Killer Dreams by Iris Johansen

Dave never told me that he was having problems. I should have been there.”
    “It was two months, Sophie,” Jock said quietly. “And you were having a few problems yourself.”
    “I’m not a child,” she said harshly. “I’m a mother and I should have been there for him.”
    “Very touching,” Royd said. “But I’d like to get back to Sanborne.”
    Christ, he was a tough bastard. “Sorry to waste your time. I wasn’t trying to play on your sympathies. I doubt if you have any. Actually, we never got away from Sanborne.” She lifted her cup to her lips. “When I was in that mental hospital, the only way I could survive was to try to understand what had happened. I couldn’t believe my father had just gone insane. He was…wonderful. Kind and normal in every way.” She paused. “Except for the sleep disorders he’d suffered since he was a child. But even those were dwindling in the past few months. He was going to a new specialist, Dr. Paul Dwight. I checked him out and he was very well respected. He was seeing him much more frequently than he had his last therapist and it seemed to work. He was sleeping through the night and the night terrors were coming less frequently. My mother was very happy for him. That last day he looked more rested than I can remember seeing him. And then I remembered how rested and happy those volunteers in Amsterdam looked when they woke after the REM-4 therapy.” She shook her head. “I thought I was reaching, imagining, making connections where none existed. But I had to make sure. After all, wouldn’t it be the perfect way to get rid of me? I haven’t the slightest doubt my father would have turned the pistol on me if I hadn’t already taken the bullet meant for Michael. You hear about madmen who kill their entire families and then themselves. A family tragedy. No mysterious assassin that might spark an investigation. I’d be gone and then Sanborne would be free to go on with his plans for REM-4.”
    “And what did you do about it?”
    “When I got out of the hospital, I went through my father’s records and got the name and address of his therapist. I called to make an appointment. The phone had been disconnected. The doctor had been killed in an automobile accident three weeks before.”
    “Convenient,” Jock murmured.
    “That was what I thought. I hired a private detective to try to trace a connection between Dr. Dwight and Sanborne. The only thing he could come up with was a meeting at a convention in Chicago that same year. And bank deposits of close to half a million dollars Dwight made in regular intervals during the last few months.”
    “Not conclusive.”
    “Not for a court of law, but it was enough for me. It gave me a lead, a rope to pull me out of the quicksand. But I had to know more. I still had friends at Sanborne’s company and I started asking questions. I was assured no more experiments had been done on the premises. The department had been completely closed down and the personnel had all been transferred to other projects. I didn’t believe it. I asked my friend Dr. Cindy Hodge to snoop around and see what she could come up with.” She paused. “She came up with a list of names. And she came up with a place. Garwood, North Dakota.” She stopped as she sensed a change in Royd’s demeanor.
    “You recognize the name?”
    “Oh, yes. I’m very familiar with Garwood.” He glanced at Jock.
    “And you?”
    “My training was different from yours. I didn’t even remember Garwood until last year when my mind was drifting back to me.” He nodded at Sophie. “And Sophie nudged that memory when she came looking for me.”
    “She was looking for you?” Royd asked.
    “Did you think I was tracking her down? I was trying to come to terms with what I was and am. I didn’t break free as quickly as you did.”
    “I was at Garwood a long time before you were brought there. And it didn’t seem quick,” Royd said. “Any more than fighting your