Victims (28 page)

“A scamster making it in B.H.?”

“I’m wondering if his transgressions go beyond practicing without a license. Because pulling off the murders would be a lot easier with two people involved.”

“Where’d
that
come from?”

“Eccles’s fear of a guard at V-State. Huggler may be your prototypical odd loner but that doesn’t preclude someone from gaining his trust. Someone he met while at V-State.”

“Another lunatic?” he said. “Working as a guard? Now he’s palming himself off as a shrink? Good Lord.”

“Faking it would be a lot easier for someone who’d worked on psych wards long enough to soak up the terminology. Eccles was confined
at V-State the same time as Huggler. Maybe in Specialized Care because he’d gotten overly aggressive with a judge. There’s no reason to think he didn’t continue being his usual combative, obnoxious self. That got him on a guard’s bad side. But the guard was too clever to face off against Eccles, took it out on Eccles’s only visitor. The woman Eccles considered his wife. She really was poisoned and when he got away with it, he did the same to Bernhard Shacker.”

“Get on my bad side, you die,” he said. “Another touchy one?”

“Common ground for a relationship. Cahane described Huggler as cooperative, compliant. Even so, his recreational time was supervised. For
his
safety. That meant being supervised by a guard whenever he left his room. What if it was the same guard each time and a bond developed? The man passing himself off as Shacker would’ve been in his twenties back then, perfect age to be a mentor to an isolated adolescent. The bond was solidified forever when he eliminated the man who’d robbed Huggler of a vital organ. And the bond could’ve remained strong enough for the mentor to travel with Huggler—seeking out a job at Atascadero when Huggler got transferred there.”

“And now they’re traveling together.”

“For at least five years,” I said. “If that’s the case, Huggler’s not crashing on the street. He’s living securely with his self-appointed guardian. Who’s making a nice living in a Beverly Hills office. And who could be sending Huggler to inflict his particular brand of curiosity upon those who’ve gotten on
his
nerves. Case in point, Vita. Huggler witnessed her tormenting the Banforth family but I don’t see him as out for truth and justice. More likely he was already at Bijou because he’d been stalking Vita for a while. And the reason for that was Vita had offended Fake Dr. Shacker. I know that because he told me she’d just about come out and called him a quack, no one had ever treated him that way. He was bothered. It was the only time he dropped his professional guard.”

“Doing her mean thing,” he said. “No pity from Pitty. Hold on.”
Click click
. “No Shacker or Pitty in the files … not at DMV, either … all I’m finding is the office address on Bedford.”

I said, “Let’s work out a plan tonight, bop over there tomorrow.”

“Analyze the analyst,” he said. “He’s that dangerous, we should bring an army.”

“I figured I’d talk to him, you’d be there for backup.”

“What’s your angle?”

“Does he remember anything else about Vita? If it feels right, I’ll probe deeper about the quack issue. If not, I’ll bring up additional victims, did he have any theories? Get people talking, they make mistakes.”

“Let me call Petra, see what she thinks.”

Six minutes later:

“Poor kid was having some face-time with her lovey-dove at L’Oise in Brentwood. Not far from your place, you mind hosting us in say an hour?”

“No prob.”

“Check with Robin.”

“She’ll be fine with it.”

“How do you know?”

“She loves you.”

“Rare lapse of taste on her part,” he said. “An hour.”

CHAPTER
32

P
etra rang the bell, white paper bag in hand. She had on a sleeveless navy silk sheath, red sandals with heels, strategic pearls, darker-than-usual lipstick. First time I’d seen her in a dress.

Robin said, “Date night interrupted?”

“Woman plans, God laughs.”

Petra bent to pet Blanche. Blanche rolled on her back, earned a massage.

Petra said, “We made it through the first course, I took dessert to go.”

I said, “Want some coffee?”

“Strong, if you don’t mind.”

I brewed Kenyan, kicking up the octane. Robin and Petra settled at the table and Petra pulled plastic-topped boxes out of the bag. Assortment of cookies, four slabs of chocolate cake.

Robin said, “That’s more like catering.”

“I brought for everyone, seeing as you guys are donating home and hearth to the dark side.”

A heavy hand pounded the door.

