most dangerous of our patients,” Mr. Hudson said. “Ones who have a history of violence against others. It’s also where convicts who we are assessing or treating are held. Suicidal patients are housed in another section for twenty-four-hour monitoring.”
The second they crossed through the double doors, the atmosphere changed. The space felt cold, isolated, closed off from the world. Ellie had the fleeting thought that this was the stuff horror movies were made of, creepy dungeons where one could easily make an unwanted family member disappear.
An armed guard greeted them, and the rooms had metal doors that were locked, offering no light from the hallway.
Ellie wouldn’t survive being shut in like that.
The sound of someone screaming and another person banging on a closed door made her stomach twist into knots.
The director used his key card to unlock the door, gesturing that they could go in. Inside, the walls were bare, concrete and painted a faded pea-green. The floors were a cold, rough cement and there wasn’t a single window. Other than the cot with a sheet and thin blanket on it, the room was bare. Scratches made by human fingernails marred the walls, and dark copper stains streaked the area near the door, as if Vinny had tried to claw his way out.
“Our people searched the room for some sign as to where Vinny might go, but found nothing,” the director said.
Ellie pulled on gloves, then crossed the space, checking below the bed and under the mattress while Derrick searched the closet. Three pairs of sweatpants, the strings removed, and t-shirts that had seen better days hung in the closet.
Turning in a wide arc, Ellie glanced up at the ceiling. A vent was directly above the bed. Climbing on top of it, she tried to reach it, but she was too short.
“Let me.” Derrick stepped onto the bed, stood on tiptoe, then pulled out a pocketknife. Flipping it open, he used the tip of one of the tools to loosen the screws.
Dust floated down from the ceiling as he removed the vent, then he raked his hand on the inside. Seconds later, he removed a folder and handed it to Ellie.
Her breath caught as she opened it. There were dozens of articles about her and the Ghost case. Her parents and their arrest. Hiram in shackles and chains as he’d been escorted into the courthouse to be arraigned. And pictures of the small graves where the girls had been found.
Below them, she discovered a series of crude sketches of women who’d been tied down and gagged, lying in the brush and wilderness. Women who looked as if they’d been beaten to death.
Another one was a close up of Ellie at Hiram’s arraignment. An X had been drawn across her face in blood-red lipstick.
Seventy
“He’s coming for me,” Ellie said, her voice riddled with contempt.
“That’s not going to happen,” Derrick assured her, his hands knotting into fists.
Ellie lifted a skeptical brow, and he grimaced, pushing a business card toward the director of the hospital. “Send Holcomb’s medical files to me.”
“We can’t do that without a warrant,” Hudson said.
“You’ll have one by the time you pull them together. What else you can tell me about Mr. Holcomb? Did he have visitors? Family?”
“His mother washed her hands of him when he was committed. Apparently, she’d been through years of trying to help him, but he’d go on and off his meds. When he’s off them, he’s psychotic and violent. His physical attack against her led him here.”
“Did he have contact with anyone outside the hospital, or perhaps a staff member who might have helped him escape?”
“My staff have been questioned and cleared. As far as mail and outside correspondence, Vinny didn’t receive any.”
“I assume you have surveillance cameras. Have you looked at those to determine if anyone approached him or came in and out of his room, someone suspicious?”
“One of our guards looked at them after he escaped,” the director said. “But he said he didn’t see anything.”
“Yet somehow Holcomb got hold of those newspaper articles,” Derrick pointed out. “And the ease with which we found them doesn’t say much for the thoroughness of your staff.”
An ashen look settled across the man’s face. “True.”
“I want to take a look.”
Ellie’s phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it. “The reporter,” she muttered, letting it go to voicemail. “While Special Agent Fox reviews the tapes, I’d like to speak to Holcomb’s therapist.”
“All right. But without a warrant, she can’t tell you much.”
“I still need to speak