A Multitude of Sins (17 page)

Kerr stiffened. “The truth is seldom simple when you’re dealing with unstable minds, and with Isadora you’ll admit the instability has been amply demonstrated.”

“Has it?” Then he shrugged. “I’ll admit
something
has been demonstrated. Fortunately,
my
judgment wasn’t clouded with preconceptions about her mental equilibrium.”

“Clouded? Really, that’s hardly appropriate—”

“Doctor, Isadora hired me to find out why she’s being followed and by whom. Before questioning her sanity, I began
investigating
her story. That included hiring three operatives to assist me. I can assure you she is in fact under full-time surveillance by two men, one of whom drives a red Ford, any symbolism being purely coincidental. Their names are Albert Hicks and Roger Garner, and they’re employed by the Worth Detective Agency in Salem. They’ve also bugged the phone at the Canfield beach house, and today someone went to the trouble of tailing
me
from Holliday Beach.”

Milton Kerr’s professional façade crumbled; he stared at Conan, open-mouthed, the color draining from his face. “What are you saying? Do you mean—”

“I mean Dore was telling the simple truth. Forgive me for testing you, but perhaps now you can understand why I consider your diagnosis so crucial. If you’d been asked to testify in court on her mental competence, what would your expert opinion have been?”

Kerr sagged back into his chair.

“Well…
on the basis of the data previously available to me I…suppose I’d have testified that her mental competence was at least in doubt.” He paused, frowning. “But that data still hasn’t been negated.”

“No, it hasn’t, but weren’t you diagnosing the surveillance as paranoia? I’m only saying that the data on which you based your original diagnosis might also bear investigation. And please keep in mind that Dore is heir to an estate valued in the millions.” Then he gave Kerr a slanted smile. “If you’d like to test
me,
I suggest you call Steve Travers at State Police headquarters.”

Kerr was still pale, his expression distinctly anxious as he reached for the phone.

“Mr. Flagg, I’ll take that suggestion.”

Conan gave him the number, then left his chair to go to the bookshelves. This was only in part to give the doctor a semblance of privacy for his call. He was looking for a particular book, and knowing Kerr had studied with Lawrence Decker, he wasn’t surprised to find it here. He opened it to the title page.
Experiments with Psychotomimetic Drugs.

When at length he heard the click of the receiver, he returned to his chair and casually put the book on the desk.

“I have a copy of this myself; first edition and autographed. One of my most prized possessions.”

Kerr only glanced at it, but his eyes narrowed speculatively. Then he leaned back, regarding Conan with the subdued sobriety of a man stripped of a cherished delusion.

“Mr. Travers bears you out entirely. It occurs to me, as I’m sure it has to you, that Isadora may be the victim of some sort of conspiracy. I’m well aware that an appalling number of people are committed to mental hospitals to serve someone else’s purposes. But I can’t act on a possibility.”

There was still a hint of skeptical challenge in that, but Conan was satisfied.

“I can’t give you any concrete evidence at this point. I need more information; that’s why I’m here.”

“I’ll help if I can, of course, but I hope you understand I can’t divulge privileged communications.”

“I doubt the information I need falls under that heading. I’m interested in events, primarily. I just want to know what happened while Isadora was here.”

“All right, Mr. Flagg. Just a moment.” He reached for the intercom. “Miss Dorn, bring me Isadora Canfield’s file, please.”

Miss Dorn, the blue-haired receptionist, proved to be a woman of exemplary efficiency; she produced the file in less than two minutes. When she retired, Dr. Kerr opened the folder with a reluctant sigh.

“What in particular did you want to know?”

“I’m not sure in particular. Let’s start with Dore’s admission.”

“Very well.” He frowned at the file. “We sent an ambulance out in response to a call from Mrs. Canfield. Isadora was taken immediately to Emergency where Dr. Hayward treated her for a severe viral infection and her injuries; the cuts on her wrists, which were, fortunately, superficial.”

“Do you know if she said anything to Dr. Hayward?”

“Nothing coherent enough for him to understand; I questioned him. She was under heavy sedation when she arrived.”

“When did you first see her?”

“Early the next morning. She thought she was in the university infirmary and had no memory of her father’s death. I deferred further questioning and put her on a no-visitors status because of her illness, but when her stepbrother arrived, I let him talk to her for a few minutes.”

“Was Catharine or Jenny with him?”

“No. In fact, they visited her only once, a few days later. Isadora asked that I not allow them to return.”

Conan smiled at that. “Did she say why?”

“No, but she’s obviously quite antagonistic toward her stepmother, which isn’t unusual, and she’s transferred some of this antagonism to Jenny.”

“Did you talk to Jenny?”

“Yes, later I talked to all the family privately.”

“What did you think of her?”

He considered the question, or perhaps Conan’s motives for asking it.

“I think she has some very serious problems of her own, and frankly, I wish I could help her, but I can’t until she’s ready to reach out for help.”

Conan nodded. “I understand Jim was quite faithful in his visits to Dore.”

“Yes. I think that more than anything else helped her recover as well as she did from her father’s death.”

“Did Bob Carleton visit her at any time?”

“Carleton? Oh—the attorney. Only once. That is, he came here with the intention of seeing her. He had some legal papers which needed her signature.”

“Legal papers? When she was in a mental hospital?”

“I questioned that myself. He said they were routine; without them the probation of the will would be delayed.”

“Doctor, I know the will was probated with no delays.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. At any rate, Isadora refused to see him or accept his calls.”

“I see. Did she have any more hysterical outbursts like the one that occurred the night her father died?”

Kerr turned a typewritten sheet in the folder.

