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“I don’t have an appetite.” A glint of humor entered her voice. “But I’ve learned enough about the care and feeding of Hayes Moreland to be certain you’ll require refueling soon.”
Unperturbed, he went to the kitchen and took out the leftover sandwiches and soup to reheat. When it was ready, he’d pressure her to eat something, even if she could just manage soup. Traumatic experiences often led to physical side effects, aside from the expected soreness and stiffness that would set in. And although Reese appeared to be holding up like a champ, it wasn’t a matter of if those effects would happen.
It was when.
Hayes wasn’t completely successful.Reese hadn’t eaten much before setting the rest of the meal aside. There were faint smudges below her eyes, and bruises blooming along her face below the bandage. They’d split up her brother’s medical reports between them, his pile substantially smaller than hers. He’d jotted notes as he’d worked through the pages, sharing them as they went, explaining medication changes and therapies. She’d said little except to ask him questions about a med or term she was reading. If anything, she seemed to wilt as the hours passed, her face growing paler. Long before he would have dared suggest it, Reese finally put down the report she was reading and announced she was turning in.
His phone dinged next to him, and he picked it up. A message from Adam.
Jocelyn Benson. Hewitt, Lovell, & Tenney, LA office. She’ll call Reese at 9 & be there at 1 Monday.
Hayes sent a thumbs-up emoji and set aside the report he was reading to research the attorney. What he found had his brows rising. Among Benson’s clients in the last three years were a Hollywood studio head accused of murdering his wife in front of multiple witnesses, a janitor charged with the rape and beheading of the CEO of the company he worked for, and a couple accused with conspiracy against the federal government, assault, and firearms violations. Her win record was nothing less than stratospheric.
It’d be a bit like using an elephant gun on a mosquito, but Hayes was sure that was the point. Usher would be familiar with her name, maybe even recognize her from TV. She’d serve as more deterrent than defense, a caution flag thrown.
His cell rang in his hand, and Hayes checked the screen. Jennings. Answering, he said, “You’re working late, Detective.”
“I’ve been home for hours, but it’s been a helluva day. Why’d you want to know about McNulty’s contacts? You expecting to see something in the records?”
“I’d like to know what brought him to that diner this morning.”
“Asked him the same thing myself, multiple times.” The detective’s voice was sour. “He continues to proclaim he was never there. But he received a call about seventeen minutes before Reese Decody was assaulted this morning. I traced the number to his stepmother, who he’s been living with for four months. The call lasted about two minutes. He said she wantedto make sure he was out of bed because she’d left a list of chores for him. We found that list when we searched this afternoon. We have an interview set up with the stepmom tomorrow morning. Guessing she’ll verify same.”
“Lorna Eckworth.”
“Yep. It’s her residence.”
“Let me give you a little backstory.” Hayes briefly filled him in on Reese’s contested application for conservatorship and Eckworth’s presence in the diner that morning.
There was a pause as Jennings digested that. “Seems like a helluva coincidence. I’ll grill her about it tomorrow. We did find a key to those padlocks on the vacant building McNulty drove Reese to. Discovered it in an breath mint tin buried against the structure several feet from the back entrance. Just got the word a half hour ago—McNulty’s prints are all over it. That should be enough for me to get a warrant to look inside.”
“I appreciate the update, Detective.”
He heard the yawn in the other man’s voice. “Sure. I may have more after talking to Eckworth. And we still have the traffic camera footage around the diner and abandoned structure to go through. Reese’s interview from yesterday has been transcribed. If she wants to read it over for accuracy and sign it, she can swing by the station tomorrow. Ask at the front desk for it.”
Thanking him, Hayes signed off, rubbed his eyes, and picked up the report he’d been reading. He’d jotted notes on a neon-colored sticky pad that Reese could add to her wall, but right now, he had more questions than answers.
