left. They’ll be returned upon your departure. Someone will take you back directly.”
They had barely sat down in chairs with splitting cushions when an orderly was buzzed into the office. She unlocked a thick metal door separating it from the waiting room and beckoned for them to follow her.
Trembley looked like he wanted to ask her a question but Jessie shook her head. The less they spoke to people other than Petra, the less they revealed their hand. She’d learned the hard way that in places like this, it was often hard to know who could be trusted.
The orderly led them down a long hallway with cement walls and thick windows. They emerged in what looked to be some kind of recreation room. There was a television in one corner, a ping-pong table by the window, and several card tables where various residents were doing crafts or playing games.
The orderly proceeded through the room and unlocked a second door that led into a wing labeled as the “long-term care unit.” They stopped at a nurses’ station, where the orderly handed a sheet of paper to a nurse behind the counter and walked back the way she came. The nurse looked at the paper, then glanced down the hall at a fifty-something woman in scrubs leaning against a wall, scrolling through her phone. She had thin gray hair and tired eyes.
“Lenore,” the first nurse called out, “Beth’s visitors are here.”
Lenore looked up, saw Jessie and Trembley, and smiled.
“Beth is excited to see you,” she said warmly, walking over.
“That’s better than the alternative,” Jessie said as she shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Jessie Hunt. This is Detective Alan Trembley.”
“I know who you are, Ms. Hunt. You’re a true crime celebrity. I’d follow you on Instagram if you had an account.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said, equal parts amused, astonished, and embarrassed. “I had a little issue with my social media being hacked. So I just got rid of all of it.”
“I know all about that, girl,” she said. “Your crazy ex tried to make it seem like you were in the KKK or something. I can’t believe anybody fell for that.”
“You’d be surprised,” Jessie told her.
“Probably right. People are stupid,” Lenore said emphatically. “So why don’t you, me, and the strong silent fella there go over the ground rules.”
“Sounds good,” Jessie said. She liked Lenore more with each passing second.
“Beth’s a little on the fragile side,” Lenore told them. “Sometimes she’s just fine, chatting away about this or that. Then something might set her off. Lots of times I have no idea what it was. But she’ll get scared or paranoid or just kind of go a little bit catatonic. If that happens, your chat is probably over. She tends to take a few hours to come back from that sort of thing. So my best advice is, don’t upset her too much.”
“Does she know we’re here to talk about a murder or who the victim is?” Trembley asked.
“Lord, no, young man. Hell, I didn’t even know for sure what this was about until right now and I wouldn’t have told her if I did. She knows Jessie Hunt wants to talk to her. That’s about it. That’s what’s got her giddy. She watches TV too, you know.”
“Shall we see her then?” Jessie asked, anxious to get started.
“Let’s do that,” Lenore said. “She’s waiting in the safe room.”
“The safe room?” Trembley repeated.
“Yep. It’s larger than her residence room so she won’t feel as closed in. We use it for visits, group sessions, that sort of thing. The floor and walls are made of cork so they’re a little on the soft side, in case someone has an outburst. And it’s surrounded by Plexiglas windows, so the staff can monitor residents and anticipate…unwanted behaviors.”
“Will we be in there alone?” Trembley asked.
“That’s up to you. If you prefer, we can make it happen. But you’ll have to sign a liability waiver, in case she scratches your eyes out or something.”
“Has that ever happened?” Trembley wondered, trying to sound blasé.
“Not with Beth…yet,” Lenore told him, clearly enjoying messing with him before getting serious. “I’ve been here for four years and I’ve never known her to even raise her voice, much less do something violent. She’s a damaged young lady, but that damage tends to express itself internally, not out in the world. She’s here for her own protection, not ours.”
Nonetheless, they signed the waivers and rounded the corner, where Beth Stanard was standing in the safe room, staring