grasping at straws but he wasn’t about to overlook any aspect of this flimsy lead. It was the only one they had at this point.
Ruley shook her head. “Can’t say that I do. He wore a wedding ring so I presumed he had a wife but he never mentioned her and I never asked. I only met with him once but he spoke to Eli twice.”
Had Dr. Blume, the professor, walked blindly into a situation that sent he and his wife fleeing to Europe? Maybe their vacation had been about escaping the trouble he’d unknowingly stepped into. Or this could simply be another dead end.
“Mrs. Ruley,” Jo said, “were you aware of any other unusual treatments conducted in the area? Maybe in another of the buildings on the old asylum property?”
“I’m seventy-five years old,” Ruley said, “and I’ve known people who were patients out there back in the late sixties and early seventies. I even talked to a few who had kin who was sent to that place way before that. What I can tell you is that nothing good ever comes outta that place. The patients suffered unimaginable horrors. From little kids on up to old people, it was like a mad scientist was running the place, trying to create his own versions of monsters like in the old movies.”
“That’s all closed down now though,” Tony offered, trying to wrap his head around looking at the Blume situation from an entirely different angle. “There’s not much happening out there anymore.”
Ruley made a harrumphing sound. “So they say, but I hear rumors about all the secrets still buzzing around out there, like black flies after a rotting carcass. If I was you, I’d stay away from that place.”
“I heard those missing girls were being held there somewhere,” Jo suggested.
“I wouldn’t doubt it a bit.” Ruley bobbed her chin. “This town, for all its Old South, genteel ways, has that awful place right in the middle of it. Like a cancer sprouting right up from the heart. I don’t think we’ll be free of that nightmare until they tear down the last building and leave the dead to rest in peace.”
Tony stood. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Ruley.”
Jo followed suit, thanking the lady again.
The elderly woman saw them to the door and wished them luck. Tony had a feeling they were going to need it. Worry that he wouldn’t be able to find his niece in time nagged at him.
“They did that to us.” Jo stared at him across the top of the car.
“They did what to you?” Tony braced for more news about what his niece might be enduring to haunt him.
“The movies—images of people murdering other people. It was crazy and intense and all around us like the very walls, even the floor and ceiling, were one big movie screen.” She shuddered. “It went on for days. But it was the screaming and moaning that was the worst. It was as if they wanted to desensitize us to the images and sounds.”
Tony absorbed the information and filed it with the rest for later dissection. “Thank you for telling me. Anything you remember could be useful. Any connection to what happened to you could be relevant.”
She nodded. “There’s so much I buried. I hadn’t thought of that until today.”
As they loaded into the BMW, she asked, “What now?”
“I think it’s time to go to Phelps and give him our theories and see if he’s willing to follow up on what Blume was looking into and how the hospital ties into it. At this point, we might get more done working with the locals rather than around them.”
Tony had thought he could come in here, work his magic and all would turn out the way he wanted, but that wasn’t happening. The unsub—presumably Blume or someone he knew—hadn’t made a new move since Tiffany and Vickie went missing. He was lying low and biding his time. What did that mean for the victims—like his niece? Had they simply been left to die? Fear coiled like a hissing snake in his gut. Tiffany and Vickie could be tucked away somewhere with no water or food while this sick son of a bitch waited for the heat to pass.
Tony had to find him.
There appeared to be three certainties in all this—the college, the clinic and the tie to the old asylum. The victims were plucked from the college. Jo had admitted that it was possible they were held on the old Central State asylum property. Blume was a logical connection. His work at the college and then his investigation of patient treatment issues at the hospital on the Central State property. It had to be him.
He’d had the file on both patients Mrs. Ruley mentioned in his desk, her brother and the Corliss woman. Had Professor Blume accidentally stumbled across the person behind the abductions who also abused patients at the hospital?
How the hell would they lure the bastard out of hiding?
It was damned hard to find a monster whose tracks ended at the edge of the forest.