Death in Saratoga Springs (18 page)

Wednesday, July 25

 

B
ack in her room, Pamela wrote in her journal about this encounter with Jason Dunn. Clearly, his mental problems had deep roots in the past, but they had worsened and had to be addressed soon. Tom Winn might know a competent doctor willing to help. In the meantime, she hoped Jason wouldn't hurt himself or anyone else.

At the reception desk, she waited while the clerk was busy. Jason was standing off to a side. Usually his appearance was fastidious. Now his pale, drawn face was unshaven and his hair was tousled. The clerk glanced at him critically, then gave him a message to deliver. He ran off without noticing Pamela.

“Where's Tom Winn?” she asked the clerk.

“He's in his office. A short while ago, he was looking for you. His door is open.”

 

“May I close the door?” Pamela asked as she entered Winn's office. “I need to speak privately about the bellboy Jason Dunn.”

Winn frowned at her mention of Jason. Then he straightened his tie and pulled up a chair for her. “What's he done?”

“This morning, he threatened to jump out of the cupola onto Broadway six floors below. I believe he's mentally ill and dangerous.” She sketched Jason's state of mind from his birth to the present but without mentioning names. “In a true sense,” she concluded, “he's a war orphan, one of the uncounted casualties.”

“Poor chap, I feel for him.” Winn sighed. “But we can't have him killing himself and perhaps a passerby. The housekeeper lent him a key to the cupola so he could raise and lower the flag. He uses that opportunity to practice his flute. He's really very good at it. For a start, I must take away the key, though that might trigger a determination to kill himself. He could jump out of a sixth-floor window.”

“Could the hotel put him in the care of a qualified medical person?”

“Possibly. From time to time, we have this kind of medical emergency. Recently, a gentleman gambled away a family fortune at Mitchell's den across the street and then tried to hang himself in one of our rooms. A chambermaid pulled him down. We called on Dr. Carson in town. He has a calming manner with desperate men and women, and runs a clinic for their recovery, but he's expensive and must be paid.” Winn tilted his head in a doubting gesture.

Pamela acknowledged that the Grand Union was a commercial enterprise, not a philanthropic institution. “But there are hotel guests of means who are acquainted with Jason and concerned for his welfare. I'll approach them with this problem. In the meantime, he should be kept occupied. Could he be assigned to supervised duties on the ground floor? He's an experienced waiter. Perhaps he could work in the barroom.”

“An excellent suggestion, Mrs. Thompson. I'll speak to the management. They are already worried about him.”

As Pamela hurried over to the Crawford suite, anxiety welled up in her mind. How would Edith deal with the idea of being responsible for her abandoned son? She could simply refuse to become involved and resent Pamela's interference in family problems.

In that case, perhaps Mrs. Dunn could assume the task as Jason's foster mother.

Unfortunately, her resources were limited and her health at seventy was doubtful. She and Jason also had a strained personal relationship. Years ago, she had gladly waved him good-bye when he left Charleston for New York. His search for his true parents had become irritating and embarrassing. Recently, his reading of her secret diary had angered her.

Nonetheless, something had to be done. And the Crawfords had to do it. Jason was one of them, even if they would rather forget it. His suicide would lie heavily on their consciences and expose their dark secret to the whole wide world.

At the Crawford suite, Pamela squared her shoulders and knocked. Virgil opened the door. Taken by surprise, he hesitated for a moment. “Oh, Mrs. Thompson, we were about to go to dinner. What can I do for you?”

“An urgent matter has come up that I should bring to the Crawford family's attention. I fear it might spoil your appetite.”

“Bad news, then?”

“Distressing, I would say.”

“Then come in. You should speak with James. I believe Edith is occupied in the final stage of her toilette. Mrs. Dunn is resting in her room.”

Dressed in a light silk suit and tie, James was seated in his wheelchair, reading the
New York World.
“Good evening, Mrs. Thompson. What brings you here?” His tone was friendly but not cordial. He seemed to sense that she was bringing trouble.

“I must excuse myself for disturbing you at this time.” She paused as he laid the paper aside. “Jason Dunn has become suicidal, perhaps homicidal as well. Something must be done for him before it's too late. The hotel management is fully aware of his condition and is willing to help, but the chief responsibility for him lies with the family.”

A stunned silence filled the room. James spoke first. “Dinner must wait.” He turned to Virgil. “Tell Edith and Mrs. Dunn to come. Mrs. Thompson will give us the details. Then we'll discuss what we must do, if anything.”

Edith emerged fully coiffed and dressed for dinner, but her eyes were wide with apprehension. “What's happened?” she asked, pulling up a chair. Her eyes shifted back and forth between Pamela and James.

“Jason appears to have fallen into some sort of mental crisis,” James replied. At that point, Mrs. Dunn came into the room, sleepy-eyed and sullen. James showed her to a chair, then glanced toward Pamela. “Go ahead, please.”

She briefly described Jason's condition and the hotel's concern. “He's a danger to himself and to others. In his employment papers, Mrs. Dunn is listed as his next of kin in case of an emergency. This appears to be an emergency. The legal, and probably the only feasible solution is for Mrs. Dunn, with the support of the family, to commit him to Dr. Carson's care.”

“What?” shrieked Mrs. Dunn, now fully alert. “He left me years ago. I owe him nothing. He's an ungrateful young man and the author of his own troubles. You don't know him, Mrs. Thompson. He's pretending to be sick in order to gain sympathy.” She glared at Pamela. “Furthermore, don't you be telling me what I should do. This is none of your business.”

