8. Percival

8

Percival

I 'd arrived at the asylum without mishap by midmorning. I was shown to Mrs. Mason's office and waited for a few minutes before she showed up, looking harried and distressed. Normally, she was neatly dressed and coiffed, but today, she had the appearance of a woman who had not slept much the night before. Her silver hair, although pulled back into a bun, had come partly undone, and her dress was wrinkled, looking as if she'd slept in it. Maybe she had, I thought, noting the sofa near the window of her office. As wretched as I felt over the situation, I couldn't help but pity her.

She plopped into the chair behind her desk. "Dr. Bancroft, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am."

"Please, tell me everything you know." Her apologies, although appreciated, were not going to help us find my wife.

"Yes, of course." She went on to describe the events that led up to her disappearance and what had been done thus far to find her. None of it was much different from what she'd told me over the phone. However, hours and hours had passed since that conversation, including nightfall and frigid temperatures. She'd been gone all night. If she'd wandered into the woods and gotten lost, there was little hope of finding her alive. But wouldn't I know if she was gone? Wouldn't I feel it if the mother of my beloved child had passed away?

"For now, the local police and the volunteers continue to look for her," Mrs. Mason said.

"I shall join them," I said.

"The police chief would like to speak with you first. He said to let him know when you arrived. Thus far, he and his deputies have interviewed every staff member. They're now working on some of the patients to see if anyone remembers anything. But these poor souls rarely say anything sensible, so I doubt they'll get much out of them."

A knock on her office door drew our attention. It was one of the secretaries asking if Chief Wallace could enter.

Mrs. Mason gave her consent as she rose to her feet. "Yes, please show him in."

Chief Wallace was a rotund, ruddy-cheeked man with an unlit tobacco pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth. We exchanged pleasantries before Mrs. Mason excused herself. "I'll just be down the hall if either of you need anything."

"I'm sorry to have to put you through all this," Wallace said. "It's my understanding your wife's been here six years?"

"Give or take," I said.

"Mrs. Mason gave me details about why she's here, so I'll spare you having to go through it all with me. However, I do need to understand your whereabouts the last several days."

My stomach fluttered with nerves. "Sure, what do you need to know specifically?" It hadn't occurred to me until just this moment that I could be a suspect.

What ensued were questions about where I'd been during the time of her disappearance, which I answered as best I could. It wasn't hard to remember, since it was only yesterday. I described our activities, including celebrating the new year with Mother, Clara, and Stella.

"Who is Stella?" Wallace asked, his small eyes growing even smaller as he peered at me from over a pair of round glasses that sat on the end of his nose.

This is where I hesitated, unsure how to answer. Who was Stella, after all? Who was she to me, for that matter? If I told him who and what she was to me, would that make me look even more suspicious?

"Stella Wainwright is a friend of mine and my mother's," I said after a few too many seconds had passed.

"A friend? I see." He dropped his gaze to scribble something in his notebook.

"She works with my mother." Darn, my voice. Why was it wobbling as though I was guilty?

"What kind of work is that?" Wallace's mustache quivered.

"They help to look after some of my poorer patients. There are whole neighborhoods without medical care."

"Is this the same woman you…how shall I say it? Pay for her apartment and life because she's your mistress?"

"She's not my mistress. As I said, she's a good friend of our family, that's all."

"Well, it would give you motive for killing your wife if you were to have, let's say, fallen in love with another woman?"

"It would, yes. But it didn't." I looked him straight in the eyes, hoping he would see the truth in mine. "I've been loyal to my wife all these long years. As hard and lonely as it's been, I made a vow before God and have no intention of breaking it."

"I see. How noble of you."

I didn't know what he wanted me to say or do to defend myself, so I said nothing.

"Do you think they'll find your wife alive?" Wallace asked.

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "I have no idea. I can tell you I'm concerned. The weather's been below-freezing for nights in a row. If she was out in it last night, I don't know how she would have survived."

He asked a few more questions, and I answered woodenly. The longer he was with me, the further away he got from discovering what had actually happened.

"Do you agree it would be easy to murder her, given that all that would take is leading her into the forest and leaving her there to freeze to death?"

