The entrance to Kirby Forensic Psychiatric Center was that of a typical state institution, with walls painted the same teal as the footbridge over the river. Dr Ensor led me around a corner to a button on a wall, which she pressed.
‘Come to the intercom,’ an abrupt voice sounded like the Wizard of Oz.
She moved on, needing no direction, and spoke through the intercom.
‘Dr Ensor,’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ The voice became human. ‘Step on up.’
The entrance into the heart of Kirby was typical for a penitentiary, with its airlocked doors that never allowed two of them to be opened at the same time, and its posted warnings of prohibited items, such as firearms, explosives, ammunition, alcohol, or objects made of glass. No matter how adamant politicians, health workers, and the ACLU might be, this was not a hospital. Patients were inmates. They were violent offenders housed in a maximum security facility because they had raped and beaten. They had shot their families, burned up their mothers, disemboweled their neighbors, and dismembered their lovers. They were monsters who had become celebrities, like Robert Chambers of the Yuppie murder fame, or Rakowitz, who had murdered and cooked his girlfriend and allegedly fed parts of her to street people, or Carrie Grethen, who was worse than any of them.
The teal-painted barred door unlocked with an electronic click, and peace officers in blue uniforms were most courteous to Dr Ensor, and also to me, since I clearly was her guest. Nonetheless, we were made to pass through a metal detector, and our pocketbooks were carefully gone through. I was embarrassed when reminded that one could enter with only enough medication for one dose, while I had enough Motrin, Immodium, Tums, and aspirin to take care of an entire ward.
‘Ma’am, you must not be feeling good,’ one of the guards said good-naturedly.
‘It accumulates,’ I said, grateful that I had locked my handgun in my briefcase, which was safely stored in the helicopter’s baggage compartment.
‘Well, I’m gonna have to hold on to it until you come out. It will be waiting right here for you, okay? So make sure you ask.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, as if he had just granted me a favor.
We were allowed to pass through another door that was posted with the warning, Keep Hands Off Bars. Then we were in stark, colorless hallways, turning corners, passing closed doors where hearings were in session.
‘You need to understand that legal aid attorneys are employed by the Legal Aid Society, which is a nonprofit, private organization under contract with New York City. Clearly, the personnel they have here are part of their criminal division. They are not on the Kirby staff.’
She wanted to make sure I understood that.
‘Although, after a number of years here, they certainly may get chummy with my staff,’ she kept talking as we walked, our heels clicking over tile. ‘The lawyer in question, who worked with Miss Grethen from the beginning, will most likely arch her back at any questions you might ask.’
She glanced over at me.
‘I have no control over it,’ she said.
‘I understand completely,’ I replied. ‘And if a public defender or legal aid attorney didn’t arch his back when I appeared, I would think the planet had changed.’
Mental Hygiene Legal Aid was lost somewhere in the midst of Kirby, and I could only swear that it was on the first floor. The director opened a wooden door for me, and then was showing me into a small office that was so overflowing with paper that hundreds of case files were stacked on the floor. The lawyer behind the desk was a disaster of frumpy clothing and wild frizzy black hair. She was heavy, with ponderous breasts that could have benefited from a bra.
‘Susan, this is Dr Kay Scarpetta, chief medical examiner of Virginia,’ Dr Ensor said. ‘Here about Carrie Grethen, as you know. And Dr Scarpetta, this is Susan Blaustein.’
‘Right,’ said Ms Blaustein, who was neither inclined to get up or shake my hand as she sifted through a thick legal brief.
‘I’ll leave the two of you, then. Susan, I trust you will show Dr Scarpetta around, otherwise I will get someone on staff to do it,’ Dr Ensor said, and I could tell by the way she looked at me that she knew I was in for the tour from hell.