The Guilty by David Baldacci
“Why?” he said suspiciously.
“I have to get it right for my report. If heads roll on this I don’t want anyone pointing their fingers at me. See what I mean? They’ll have to point ’em elsewhere. Like at you.”
“But I got rules to go by. And the administrator’s out this week. It’s just me runnin’ the show.”
“Hey, Doug, it’s your call. But I have to tell you, that excuse will not cut it if a building blows up or a plane goes down. What are you going to say when 60 Minutes sticks a camera in your face? ‘Sorry, I had petty rules to go by’? Good luck with that.”
Dugan looked like he might faint. “But what the hell can I do?”
“You can let us see Jane Smith.”
“But I could get in trouble.”
“Anybody comes down on you, we will take care of it. Way I see it you’re being a patriot. Putting your duty as a citizen above a stupid rule.”
“I…don’t know about this.”
“Fine, Doug, I hope the other shoe doesn’t drop on this because about a dozen people have died so far and I don’t see it getting any better.”
“A dozen people! In Mississippi?”
“Have you been reading about the goings-on in Cantrell?”
Doug nodded. “I remember readin’ about a couple of murders down there, yeah.”
“Well, the body count has gone way up but they’re keeping it under wraps. Don’t want to panic the public.”
“Shit, you think this is connected to all that?”
“Only reason we’re here, Doug. Don’t know about you, but I don’t have that much time to waste. We are trying to keep America safe from its enemies.”
“Sure, of course. I get that.”
“So can we count on you to help us on this? I don’t want to have to make a phone call and bring in more firepower on this. You won’t be a happy camper if I do.”
Dugan set his clipboard down and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. “No, look, that won’t be necessary.”
She clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come through for us. I can always tell a straight-up guy.”
Dugan smiled. “Hey, if this turns out to be part of some plot, will I get like a medal or somethin’?”
“I don’t see why not.”
He beamed. “Hot damn. Wait till I tell my girlfriend.”
“So what do we need to get this going?”
He handed her two visitor’s badges. “These. And I’ll take you down there myself.”
Robie came back over. “What’s going on?”
“Doug has seen the light. He’s helping us prevent a potential terrorist situation.”
“Right, good, thanks, Doug.”
“No problem, sir.” Doug gave him a little salute.
As they walked down the hall Robie said, “How often does Bunson come by?”
“At least weekly, sometimes more often.”
“How old is Jane Smith?” asked Reel.
“File says forty.”
“How long has she been here?”
“Two years.”
He stopped in front of a door and took out a key from his pocket.
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Robie.
“Like I told your partner, she’s just a wacko.”
“But is there a technical term in her file?” he said.
“Oh, right. She’s a schizophrenic, if memory serves. But I’ll check her file.”
“Do you have an address for Bunson?”
“I can check on that, too. How long do you think you’ll be in there?”
Robie put his hand on the doorknob.
“As long as it takes.”
Chapter
68
THE WALLS WERE a pale gray; the floor, not overly clean linoleum, was peeling up. A window looked out onto the back of the property.
The bed was against one wall.
A nightstand was next to the bed.
A chair was next to it.
There was a door leading off the bedroom, presumably to a bathroom.
A small, freestanding cabinet acted as a closet.
That was it.
The entire space was about twelve feet square, Robie figured. Not much bigger than a prison cell.
And that was really what she was here, a prisoner.
Jane Smith was sitting in the chair. She had on a dull yellow hospital gown, her feet encased in grungy white slippers. Her hair was dark and cut quite short, which accentuated the sharp angles of her face.
Robie closed the door behind them and they drew closer to the woman, who had yet to even acknowledge their presence.
Robie studied her face and then suddenly put one hand against the wall.
Reel said, “Are you okay?”
Robie shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s something about—”
He drew closer still to the woman.
She finally looked up and saw him. Her eyes widened and then shrank. She looked back down at her hands, which were twisting and turning in her lap, like she was attempting to solve a Rubik’s Cube, without the cube. She started giggling and then chirping and clucking, then stopping abruptly before starting up again.
Robie squatted down in front of her.
“Ms. Smith?”
She didn’t acknowledge him, just kept moving her hands and making noises.
He ran his gaze over her again.
“Laura?”
She glanced up at him when he said the name.
Robie heard Reel behind him catch a quick breath.
He turned and looked at her.
“Laura Barksdale?” Reel said. “Is that really her?”
Robie turned back. “I don’t know. She…looks like her.”
Reel drew closer. “You can’t lock somebody up in here, Robie, under a false name.”
“Really, so you think Jane Smith is her real name?” he said impatiently.
“Do you have the picture?”
Robie took it from his pocket and handed it to her. Reel looked at it and then compared the image to the woman in front of her.
“There is a definite resemblance,” she conceded. “The jaw, eyes, hair. But something is off. It’s like somebody took Laura’s picture, smeared it, and got this person.”
“She looks shorter than Laura,” Robie estimated, though the woman hadn’t stood. “Laura was about five-six, though she might have shrunk some in here. And she’s a lot thinner. She’s all hunched over. Probably sits like that all day.”
“That would make anyone look smaller. And she probably gets no exercise in here.”
Clearly frustrated, Robie said, “But it’s been over twenty years. I can’t be sure if it’s her or not.”
