Page 19 of No Quarter

Valerie knew that for a place that treated mentally ill patients, this was more in line with where her sister Suzie now was than with the barred doors and secure wards of the psychiatric hospital where her mother was detained.

“Elmwood Psychiatric Retreat,” Will said from the backseat. “I don’t have any experience of this place. Have you ever encountered it?”

“No,” Valerie said. “In fact, I’m a little surprised that I’ve never heard of it considering how close it is to Quantico.”

“As far as I could see in that file,” Charlie said, driving through the gates and then steering the car along a winding road through the retreat grounds, “it only houses 156 patients. There are probably a bunch of places like this dotted around the country.”

“Yes,” Valerie said, with a little doubt in her voice. “But some of these smaller treatment centers have unusual practices. Unorthodox treatments that don’t work. We should keep our eyes and ears open for that sort of thing while we’re here. Not to ruffle feathers with the therapists, but unusual treatments can lead to unusual consequences, in some instances.”

The grounds consisted of pockets of golden-brown woodland, and then, at its heart, two buildings beckoned. Both of them were made out of unusual yellow brick.

Will pointed to the larger of the two, standing just two stories tall. “My guess is that’s the main treatment facility. That smaller building is probably for group therapy I would imagine, or maybe even some other residencies. Places like this sometimes have gymnasiums and that sort of thing as well, where they can do meditative practices.”

“Ah, I get it,” said Charlie, finally. “It’s a hippie place.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge, Charlie,” Will said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Sometimes the greatest innovations in the psychiatric treatment industry only come about because smaller facilities decide to use alternative practices. It’s a proving ground for new treatments.”

Valerie didn’t agree. “Patients aren’t guinea pigs to be experimented on: They’re people.”

“That’s not what I was saying, Valerie,” Will said, sounding surprised that she would disagree with him on this. “But the only way we’ll ever find the perfect therapies for varying mental illnesses is to try out different avenues of treatment. Ethically of course. Always ethically.”

Valerie didn’t answer. She was too busy thinking of Suzie. She had been in a large psychiatric hospital, all sterile walls and locked doors. Yet she was doing better in the place Will had found her. And it reminded her of Elmwood.

Perhaps there was something in what he said. She just hoped that Suzie’s treatment wasn’t as experimental. She hated thinking of her sister as some sort of lab rat.

Charlie parked the car in the parking lot, and all three investigators got out.

There was a smell of pine and fallen leaves in the air, coming from the surrounding woodland. It was a fresh scent, but only reminded Valerie of the Bone Ripper case, where they had found more than one of the victims in such remote locations, surrounded by the sweet scents of nature.

She hoped this case would not be as difficult, after all, the Bone Ripper nearly killed Will.

Valerie shook that image from her mind.

She, Charlie, and Will walked up the steps and to the open doors of Elmwood psychiatric retreat. Just inside the doorway, a tall man in blue overalls was fixing one of the hinges with a screwdriver.

“Excuse me,” Valerie said, trying to get past.

“One second, please,” the man said, finishing his work, huffing and puffing to get the last screw in. “There! All better.”

He turned and looked at the three investigators. Looking at Valerie, then Charlie, then Will, he shook his head and wiped his brow. “You’ll be the FBI, then?”

“Yes,” Valerie said. “And you are?”

“Logan Saldana, I work here as one of the janitors.” He shook hands with Valerie. “Terrible business all this. I don’t think the place will ever be the same.”

“Do you know much about the murder here?” Valerie asked.

“No,” he said. Then he sighed and looked a little ashamed. “Truth be told, I keep my distance from the patients as much as I can. A lot of people with demons in there.A lot. I’d be careful if I were you. I’m always worried one of the loons might follow me home.”

“I don’t think the patients would like being called that,” interjected Will with disapproval.

“Oh, I don’t mean anything by that,” he said. “I just don’t think I’d have it in me to treat people with mental problems.”

He tapped the door he had just fixed.

“I like to stick with things I can understand. Wood, metal, spanners and screws; things that make sense. Anyway, I must be off. If you need anything, let me know. I hope you find the scum who did it.”

“We’ll do our best,” Charlie said.

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