I stared at him, shocked he would say it out loud as though it was nothing. "Yes, I can see your point. I hope that's not what happened. Obviously."

"It's not obvious to me, Dr. Bancroft. Not at all." He wrote something else in that notebook of his, then brought it back to hold against his chest. "A lot of men put their wives and daughters in a place like this to keep them quiet or get them out of their lives. As a matter of fact, many of the prisoners in places like these are not insane."

"That may be true in other places, but Mrs. Mason wouldn't admit someone who didn't need to be here. She helps these poor people. Believe me, I looked at a few other facilities before choosing this one. This one was by far the most compassionate toward the patients."

"How is it you afford the fees for this place and an apartment for your…friend?"

"My father left me a great deal of money," I said. "He died when I was young."

"In the arms of his mistress, isn't that right?"

My mouth fell open once again. "How did you know that?"

"I had some time to look into you before you arrived this morning," Wallace said. "The more I learned, the more interested I became in you. As a suspect."

"Right." Sweat had broken out on my hairline. I reached into my pocket for my handkerchief. A sweaty brow would make me look guilty, but I couldn't seem to control my nerves. I'd never been interrogated by the police before.

"Tell me more about your brother-in-law," Wallace said. "Do you think he's involved in any way?"

"You mean if it turns out I'm innocent?" Innocent. We didn't even know that she'd passed away.

"Correct. I'd like to understand his relationship with you. Are you friendly?"

"Very much so. He's at my house often."

"Why is he leaving the country?" Wallace asked.

Good Lord. Was there anything this man didn't know?

And how was I going to explain why he was leaving the country without involving the Sullivans? The last thing I needed was Sean Sullivan's wrath unleashed upon my family.

"Let me help you," Wallace said. "I know Stella Wainwright is Sean Sullivan's daughter."

"You do?" How did he know this? The man was not like any cop I'd ever met before. Not that I'd met very many, but he seemed unusually clever.

"Yes, and I'm also aware of Sullivan's illegal business endeavors." He paused, setting aside his notebook and placing his hands over his belly. The buttons on his jacket strained against the ampleness of his midsection.

"I see." What else could I say? I had to stay calm or risk even further scrutiny.

"And what I know about Mr. Sullivan is that he's not hesitant to order hits on anyone he wants out of the way."

"Why would he care about my wife?" How strange that Wallace had become suspicious of Sullivan, just as Stella had. Were they right? Had Sullivan done something to Mary? As unhappy as I'd been the years since Mary's mind had gone to a dark place and not returned, I shuddered to think of her hurt or suffering.

"He wants his daughter to be happy. It's not inconceivable that he decided to get your current wife out of the way so that your mistress could take her place."

I shook my head, unable to utter a response even if I'd known what to say.

"What do you think about that theory?" Wallace asked, clearly not willing to let it go.

"I think that Sullivan has no idea of what's between me and his daughter. They're essentially estranged. He would not put the pieces together. And anyway, from what Stella says, he has no interest in being a loving father to her. She had not seen him for months until he showed up asking questions about her sister's whereabouts."

We were interrupted by a knock on the door. Wallace shouted to come in and a man dressed in a cop uniform entered.

"Sir. There's something you should see," he said to Wallace.

My stomach dropped.

Wallace nodded toward me. "Dr. Bancroft, stay here."

"What's happened?" I heard myself asking as if I were speaking down a long tunnel.

Neither man replied, hurrying out the door and leaving me behind, too stunned and heartsick and imagining the worst to move.

I don't know how long I waited for the chief to return. The wintry light through the windows gave me no indication of how much time had passed. I couldn't sit, pacing around the small room with only my frayed nerves to keep me company.

Finally, I wandered out of the office and down the hallway, past several other offices, until I came into the great room, where the patients spent leisure time. Today, it was as if nothing unusual were going on. Patients stood at easels painting, played games in small groups, or read in cozy chairs. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought I'd happened upon a social club of some kind.

I asked one of the nurses if she had any idea where the police chief was. She nodded toward the lawn, where there were several policemen roaming about. "What are they doing?"

