Free The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller by Andrew E. Kaufman Page B

she thought he did it?”
    “No, and it hardly much mattered since it was all made up, anyway.”
    “I appreciate you taking the time, doctor.” I stood up, gathered my things.
    “Welcome,” he replied with an expression that revealed absolutely nothing.
    I reached over to shake his hand—it was still ice-cold—then, handing him my business card, I said, “My cell number’s there if you remember anything else.”

    He led me back down through the hallway and out toward the reception area where a guard escorted me to the elevator. Penfield was standing there, staring at me. Once again.
    “I’m going downstairs, Samuel,” she said, her eyes locked on mine, her expression bare. “I can see him out, save you the trouble.”
    Penfield watched him move down the hall and then under her breath said, “I was here when Mrs. Kingsley died.”
    I felt my heart clap twice inside my chest. Pay dirt.
    She went on, “And I don’t believe she killed herself. Never did.”
    “What are you telling me? That she was murdered?”
    “ Nurse Penfield!”
    Doctor Faraday’s voice, coming from around the corner.
    She glanced quickly in that direction, then shoved the folder into my hands. “Take this, then get lost. And I mean it! F ast !”
    I dropped the folder down to my side, could see Faraday coming around the bend.
    The elevator door opened, and I stepped inside quickly, the door closing just in time, barely revealing a nervous Penfield as she turned around to face Faraday.

Chapter Sixteen

    They say angels come in the most unexpected disguises, but who knew mine would look like Aurora Penfield? The lesson, I suppose, was never underestimate the value of a bitter and disgruntled employee.
    In my motel room, I opened the folder. Inside, were the notes—pages and pages of them—written by Faraday during Jean Kingsley’s stays at Glenview. I spread them on the bed, wondering which might hold the answers I needed.
    The doctor’s messy shorthand was hard to decipher but still clear enough to show Jean Kingsley’s downward spiral growing more pronounced during her final stay:

    June 15, 1977
    Pt. in catatonic state. Unresp @ external stimuli. No talk. Ref. to eat.

    Then:

    June 23, 1977
    Pt more respons. but disconnected @ external stimuli/reality. Aware of surroundings w/min. resp. Nurses report pt. sitting by window, rocking an imaginary baby, singing to it. Words slurred/indistinguishable. Pt. claims she’s holding her deceased son Nathan.

    Disturbing, but mild when compared with what followed next:

    Jul. 5, 1977
    Pt more alert/respon. but anxiety sig. increased. Agitated. Complaining intruder in her bed hides under sheets, touches her inappropriately. Screaming all night.

    Jul. 9, 1977
    Pt suffering from trichotillomania w/noticeable hair loss and trichophagia. Nurses rpt. pt. pulling hair out, eating it. Also found clumps around bed.

    Jul. 14, 1977
    Pt engaging in self-injurious scratching behavior @ forearms and legs. Skin broken, bleeding. Sent to infirmary @ evaluation and treatment.

    Then, toward the end of her stay:

    Jul. 29, 1977
    Pt. anxiety increase signif. Paranoid delusional. Claims someone “after her” but refus. to reveal said perp. or details because this will “turn up the heat.” Pt. speech/manner agitated.

    And around the same time, something even more interesting:

    Jul. 31, 1977
    Abrasion @ pt’s right cheek of unknwn origin. Asked about it=no response. Sent infirmary @ evaluation and treatment.

    No infirmary report in the file; nothing about the outcome there.
    I also found a few notes about Jean’s delusional state where she assumed her new identity as Bill Williams. Although the general information reflected what Faraday had told me, there were no specifics on her rants regarding Bill’s murders. That seemed odd; surely the information would have been relevant to her treatment. Faraday had refused to discuss the particulars, and now here they were, missing from the notes. I wondered