“How do you know he ran away from home?” Marino asked, looking up at the psychiatrist. “How do you know what happened to him after he left this joint?”
“His father called me. He was very upset,” Dr. Masterson said.
“Then what?”
“I’m afraid there was nothing I or anyone else could do. Frank was of legal age, Lieutenant.”
“Do you recall anyone ever referring to him by the nickname Frankie?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“What about Jim Barnes? Was he Frank Aims’s social worker?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Masterson said reluctantly.
“Did Frank Aims have a bad encounter with Jim Barnes?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Allegedly.”
“Of what nature?”
“Allegedly of a sexual nature, Dr. Scarpetta. And for God’s sake, I’m trying to help. I hope you’ll be mindful of that.”
“Hey,” Marino said, “we’re mindful of it, all right? I mean, we ain’t planning on sending out press releases.”
“Then Frank knew Al Hunt,” I said.
Dr. Masterson hesitated again, his face tight. “Yes. It was Al who came forward with the accusations.”
“Bingo,” Marino mumbled.
“What do you mean by saying Al Hunt came forth with the accusations?” I asked.
“I mean that he complained to one of our therapists,” Dr. Masterson replied, his tone beginning to sound defensive. “He also said something to me during one of our sessions. Frank was questioned and he refused to say anything. He was a very angry, withdrawn young man. It wasn’t possible for me to act on what Al had said. Without Frank’s corroboration, the accusations were hearsay.”
Marino and I were silent.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Masterson said, and by now he was thoroughly unnerved. “I can’t help you with Frank’s whereabouts. I know nothing further. The last time I heard from his father must have been seven, eight years ago.”
“What was the occasion of that conversation?” I queried.
“Mr. Aims called me.”
“For what reason?”
“He wondered if I’d heard from Frank.”
“Well, had you?” Marino asked.
“No,” Dr. Masterson answered. “I’ve never heard a word from Frank, I’m sorry to say.”
“Why did Mr. Aims want to know if you’d heard from Frank?” I put forth the critical question.
“He wanted to find him, hoped that perhaps I might have a clue as to his whereabouts. Because his mother had died. Frank’s mother, that is.”
“Where did she die and what happened?” I asked.
“Freeport, Maine. I’m really not clear on the circumstances.”
“A natural death?” I asked.
“No,” Dr. Masterson said, refusing to meet our eyes. “I’m fairly certain it wasn’t.”
It didn’t take Marino long to track it down. He called the Freeport, Maine, police. According to their records, on the late afternoon of January 15, 1983, Mrs. Wilma Aims was beaten to death by a “burglar” who was apparently inside her house when she returned from grocery shopping. She was forty-two when she died, a petite woman with blue eyes and bleached blond hair. The case remained unsolved.
I had no doubts about who the so-called burglar was. Marino didn’t either.
He said, “So maybe Hunt really was clairvoyant, huh? He knew about Frankie’s taking out his mother. That sure as hell happened a long time after the two fruitcakes was in the bin together.”
We were idly watching Sammy Squirrel’s antics around the bird feeder. After Marino had driven me back from the hospital and let me out at my house, I invited him in for coffee.
“You’re certain Frankie wasn’t employed at Hunt’s car wash at any point during the past few years?” I asked.
“I don’t remember any Frank or Frankie Aims on their books,” he said.
“He very well may have changed his name,” I said.
“Probably did if he whacked his old lady. Figured the cops might look for him.”
He reached for his coffee.
“Problem is we don’t have a recent description, and joints like Masterwash are a damn revolving door. Guys in and out all the time. Work a couple of days, a week, a month. You got any idea how many white guys are tall, thin, and dark? I’m running down names and running out of road.”
We were so close but so far away. It was maddening. “The fibers are consistent with a car wash,” I said in frustration. “Hunt worked in the car wash Beryl patronized, and he possibly knew her killer. Do you understand what I’m saying, Marino? Hunt knew about Frankie’s killing his mother because Hunt and Frankie may have had contact after Valhalla. Frankie may have worked at Hunt’s car wash, perhaps even recently. It’s possible Frankie may have first fixed on Beryl when she brought her car in to be cleaned.”