‘In a way she was.’ I thought honestly of Lucy. ‘And quite frankly, Ms Blaustein, I’m not here to change your opinion of your client. My purpose is to investigate a number of deaths and do what I can to prevent others.’
Carrie’s legal aid attorney began shoving around paperwork again.
‘It seems to me that the reason Carrie had been here so long is that every time an evaluation of her mental status came up, you made sure it was clear that she had not regained competency,’ I went on. ‘Meaning she is also incompetent to stand trial, right? Meaning she is so mentally ill that she’s not even aware of the charges against her? And yet she must have been somewhat aware of her situation, or how else could she have trumped up this whole business about the FBI framing her? Or was it you who trumped that up?’
‘This meeting has just ended,’ Blaustein announced, and had she been a judge, she would have slammed down the gavel.
‘Carrie’s nothing but a malingerer,’ I said. ‘She played it up, manipulated. Let me guess. She was very depressed, couldn’t remember anything when it was important. Was probably on Ativan, which probably didn’t put a dent in her. She clearly had the energy to write letters. And what other privileges might she have enjoyed? Telephone, photocopying?’
‘The patients have civil rights,’ Blaustein said evenly. ‘She was very quiet. Played a lot of chess and spades. She liked to read. There were mitigating and aggravating circumstances at the time of the offenses, and she was not responsible for her actions. She was very remorseful.’
‘Carrie always was a great salesperson,’ I said. ‘Always a master at getting what she wanted, and she wanted to be here long enough to make her next move. And now she’s made it.’
I opened my pocketbook and got out a copy of the letter Carrie had written to me. I dropped it in front of Blaustein.
‘Pay special attention to the return address at the top of it. One Pheasant Place, Kirby Women’s Ward,’ I said. ‘Do you have any idea what she meant by that, or would you like me to hazard a guess?’
‘I don’t have a clue.’ She was reading the letter, a perplexed expression on her face.
‘Possibly the one-place part is a play off One Hogan Place, or the address of the District Attorney that eventually would have prosecuted her.’
‘I don’t have a clue as to what was going through her mind.’
‘Let’s talk about pheasants,’ I then said. ‘You have pheasants along the riverbank right outside your door.’
‘I haven’t noticed.’
‘I noticed because we landed in the field there. And that’s right, you wouldn’t have noticed unless you waded through half an acre of overgrown grass and weeds and went to the water’s edge, near the old pier.’
She said nothing, but I could tell she was getting unsettled.
‘So my question is, how might Carrie or any of the inmates have known about the pheasants?’
Still, she was silent.
‘You know very well why, don’t you?’ I forced her.
She stared at me.
‘A maximum security patient should never have been in that field or even close to it, Ms Blaustein. If you don’t wish to talk to me about it, then I’ll just let the police take it up with you, since Carrie’s escape is rather much a priority for law enforcement these days. Indeed, I’m sure your fine mayor isn’t happy about the continuing bad publicity Carrie brings to a city that has become famous for defeating crime.’
‘I don’t know how Carrie knew,’ Ms Blaustein finally said. ‘This is the first I’ve ever heard of fucking pheasants. Maybe someone on the staff said something to her. Maybe one of the delivery people from the store, someone from the outside, such as yourself, in other words.’
‘What store?’
‘The patient privilege programs allow them to earn credits or money for the store. Snacks, mostly. They get one delivery a week, and they have to use their own money.’
‘Where did Carrie get money?’
Blaustein would not say.
‘What day did her deliveries come?’
‘Depends. Usually early in the week, Monday, Tuesday, late in the afternoon, usually.’