“Now, now, Mrs. Dunn,” said James, his tone soft but firm. “We face a crisis that has been long in coming. I'd rather hear the bad news from Mrs. Thompson than from the police or from scandalmongers. She's had years of experience dealing with family problems.”

Through this exchange, Edith sat rigid, eyes wide, her hands pressed to her lips. Virgil stood poised as if to catch her, should she faint.

When everyone was quiet and a measure of calm had returned to the room, James took the lead. “We must do what we can to avert a tragedy and a scandal.” He spoke to Pamela. “I, too, have noticed a change for the worse in Jason. I thank you for alerting us. He must be saved from himself. I can't think of a better solution than the one you have proposed. It also appears to be legal and has the hotel's backing. Behind the scene, I will assume the costs and act on Mrs. Dunn's behalf. She will experience a minimum of bother.”

He surveyed those gathered around him. “Does anyone object or have a better plan?”

Mrs. Dunn sighed deeply and wrung her hands but remained silent. James was about to continue when Virgil spoke up. “I only wish to point out that Jason could object to this arrangement and refuse to be confined in a clinic under Dr. Carson's authority. He might think it's too much like being placed in prison and could engage a lawyer. Then Pandora's box might open.”

“You are right, Virgil,” said James. “We should first try to persuade him that this arrangement is in his best interest. That might be a difficult task since he's not acting like a fully rational person.” He looked around at the others, then asked, “Does anyone here or elsewhere enjoy his trust and could talk to him?”

All eyes turned toward Pamela. For a moment she wished that she hadn't gotten involved with the Crawfords. “I'll try,” she said. “God help us.”

 

Back in her room, Pamela sat at her desk and reflected on her daunting task. Before going any further, she would visit Dr. Carson and inspect his facility. She needed to be convinced it was suitable if she was to persuade Jason. He was likely to share the common view that treatment of the mentally ill was often ineffective and inhumane. The public asylums were overcrowded and poorly funded, and offered only custodial care.

The popular journalist Nellie Bly may have strengthened the public's negative attitude. A few years ago, Bly had feigned illness and was committed to a New York lunatic asylum. For ten days, she had suffered together with other inmates the most appalling abuse and deprivation. When she complained, an attendant doused her with pails of cold water. Her reports caused a national outcry of indignation. Pamela hoped that Dr. Carson offered an enlightened alternative.

 

Early in the evening, accompanied by James and Virgil Crawford, Pamela arrived at the gate of a large estate on the north edge of the village. Dr. Carson had agreed to see them. His porter was waiting and let them in.

Carson himself welcomed them at the front door. He remarked that the hotel proprietor, Mr. Wooley, had said their visit was to help one of his employees. “Let me show you what I can do.”

Before going inside, he made a sweeping gesture over the property. “This estate was a wealthy woman's summer residence. When she died, she left it to us because we had cured her daughter's mental illness.”

A low, decorative wall encircled the property. The grounds were landscaped in the informal English fashion, stretches of green lawn intermingled with groves of trees and flowerbeds. The clinic itself was a large, rambling, three-story, brown-shingled residence with a great porch stretching across the front side. Its rocking chairs were empty now. The patients were probably at supper.

Carson led Pamela and the Crawfords into a wood-paneled foyer with a large fireplace and comfortable chairs. Off to the side was the door to his office. They entered and sat facing each other. A middle-aged man with thinning hair and gold-rimmed eyeglasses, Carson was unremarkable, except for the kindness and intelligence in his eyes.

“Mrs. Thompson, could you draw me a picture of the patient and his situation at the hotel? Mr. Wooley spoke in rather general terms.”

Pamela identified Jason, sketched his life's history, and described the symptoms of his illness. She didn't mention the Crawfords by name.

Carson listened attentively, occasionally seeking a clarification. When she finished, he was briefly silent, a reflective expression on his face. “In layman's terms, Mr. Dunn appears to suffer from a personality disorder. As you realize, its roots reach back into his infancy. You are right to take his anger and his suicidal remarks seriously.”

“Could you treat him?”

“I think so. We've had patients in the past with similar symptoms, and they responded well to our therapy. I should stress that it has been tested, going back a hundred years. At the time of the French Revolution, Dr. Philippe Pinel determined that depression and certain other mental illnesses were caused by traumas or similar profound distress to a person's character or spirit. Pinel devised a therapy to restore the damaged spirit to a healthy state. That's what we try to do here. Let me show you.”

From his office they walked into a parlor where men and women were gathering for a concert. A young man sat at a piano. Carson whispered, “The pianist was scheduled to play at Carnegie Hall, a few months ago, when his health broke down. He has recovered well enough to play for us tonight. Music was part of his therapy.”

They left the room quietly as the pianist began. Carson remarked, “Instead of tying a sick person to his or her bed, or worse yet, to the wall, as is too often the custom in asylums, we occupy the patient's mind with constructive activity, such as painting or woodcarving or playing a musical instrument.”

They walked on into the dining room. Tables were being set for a meal. Each table had a vase of cut flowers on a white linen cover. A large window offered a charming, restful view of the distant Appalachian foothills.

“As you may recall,” Carson said, “Miss Bly's New York asylum served her and the other patients thin gruel and rotten meat for dinner in a prison setting—as if they were criminal inmates. Our patients eat nourishing meals in a friendly, attractive environment. As always, the staff is nearby giving support and encouragement.”

In the rear of the building were the baths. “Since at least Roman times,” Carson remarked, “soaking the body in warm water has soothed the spirit. Massages are also helpful.”

Behind the building were barns for horses, cows, and other animals. “Feeding and petting these creatures help our patients to engage with others and learn to care for them. For the same reason, there are also ducks and fish in the pond and cats, dogs, and birds in the house.”