Although Ben Decody’s diagnosis had remained stable in the last seven years of reports he’d read, his medications and therapies had not. Expenses had risen dramatically. He assumed that was what had concerned Julia Backworth enough to start getting more actively involved as his conservator. But Ben’s downward spiral was documented in the reports, beginningwith a hospitalization for NMS, a potentially life-threatening illness that required a halt to antipsychotic medications. That would explain the ever-changing meds since that time, with a documented difficulty in reaching the ideal dosage.
Hayes set aside the sheets he’d finished and dug through Reese’s stack for the earliest records. He could get a clearer picture of Ben’s progression over the years if he could see the initial diagnosis when he was first admitted to Tranquility Lakes.
He settled back and began to read, quickly observing that by fourteen, Ben had already racked up a long history of conflicting diagnoses: borderline personality disorder, delusion disorder, schizotypal personality disorder, paranoia and psychosis, bipolar… His brows rose. Reese’s parents must have struggled mightily to manage their son’s behavior.
Hayes skimmed the first few intake reports, noting that Tranquility Lakes hadn’t been the first residential facility to serve Ben. The boy must have been—he mentally calculated—nineteen when he was transferred there. He leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Reading more carefully, he focused on the initial doctor’s assessment of the then-teen. A few minutes later, a vise squeezed his chest.
In the midst of conflicting diagnoses and treatments, one dynamic has remained constant: Ben suffers from longtime paranoid delusions, the most vivid of which involves his younger sister, Reese. Although his parents report that he demonstrated indifference to his sibling as a baby, that behavior changed as the girl aged. By the time she was two, he grew increasingly intolerant of her presence in the house and appeared convinced that she wasn’t his sister but an evil spirit sent to kill Ben so she could have their parents to herself. His mother and fatherrevealed that when Reese was a toddler, they grew so concerned that they vigilantly attempted to keep the children apart when possible and to never leave Ben alone with her.
Even with their efforts, Reese suffered several traumatic injuries over the next few years, including a fall from a treehouse, resulting in a broken foot and concussion; broken fingers from having a door slammed on them; a serious tumble down the stairs, causing a fractured wrist; several incidents of stitches from being struck by thrown objects; a fall from a bike, breaking her ulna; and culminating in a near-drowning in the bathtub. Ben was the cause of these and a long series of other injuries. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Decody decided a residential setting for Ben would be in the best interests of both of their children.
Upon entering this facility, Ben maintains a steady and violent antipathy toward his sibling, blaming her for the loss of their parents’ love and expulsion from his home. Years of therapy and medication prior to his admission have not mitigated these delusions, and indeed, Ben appears firmly entrenched in the idea that Reese is a demon sent to destroy their family.
Lowering the report, he stared into the room, working on stanching his savage, visceral response. Good God, Reese had been lucky to survive her childhood. By all accounts, her parents had done everything right. Except for waiting until Ben had almost killed her before taking the final vital step of removing him from her life.
Driven to move, Hayes surged to his feet, going to the front window to widen two slats of the blind to look out at the street below. He was well aware of what that sort of childhood abuse could do to a tender psyche. Despite what she’d endured, she’d grown into a strong, gutsy woman. Smart, talented, and independent to a fault. After all she’d gone through, and then losing her parents as a teen, what sort of twisted, vengeful fate would have placed her in Stephen Thorne’s path?
He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, wishing he hadn’t happened upon the information. He’d feel empathy for anyone who’d suffered as she did, but he also recognized that emotion could cloud his judgment.
His mind jeered at the thought. After dealing with his father and Eden all his life, honesty was crucial to him as an adult. And that included being honest with himself. Reese had made an indelible impression on him at their tragic first meeting, forged in adrenaline, guilt, and fear. Enough so that he’d volunteered for this assignment. Adam usually contracted out personal protection details. But when Hayes had heard Thorne had escaped—that he’d already been sighted near her apartment—he’d felt a compulsion to finish the job he’d started eighteen months ago.