Milo trudged in bearing a brown bag, greasy, flecked with powdered sugar. He scowled. “Who mugged a pastry chef?”

Robin sniffed the air. “This Magi brings churros?”

“It seemed like a good idea.” His eyes fixed on the chocolate cake.

“Flourless,” said Petra.

“Got nothing against flour, but why not?”

He put the churros aside, was ingesting cake before his haunches met his chair. Blanche waddled over and nuzzled his ankle. He said, “Yeah, yeah,” and conceded a rub behind her ear. She purred like a cat. “Yeah, yeah, again.”

Robin took her cup and headed for the back door. Blanche followed. “Good luck.”

No one invited her to stay. They like her.

Petra said, “This fake psychologist is Huggler’s confederate, as well as the Pitty character Eccles claimed was stalking him?”

Milo said, “Working assumption, kid, but it feels right. He steals one identity, why not another? Can’t find any ‘Pitty’ in the file, so maybe it’s a nickname. Or Eccles was totally delusional and we’re wrong.”

She turned to me. “How did fake-o come across when you talked to him?”

“Pleasant, professional, the right paper on the wall. The only time he stepped out of the role was when he complained that Vita had implied he was a quack. At the time, I took it as collegial banter.”

“Looks like she was right. Sometimes I wonder if those nasty people don’t have special insights. Maybe because they see everyone as a threat.”

Milo said, “But look what happens after they get elected.”

“Good point.” She turned to me. “You see Vita insulting him as the reason she got killed?”

I nodded. “His trigger, Huggler’s fun. We have two people working
in concert, with layers of pathology building on each other. I’m not sure either of
them
understands it fully. At the base is Huggler’s fascination with human plumbing and no, I can’t tell you how that developed. It’s normal for children to wonder how their bodies work and kids who hold on to that curiosity sometimes channel it professionally—become mechanics, engineers, anatomists, surgeons. For a few, interest grows to obsession and gets tangled up with sexuality in a really bad way.”

She said, “Dahmer, Nilsen, Gein.”

“All of whom were described as odd children but none of whom had especially horrific childhoods,” I said. “Huggler killing his mother at eleven suggests a less-than-optimal upbringing, but it doesn’t come close to explaining the act. Whatever the reason, something short-circuited in his brain and he began pairing sexual gratification with plunging his hands into visceral muck. Being locked up for most of his life made him a prime target for observation and I’m betting one of his sharpest and most frequent observers wasn’t a doctor. It was a young man working a low-status job. Someone who’d never be invited to staff meetings but craved authority and had the time to pick up all sorts of interesting things.”

“Doctors come and go,” she said, “but guards stay on the ward for eight-hour shifts.”

“And this guard’s ability to sniff out depravity could’ve been fine-tuned because he could relate to it on a personal level.”

“His own kinks.”

Milo said, “Psychopath pheromones. One beast smells another.”

I said, “Pitty, or whatever his name really is, studied Huggler long enough to become a Huggler scholar. He befriended the boy and a mentor-trainee relationship developed. The boy had finally met someone who appreciated his urges instead of condemning them. Maybe it was Pitty who caught small animals for Huggler to play with.”

“What was the payoff for him?”

“Adulation, subservience, or maybe just having someone like
himself to relate to. Given Huggler’s age and his apparent adjustment, there was a good chance he’d get out when he became an adult. Then Marlon Quigg ruined everything by exercising his own powers of observation, Huggler was subjected to unnecessary surgery and got put in Specialized Care. If I’m right about his only being out for five or so years, he was shipped off to another hospital, probably Atascadero, and got thoroughly institutionalized. A relationship with someone who claimed to care about him would’ve been his only link to reality.”

“Pitty moves with him, Pitty’s reality becomes his?” said Petra. She shook her head. “That surgery, talk about institutional abuse. I guess you could see a tit-for-tat: They cut his neck, he breaks other people’s necks. But then why haven’t we seen any throat-slashing? Wouldn’t that be a more direct symbolic revenge?”

“I could theorize for you all day—maybe he chose to avoid slashing because it cut too close to home. So to speak. The truth is we may never know what’s been stoking Huggler’s engine.”

Milo said, “V-State closes, mentor follows mentee, mentee finally gets out, mentor turns him into a lethal weapon. That’s your layer two?”

