Page 60 of The Guilty Trial

St. John’s Psychiatric Hospital

Seattle, Washington

Jason and Allie displayed their badges at the front entrance of St. John’s Psychiatric Hospital and asked for the administrator. A receptionist led them down a corridor with epoxy floors polished to a dull shine, past a common area where a handful of residents sat in chairs arranged in a loose circle. A television mounted high on the wall played the local news to no one in particular.

Patricia Collins met them in her office on the second floor. She was a compact woman in her fifties with a broad face and reading glasses pushed up into her graying hair. She shook their hands and settled into her chair, pulling her keyboard closer.

“Arthur Pym,” she repeated, typing the name into her system. Her eyes tracked across the screen. “Yes, here he is. Mr. Pym was a patient here for approximately four years.” She paused, scrolling. “He was discharged three months ago.”

Allie exchanged a glance with Jason. “Discharged to where?”

Collins read from the file. “His discharge address is listed as Maple View Transitional Housing, here in Seattle. He was given prescriptions for OCD and anxiety medications at the time of release.” Her mouth tightened as she scrolled further. “It looks like he never showed up for any of his follow-up appointments. We flagged it in the system, but once a patient is discharged, our ability to make sure they comply is limited.”

“We need to speak with whoever treated him,” Jason said. “His psychiatrist, therapist, anyone who spent significant time with him.”

Collins picked up her desk phone and made a call. After a short exchange, she hung up and told them Dr. Eleanor Marsh had been Pym’s primary psychiatrist during his entire stay and was available to speak with them now. She walked them down the hall to a small consultation room and left them there.

Dr. Marsh arrived a few minutes later carrying a thin file folder and sat across from them at a small table. “Patricia tells me you’re here about Arthur Pym.”

“We’re investigating a series of homicides,” Allie explained. “Pym’s name has come up in connection with the case. We need to understand his mental state, his history here, and what he was like when he was discharged.”

Dr. Marsh nodded slowly as she folded her hands over the closed file. “Arthur was quiet and cooperative, but there was an intensity to him that the staff found unsettling. There were no outbursts or anything like that. He simply watched everything very closely.”

“Did you notice any patterns?” Jason asked.

“Yes. Repetitive behaviors, recitation. He would murmur under his breath, sometimes for hours. He avoided certain surfaces and objects, and he kept meticulous track of specific numbers, including anytime he’d see them on receipts, addresses, and even license plates."

“Numbers,” Jason repeated.

“Did you happen to note which ones?” Allie asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone even as she felt a rush of adrenaline.

Marsh opened the file and glanced at a page. “Yes. Here they are. Let’s see… Fourteen. Twenty-two. Thirty-five. Forty-eight. He repeated them in that order, over and over. We eventually diagnosed him with severe Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and acute anxiety with obsessive features.”

Allie felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. Jason picked up the thread. “Do you remember anything else about those numbers? What kind of significance did they have for him?”

“It took a few sessions, but I finally learned they were exhibit numbers from a federal case he'd been involved with.”

Allie almost held her breath. “Did he ever mention which case?”

“Torrino. I remember because it had been all over the news and was a huge win. I followed it like it was a reality show. Which, in essence, I suppose it was. It almost felt like the closest thing we would ever have around here to seeing someone like Vito Corleone going to prison.”

Allie watched Jason’s posture shift beside her. Fourteen branded on Sterling. Thirty-five burned into Vance. Twenty-two seared across Halloway’s back. And forty-eight, the last number in Pym’s tortured sequence, still waiting.

Arthur Pym was their killer.

Allie steadied her breathing and pressed forward. “Did he show any improvement over time?”

“Yes, his treatment involved a combination of cognitive behavioral therapy and medication,” Dr. Marsh said. “Over the course of several years, his compulsive behaviors diminished. The intrusive thoughts became less frequent, or at least he reported them as such. By early this year, his treatment team determined he was stable enough for outpatient care. He was discharged with a structured plan for continued therapy and medication management.”

“Do you believe he truly let go of the obsession?” Allie asked.

Dr. Marsh considered the question. “I believe he learned to manage it. Whether he found peace is another matter entirely.” She removed her glasses and cleaned them on the hem of her coat before settling them back on her nose. “Sometimes patients tell their doctors what they want to hear, Agent Bishop. Arthur was intelligent and perceptive. He understood what progress was supposed to look like, and he was capable of performing it convincingly.”

Jason leaned forward. “What about personal connections? Family, friends, anyone who visited him?”

“Arthur had no family that we were aware of. He had no children, and he never married. For most of his stay, he had no visitors at all.” Dr. Marsh opened the file again and ran her finger down a page. “But the first year or two, his girlfriend came to see him at regular intervals. Her name is listed here as Linda Hayes.”

“And after that?” Allie asked.