“But how does Laura Barksdale end up in here under a false name with her brother as her guardian and who’s also using an alias?”
“I have no idea.”
“Were there problems in the family?”
Robie stood and faced her.
“Laura was usually positive, always putting on a brave face.”
“Meaning there was trouble at home?”
“She never talked about it, but it always seemed to me that she really wasn’t happy. Living up to the Barksdale name was not easy. But now that we know what her dad was involved in, maybe the answer lies there, at least partly.”
“Maybe she found out and that’s why she wanted to run away with you?”
“If so, why didn’t she?” Robie shot back.
“Maybe she couldn’t, Robie.”
“I saw her at the house that night. She looked fine. She wasn’t a prisoner. And I wrote her, too. Left phone messages. Never got an answer.”
“You’re a boy.”
They turned to see “Jane” looking at them. She pointed at Robie, smiled shyly, and said, “You’re a boy.” She pointed at Reel. “And you’re a girl.”
Jane looked very pleased with herself for this observation.
“That’s right,” said Robie, squatting do
“Will?”
“That’s right.”
“Who’s the girl, Will?”
“I’m Jessica,” said Reel. “Can you tell me your name? I bet it’s a pretty one.”
“Jane. Is it a pretty name?”
“Yes it is. And your last name?”
Jane looked confused by this question. “It’s Jane. What’s your name?”
Robie and Reel looked at each other.
He said, “Jane, does Ted come to see you?”
She nodded. “He brings me things to eat. I like to eat, but not the things they have here.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “They have stinky things here.”
“Will he visit you today?”
She nodded. “He comes to see me. He brings me things to eat, not stinky things.”
“But he hasn’t been in today?” asked Robie.
She nodded. “Ted comes to see me.”
Robie sighed and stood. “What things do you like to eat, Jane?”
She said immediately, “Hamburgers and French fries. They’re not stinky. Ted brings me hamburgers and French fries because they’re not stinky.”
“Anybody else come to visit? Your mother or father maybe?”
“Hamburgers and French fries. They’re my favorite.”
She rose and shuffled like an old woman over to the window and looked out. There was a solitary tree visible, and flitting around it were some birds.
Jane pointed at them. “What are they? Those things?”
Robie walked over and stood next to her. “They’re called birds.”
“How do they do that?” She began to hop off the floor. “That?” She looked at Robie questioningly.
“They have wings, so they can fly.”
By her expression she clearly had no idea what this meant.
She sat back down, hunched over, and started twisting her hands around again. Then the chirps, giggles, and clucks started up. She sounded like a small child at imaginative play.
“I saw a McDonalds on the way over,” said Reel. “Maybe some nonstinky food will jog her memory.”
“I don’t think she has a memory. I think she is what she is. I wonder what sorts of meds she’s on.”
“Maybe Dougie can enlighten us.”
* * *
Dugan read off the names of three different drugs from Jane’s file when they asked him a few minutes later.
“Those are all antipsychotics,” said Reel.
“That’s right, how’d you know?”
“What’s her condition?” asked Robie.
“I was right—the file said schizophrenia and bipolar.”
“She talked to us. She was obviously not all there, but she seemed relatively calm.”
“Then this is a good day for her. And you haven’t seen her off her meds. That happened a couple of times because of screw-ups here. I thought she was goin’ to kill herself. Screamin’ and bangin’ her head against the wall, sayin’ people were tryin’ to eat her. Scared the crap out of everybody. So she is definitely not normal. Even on her meds she can’t take care of herself. She’d burn the house down thinkin’ she was roasting a marshmallow.”
“Was she committed here or was it voluntary?”
“Committed.”
“Who initiated the proceedings?”
“I don’t have that information. You’ll have to talk to somebody else if you want anythin’ more.”
“Has Bunson been in to see her today?” asked Robie.
“Nope.”
“You get his address?”
Dugan handed him a slip of paper. “It’s about thirty minutes west of here.”
“What can you tell us about him?”
“Nice guy. He brings Jane food and stuff. We chitchat a bit. Nothin’ important.”
“He ever talk about his family? About Jane? What happened to her?”
“No, nothin’ like that.”
“So what’s the connection between the two of them? Family?”
“Don’t know. None of my business. He’s her guardian, that’s all that matters to us. We have the papers. All in order.”
“Does Jane like Big Macs?” asked Reel.
“Couple miles away. You passed it on the way here. That’s where Bunson goes,” Dugan added.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t forget my medal,” Dugan called after them.
They drove to the McDonalds and bought a Big Mac, large fries, and a Coke, and brought them back to Jane. She carefully unwrapped the burger and ate very slowly and delicately, taking the time to lick all the special sauce off her fingers. She ate her fries one by one, looking at each fry for a few seconds as though wondering what it was before popping it into her mouth and chewing slowly and methodically. She drank her Coke in short, hesitant sips.
When she let out a loud burp she looked very embarrassed.
“That was bad,” she said pitifully. “I’m not supposed to do that.”
“It happens,” said Reel.
“Who are you?” Jane asked, looking at her curiously. “Do you want some of my hamburger? You’re a girl.”
They later walked to their car.
Reel said, “You really think that might be your Juliet?”
“I don’t know. And even if we run her prints, I doubt she’s in a database.”