I nodded. “A weapon aimed at people who anger each or both of them. Pitty might not want to soil his own hands but if he’s the brittle, power-craving narcissist I think he is, he’d crave payback for slights the rest of us would shrug off.”

Petra said, “Are we talking something sexual between the two of them?”

“Maybe but not necessarily. It’s possible neither of them has anything close to a conventional sex life.”

“People irk me,” Milo said, “I sic Lil Buddy at them and they become anatomy projects.”

I said, “And Lil Buddy loves the assignment. That’s layer three: a perfect partnership that satisfies both of their needs. Let’s start with Vita Berlin: obnoxious, combative, spreading misery wherever she went. Like most bullies she had a keen sense about who’d make a safe
victim and the man she knew as Dr. Shacker seemed perfect: physically unprepossessing, outwardly mild, and a psychologist—we’re expected to be patient, nonjudgmental. Think of the movies you’ve seen about therapists: Most show them as absentminded wimps. Vita may have been forced into sessions with the little wuss in order to collect her insurance settlement but she was damn sure going to have fun along the way. Right from the start she resisted, needled him, finally came out and let him know she thought he was a charlatan. Unfortunately for her, he’s anything but nonjudgmental. I wouldn’t be surprised if the death sentence was passed the moment the words left her mouth.”

“Call in Huggler,” said Milo. “Easy hit because fake-o-Shacker had her address, phone number, knew what she looked like.”

I said, “And despite her resistance she might’ve given out some personal details during the evaluation that also made stalking her easier. Huggler was spotted lurking near her garbage cans. My guess is he went through them, found her empties, knew she was a serious solitary drinker. If he found pizza boxes, that would also have helped set up the kill. In general, her routine was easy to learn because she rarely went out except for shopping and occasional meals at Bijou.”

“Think Pitty was in on the kill?”

“It’s possible he held a gun on the victims, served as a lookout. Two actors would explain no sign of struggle, even from someone as aggressive as Vita.”

Petra said, “The pizza box ruse was still a gamble, given Vita’s temper. What if she was sober enough to make a ruckus?”

I said, “ ‘Oops, gee sorry, ma’am, wrong address.’ Huggler leaves and they wait for a second chance.”

Milo said, “Eccles snoozing in the alley would’ve been a piece of cake. Same for Quigg.”

Petra said, “If we’re right about Quigg, he’d have been
the
major target—the person to blame for everything bad that happened to Huggler. With that kind of rage, why wait five years to get him?”

“Maybe there were other targets just as important—like Shacker—and they’re going down a list.”

Milo said, “Like the doc who actually did the throat-cutting.”

“Oh,” I said.

They looked at me.

“Huggler was busted for trespassing behind a medical office. The police assumed he was about to break in and steal dope. But what if Huggler had a more personal connection to the doctor?”

Milo said, “Stalking the surgeon. Problem with that is the arrest was in Morro Bay and Huggler’s surgery took place a hundred miles away in Camarillo.”

“People move.”

“The same surgeon just happened to live near two hospitals where Huggler was confined?”

I thought about that. “Maybe Huggler was taken to that particular surgeon because of an arrangement with V-State—some sort of consultancy. When V-State closed the guy went for the same thing at Atascadero.”

Petra said, “A guy who couldn’t make it in private practice. Maybe he had his own issues.”

I said, “Obviously, he had ethical issues.”

“Going for government dole,” said Milo. “I guess anything’s possible.”

She produced her iPhone, poked and scrolled.

Milo said, “What’s on that?”

“My notes.”

“You’re totally digital?”

“I copy stuff from the murder book so I can follow up at home … here we go. Huggler was busted at Bayview Surgical Group of San Luis Obispo County. It’s the right specialty, isn’t it?”

We shifted to my office and I ran a search on Bayview, found no current listings. But a four-year-old item from a San Luis Obispo TV
station featured the disappearance of “local surgeon Dr. Louis Wainright, staff member of Bayview Surgical Group. Wainright, 54, was last seen hiking in the foothills above San Luis Obispo with his dog 11 days ago. The doctor’s SUV was found in a park service lot but neither he nor his German shorthaired pointer Ned has been seen since.”