“Hold it right there.”
If Marino hadn’t stopped him, I would have. “We need to talk about this one. How long was he at Valhalla?”
Dr. Masterson was lighting his pipe. Taking his time glancing through the record, he replied, “Ten weeks.”
“Which would have been while Hunt was here,” Marino said.
“That’s correct.”
“So he was approached in a men’s room and lost his cookies? What happened? What psychosis?”
Marino asked.
Dr. Masterson was turning pages. Pushing up his glasses, he replied, “An episode of delusional thinking of a grandiose nature. He believed God was telling him to do things.”
“What things?” Marino asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“There’s nothing specific, nothing written here except that he was talking in rather bizarre ways.”
“And he was paranoid schizophrenic?” Marino asked.
“Yes.”
“You want to define that? Like, what are the other symptoms?”
“Classically speaking,” Dr. Masterson replied, “there are associated features which include grandiose delusions or hallucinations with a grandiose content. There may be delusional jealousy, extreme intensity in interpersonal interactions, argumentativeness, and in some instances violence.”
“Where was he from?” I asked.
“Maryland.”
“Shit,” Marino muttered. “He lived with both parents?”
“He lived with his father.”
I said, “You’re sure he was paranoid versus undifferentiated?”
The distinction was important. Schizophrenics of the undifferentiated type often exhibit grossly disorganized behavior. They generally don’t have the wherewithal to premeditate crimes and successfully evade apprehension. The person we were looking for was organized enough to successfully plan and execute his crimes and escape detection.
“I’m quite sure,” Dr. Masterson answered. After a pause, he added blandly, “The patient’s first name, interestingly enough, is Frank.”
Then he handed me the file, and Marino and I briefly looked it over.
Frank Ethan Aims, or Frank E., and thus “Frankie” I could only conclude, had left Valhalla in late July of 1979 and soon after, according to a note Dr. Masterson had made at the time, Aims ran away from his home in Maryland.
“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.”