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“You kidding? There’s nothing like it, man. Someday you’ll understand.”
Jonah’s thoughts reverted to Summer, as they so often did. But this time it was as if he was standing in that hospital room ten years ago, smelling the sweet scent of a brand-new baby. His baby. Although it was something he never talked about, he already knew what having a child was like. But that moment, the one that was supposed to be so special, had turned into an ache that would never heal. Not only had he let Francesca down, and Adriana, too—he’d known she wanted far more from him than he’d been willing to give her—he hadn’t been there for his own child. He’d opted to go the convenient route.
Little had he known how inconvenient giving her up would become for his conscience. “Someday maybe I will,” he said. “What do you have on Dean Wheeler?”
“Quite a bit, actually. The man’s spent the better part of his life navigating the mental health system.”
Relieved by the change of subject, Jonah straightened his shoulders and tried, once again, to close the door on his past. “I’d guessed as much. But has he ever been treated at Laurel Oaks Behavioral Hospital?”
“He has.”
Bingo. They had their connection. Jonah was grateful for that; he thought it might come in handy when he and Francesca met with the investigators later this morning. At least they’d have proof that a second murder victim had a link to someone at the salvage yard. Two links were better than one—and might help combat Finch and Hunsacker’s upset over what’d happened last night.
“For a brief period, anyway,” Nate was saying. “Looks like he was committed three different times, all for short stints. In 2006, he was in for a psychotic episode. Spent one week at the hospital. In January 2007, he was committed again, for violent behavior against his sister. I guess he pulled a knife on her—”
“He what?” Jonah broke in.
“Don’t get too excited. It was only a butter knife, and the details were never clear as to whether he meant to harm her.”
“How long did he stay that time?”
“Two weeks. Then his psychiatrist released him into the custody of his parents. He went back a month later for depression.”
“So…he’s what? Bipolar?”
“He has schizoaffective disorder with severe bipolar tendencies.”
“That’s a mouthful.”
“Not a pleasant diagnosis.”
“You mentioned a psychotic episode. He loses touch with reality?”
“According to his doctor, a Dr. Shishimu, he sometimes hears voices that tell him to act a certain way.”
“Do they tell him to murder women?”
“Dr. Shishimu said he’d be very surprised if Dean ever harmed anyone. The voices tell him what clothes to wear, what bus to take, even if that particular bus doesn’t go where he originally wanted to, what to eat and so on. You get the picture.”
Unable to pace or do much of anything else in the bathroom’s confined space, Jonah sat on the edge of the tub. “What a way to live.”
“That’s not all. A nurse at Laurel Oaks told me she remembered him having a persecution complex. When he was there last, he insisted there was someone out to kill him, and the voices were telling him he had to get home in order to protect his mother.”
“He thought it was someone in the hospital?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Interesting.” The man Jonah had met didn’t seem that far gone. Apparently, his meds were working well enough to make him appear somewhat functional. “What medication do they have him on?”
“Geodon.”
“Never heard of it.” But then, he wasn’t very familiar with mental illness or its treatments.
“Neither had I, so I searched the Internet for info. It’s considered one of the ‘newer generation’ anti-psychotics.”
“Which means…”
“I’m not sure exactly. It’s more recently developed, I guess. It inhibits the absorption of dopamine in the brain, but I think they all do that. Anyway, he’s also on Depakote, a mood stabilizer, to treat the bipolar.”