"I couldn't say, sir." The nurse hurried away, clearly hoping to avoid further questions.

I buttoned up my coat and headed outside. They couldn't keep me imprisoned in the office. I scanned the yard for Mrs. Mason and found her under one of the awnings speaking to a secretary. I called out to her as I made my way toward them. She met my gaze, a look of panic on her face.

"Dr. Bancroft, you should go inside," Mrs. Mason said. "I'll take you back to my office."

"Why can't I be out here?"

"Because—"

She didn't get to finish whatever it was she was going to say because we were interrupted by a shout, followed by the barking of hounds some distance away.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Mason sucked in her cheeks. "Please, allow me to take you inside."

"What is it?" I didn't wait to hear what she had to say, taking off in the direction of the shouting.

I raced across the icy grass toward the thicket of trees. After a time, I came upon a group of people, several of them in cop uniforms, gathered around something on the ground.

It only took me a moment to realize it was a body. Mary's body?

I broke through the crowd, gathered around, and saw that it was indeed my wife. She'd been torn apart by an animal, her innards on display. I cried out, then fell to my knees.

One of the cops rushed over to me. "Dr. Bancroft, you don't want to see her like this."

"It's too late," I said. "What happened?"

"We're not sure where she was killed, but an animal must have dragged her here. We'd searched this area earlier, and there was no sign of her. But please, you have to go inside and wait for the chief. Otherwise, I'm going to have to arrest you."

Numbly, I allowed him to manhandle me back inside, where a nurse agreed to take me to the office. I was shaking so badly by then I could barely stand. Being nearly pushed onto the sofa in Mason's office was actually a relief.

"I'll sit with you if that's all right?" I recognized the nurse from other interactions. For a moment, I searched for her name, but then it came to me. Agnes. She'd been employed here six years ago when I'd first brought Mary to asylum. She was silver-haired and slightly stooped but had lively, intelligent eyes. I'd always been under the impression that nothing much went on around here without her knowing about it.

"Yes, fine," I mumbled. "Why would anyone do this?"

"I don't know, Doctor. I surely don't. But we'll find out. The chief of police is a competent investigator if you can believe it. He'll discover who did this. I know he will."

"What if it's just that she somehow escaped and wandered into the woods? She wouldn't have understood how dangerous that would be in this weather."

"If that's the case, then they'll know. In the end, the truth always comes out."

Was that true? Who knew?

My last meal was threatening to come up. I stumbled to my feet and ran out into the hallway, desperately looking for a place to vomit. I remembered the restrooms, making it just in time to unleash the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Then, sweaty and still feeling sick, I sank to the cold floor. What now? What now?

By nightfall, they'd brought my poor Mary's ravaged body inside to one of the examination rooms. The coroner arrived and disappeared behind the closed door. In the meantime, I waited. At some point, it occurred to me to call home. Mother would be worried and possibly frantic to hear an update.

Mrs. Mason allowed me to use the phone in her office. The operator put me through, and Mother's voice came through the receiver.

"Darling, I've been worried sick," Mother said. "Have they found her?"

I nodded as if she could see me. "She's dead. They found her body in the woods. It had been dragged there from somewhere else. Whether by animal or man, we do not know."

"Oh, Percy."

"They don't know if she wandered out to the woods, got lost, and froze to death, or if someone took her there and left, knowing she would be too confused to find her way back."

"It has to be the former. Why would anyone want her dead?"

"I don't know." Tears waited, hot behind my eyes. "I just don't know."

"When can you come home?"

"Not tonight. I need to stay to make arrangements to get her home, among other things." Like defending myself. "Also, they're trying to find Simon so they can question him. He was the last family member to visit her."

"Simon wouldn't do such a thing," Mother said. "Would he?"

"I don't know what motive he would have. No one has one but me."

For a moment, I heard only the crackle of static on the line. "Is that what they think? Because of Stella?"

"Yes. And Mother, he said cops will come by the house to speak with you and Stella. I'm afraid she's on the suspect list."

"Did they tell you that?"

"No, but if they think I have a motive, they'll think she does too."

