Blunt Darts by Jeremiah Healy Read Free Book Online Page B

know why Stephen has disappeared. We thought you might be able to give us some idea.”
    Stein pursed his lips and flipped back to the front of the file. “According to my records, I last saw Stephen over three years ago. Aside from my file entries, I really have little recollection of him.”
    Fishing the photo that Eleanor Kinnington had given me, I leaned forward a bit and held it up for the good doctor. “What I am really interested in is why Stephen, after apparently doing so well for so long, suddenly does an about-face. Now, it may have been a new occurrence, or it may have been a recurrence of something from his past. If we know what caused him to act, we might have a starting point for tracing him.”
    Stein waved off the photo, then tented his fingers and gave me a superior smile. “That’s assuming that he departed of his own accord. Has that been established?”
    “Not conclusively, but all the available evidence points toward his having run away rather than to kidnapping.”
    Stein nodded. He looked to his left and again reread Mrs. Kinnington’s letter. He seemed to be trying to memorize it. “I presume that time is of the essence, as the lawyers say?”
    “Yes. The longer it takes us to find the key, the lower our chances of finding the boy.”
    Stein came to his decision and swung his desk chair and the folder around sideways. “Let’s go through the file.” I hitched my chair around so that we sat side-by-side at the narrow end of the desk.
    The file was in reverse chronological order, so that you had to read from the bottom of the lower page to the top of the higher page. That awkwardness mastered, it took relatively little time to review.
    Stephen was signed into Willow Wood by his father within twenty-four hours of his mother’s death. He was diagnosed catatonic upon his arrival, and was treated with half a dozen drugs over the first two months. He slowly came out of the trance, showing exceptional manual dexterity and imagination.
    Group therapy efforts were aborted nearly as soon as they began, Stephen preferring individual sessions, though not really coming around to any one analyst or therapist. The entries suggested Stephen most enjoyed outdoor activities and the library, shunning team sports and leadership roles.
    “What kind of place is Willow Wood?” I asked.
    Stein shrugged. “It’s a low-security, very prestigious facility. In the old parlance, it would have been a sanatorium. It is set on the grounds of a beautiful estate about eight miles from Tanglewood. A friend of mine from medical school is head of staff there. Quite a plum position, but she was a superior doctor at a time when few women were entertained in medical school. She refers me all her discharging patients who are returning to the Boston area.”
    “There doesn’t appear to be any indication of who referred the judge to Willow Wood.”
    “No, but any knowledgeable psychiatrist would know of Sarah—that’s my classmate. Sarah might have a recollection of it, but surely it would be easier for you to just ask the judge.”
    “Right,” I said, hopefully not too quickly. “Tell me about the course of care at Willow Wood, generally.”
    “Well, the course of care varies, of course, with the condition being treated. Willow Wood specializes, so to speak, in difficult, long-term cases of seriously ill, but not, dangerous individuals.”
    “Arts, crafts, and canoeing versus straitjackets and shock treatment?”
    Stein actually harrumphed. “In a blunt sort of way, yes.”
    I returned to the file. Stephen seemed to improve month by month, if you compared a given week’s entry to one four or five weeks later. The drugs dropped off, and the assessments of his progress steadily rose. About eight months after his initial admission, he was released to his father, with a forwarding referral to Dr. Stein.
    I looked up at him. “Doctor, I don’t quite understand something from the records here. What exactly was wrong with