“Yes. That first morning. Uncontrollable hysteria and hallucinations; a fairly typical schizoid attack. Unfortunately, I was occupied with another emergency at the time. Dr. Hayward gave her a Thorazine injection. She still had a high fever, so she may have had some delirium, although Jim said she was quite calm when he saw her earlier.”

“Were there any other attacks?”

“Yes, the next day, in fact, while Jim was visiting her. He said she asked why her father didn’t come see her. He tried to make excuses—I’d asked him not to tell her about his death—but apparently she guessed something was wrong.”

“Were you present when this second attack occurred?”

He sighed. “No. At the time I was testifying at an HEW hearing. After that there were no more attacks, but no return of her memory. By the end of the week, I felt she’d recovered enough physically to be told about her father. I asked Jim to do it, but in my presence.”

“How did she react to it?”

“Very strongly, of course, but she remained entirely rational. A week later I began analytic sessions with her. She was very cooperative, although the memory block on her father’s death persisted.”

“Isn’t that memory block unusually strong?”

“Perhaps, but it’s not an uncommon response to grief.”

“Did you try to break it?”

“Yes, of course, but only with analytic techniques. Perhaps later I’ll go to drugs or hypnosis, but she isn’t ready for that yet.”

Conan frowned. “That readiness might prove a costly luxury for her. Did she have any other visitors or calls?”

Kerr checked the file. “No. Of course, both Isadora and her family were reluctant to let anyone, even her friends, know she was in a mental hospital.”

“I had a taste of that reluctance. Were there any unusual occurrences at all? Not necessarily anything that would go into your records; something you might remember.”

He gave the question long and serious consideration. “No. In fact, Isadora’s history here was remarkably uneventful. She was an ideal patient, and there were no outside factors to cause any setbacks. When I learned about the beach cottage, and Jenny agreed to stay there with her, I was convinced full recovery was only a matter of time.”

Conan nodded absently. “Doctor, this might fall under the heading of privileged communication, but it’s extremely important. Did she ever tell you anything at all about what happened when she found her father’s body?”

“No. I could never get her past the conscious memory of the library door. I can’t shed any light on what actually happened that night.”

“I was afraid of that. I talked to Ben Meade, the young man who took her home that night. He left before she went into the library, so he couldn’t shed much light, either, but he did give me one puzzling piece of information.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“When he left her, she said she was going in immediately to talk to her father. That was at 12:30, according to Ben. But Mrs. Canfield said she first heard Dore screaming at 1:15. Can you suggest any explanation for that forty-five-minute time lapse?”

Kerr frowned. “Is Meade absolutely sure of the time?”

“Yes. He may be lying, but if not, I’d like to know what happened in that forty-five minutes.”

The doctor fumbled for an answer, brows drawn, and there was little conviction in his response.

“Well, I suppose she may have fainted; finding him dead would be a tremendous shock. But to remain unconscious so long would be highly unusual.”

“I’d probably be satisfied with that except for the surveillance—among other things. And her reactions to her father’s death are strange. It’s more than grief; it’s fear.”

“It
is
quite intense, but there could be many explanations for that. Guilt, for instance.”

“The universal solvent? By the way, did she discuss her aversion for snakes with you?”

“At some length, and I consider it a true phobia.”

“Did she mention any aural hallucinations?”

Kerr hesitated. “No, and that surprised me.”

“Rather atypical, but I didn’t find it surprising.” He smiled slightly at Kerr’s raised eyebrow. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Doctor. I have only one more question. Do you have any reason to think Isadora might take addictive or hallucinogenic drugs?”

He shook his head decisively. “No. I think it highly unlikely she ever has or ever will. Her emotional needs are quite different from those that usually lead to drug abuse.”

Conan rose and took a business card from his breast pocket. Under his name he’d added the special line number.

“If you need to contact me, please use this number. And thank you for your help.”

“You have my number.” Then Kerr added in a chastened tone, “I’ve been guilty of bad judgment, and I hope Isadora can forgive that. She’s still my patient; I want to help her.”

“Doctor, she may need all the help she can get.”

The drive back from Salem was a scenic feast in any season, but with the heavy traffic, it seemed almost interminable. Friday, and the weekend exodus from the inland cities to the beaches was even worse than usual; it was also the beginning of spring vacation.

When Conan finally achieved the refuge of home, he indulged himself with a light bourbon and water, well iced, and retired to the library. He pulled the transparent inner drapes against the afternoon glare, looking up at the cloud-mottled sky. The forerunners, he thought, his gaze shifting down to the storm clouds gathering at the horizon.

He went to the desk, and it wasn’t until he had the compartment open and the phone out that he realized he’d been purposely avoiding the Knight.

He looked at it now, thinking of its enigmatic creator. Can a soul cased in armor reach out for help?

The buzzing of the phone startled him; he picked up the receiver with a terse, “Hello.”

“Well, you must’ve been right on top of the phone.”

He smiled and relaxed as he reached for his glass.

“Almost, Sean. I tried to call you earlier; I was in Salem, but I couldn’t track you down.”

“I was probably out shopping. The toughest part of this assignment so far has been finding a decent maid’s uniform. Look, I’m in a phone booth, so it’s safe to talk.”

“I hope no one’s waiting for the phone. I had a very informative trip, and I’d better tell you about it.”

“Nobody’s beating on the door. Let me get my notebook.”

He spent the next twenty minutes filling her in and answering questions. She was openly and gratifyingly amazed that he’d breached the walls of Morningdell.

“You’ve had a busy day,” she said when he finished. “I haven’t much to show in comparison, except I’m all set to begin my domestic duties at the Canfield house tomorrow.”

“Any problems?”

“No. Maud got her ‘emergency’ call and set up the substitution with Catharine. I guess she couldn’t care less. Anyway, I report to Mrs. Blackstone at ten tomorrow morning.”