"I'll have her stay here again tonight," Mother said. "That way, they can talk to both of us. She won't want to be alone."

I hung up after saying goodbye just as Wallace entered the office. He shut the door behind him. "We have something," Wallace said, sitting in one of the chairs next to Mrs. Mason's desk. "One of the staff admitted to seeing a woman with Mary just before she vanished."

"A woman? Someone other than a nurse?" I asked.

"That's right. He has no description of her face, because she was wearing a hat pulled down over her eyes and a scarf."

"Why didn't they find her last night? Surely they combed those woods?" I asked.

"The young man works here as one of the night guards. He was afraid to come forward. Instead of standing by the door, he was outside smoking a cigarette. But before he took his break, he noticed Mary huddled in the corner of the recreation room with a woman. He assumed it was a visitor. If the woman in question had anything to do with her disappearance, she must have taken the opportunity to sneak Mary out the door while the guard was otherwise occupied."

"Can't you check the visitor logs to find out who it was?"

"We did that. Mrs. Mason recognized the names of all the visitors from yesterday. Most visitors are family members, and she's familiar with them. She saw nothing unusual."

A woman.

For one horrific second, I thought about Mother. She'd been clear to me that she thought I should seize love, even if it meant going outside my marriage vows. It was her opinion that my marriage was essentially over and that I should feel free to move on. Specifically with Stella. Yet I could not entertain such an idea. I would not be my father.

But what if Mother took it upon herself to give me the life I wanted so desperately with Stella? All my life, Mother had been my protector and my champion. I had no doubt she would do anything for me. But this? Murder? Of her own daughter-in-law? In my wildest imagination, I could not see her doing anything so heinous. Not even to give me the freedom to find love again.

What about for Clara? My mother was getting older. Perhaps she worried about what would become of Clara should she pass away. She knew how much Clara wished for Stella to become her mother. Had that pushed Mother into doing something unthinkable?

No, it couldn't be. Like me, Mother abhorred violence of any kind. Not to mention that she would not risk going to prison or being put to death. For one thing, she knew Clara and I needed her.

My next horrid thought was Stella. But no. Like Mother, she'd been with us for most of the day. There was no way she could have taken the train up yesterday afternoon and returned in time for dinner.

"Do you have any idea about who this mystery woman could be?" Wallace asked, pulling me from my morbid thoughts.

"No sir, I don't. Both my mother and Stella were with me yesterday afternoon."

His thick mustache quivered as he peered at me through his small, deep-set eyes. "I suppose you have countless servants who will back up your story?"

"We do indeed." I scratched behind one ear, trying to think of a way to convince him that we had nothing to do with this.

He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "This marriage has been a burden to you?"

"Burden's not the right word. Has it been exceedingly difficult? Yes. Am I lonely? Yes. Would I like to move on with my life, remarry, and perhaps have more children? Only if I knew that Mary had no hope of getting better. It seemed clearer and clearer every month that my wife would not return to me. Not as the woman she'd once been, anyway. She'd been violent toward me and our infant daughter, Chief. I couldn't keep her with me and sleep at night. But did I wish her dead? Especially in such a horrifying way? Never. She was my wife. I can still remember what she was like before she lost this battle with her mind. I could not harm her. Not the mother of my child and the woman I promised to take care of in sickness and in health."

"I suppose you'd like to go home?" Wallace asked.

"Not until I have her body to take with me. Her family has a plot where her brother would like her laid to rest."

"Speaking of Simon Price—he's been located and brought into the precinct for questioning."

"It's not Simon," I said. "He was nothing but devoted to her."

We were interrupted by one of the deputies, who said he needed Wallace. "Do you have a place to stay?" Wallace asked me.

"Mrs. Mason said I can sleep here on her couch," I said. "Which I will do."

"The coroner should be done with his work by tomorrow," Wallace said. "You should make arrangements for a casket and a burial."

Before I could answer, he was gone.

For a moment, I remained seated, my body suddenly as limp as a rag doll. Mary was dead. After all her suffering and the hardship of my little family, she was gone. How was I supposed to feel? Was this numbness normal, or did it prove once and for all that I was a monster? Because just under the surface lay relief.