Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“So you were rich now, too?”

“Yes. And Sherm had big plans. About twenty years ago we moved into a nice house outside of Cantrell. Then he got in on the ground floor with the casino folks at the Rebel Yell. He made a lot more money there. I was surprised at how smart he was at business, to tell the truth. Things were going good.” Her voice rose. “Till the son of a bitch came home one night less than a year later and basically told me I was being replaced by a floozy he’d been shackin’ up with behind my back and who was pregnant with that pissant Pete. I got my money, though he screwed me on that, and bought this place. He built that monstrosity over near Cantrell and he and the floozy had Pete. Then the floozy got the boot and it was just him and Pete. And Pete only stayed because he’s a lazy ass livin’ off Sherm’s money. He’s barely nineteen and probably can’t even wipe himself.”

“The house burned down,” said Robie.

“So I heard,” said Cassandra, not hiding her glee. “I guess what Sherm did came back to bite him in the ass.”

“And the Barksdales?” said Robie. “They sold the Willows and slunk out of town. Why?”

“I don’t know why. I just know that Henry was the go-between with Sherm and Wendell.”

“And he was a pedophile too, of course, and Sherm knew that,” noted Robie.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“What?” asked Robie sharply.

“I know he sometimes came to the shack where the kids were, but from what Sherm told me, he wasn’t into the kids. Never touched ’em. That was just Wendell.”

“But why be part of it at all then?” asked Reel. “If he wasn’t into kids?”

“That’s easy. It was for the money too. Sherm told me Barksdale had bet on somethin’ big and it went south. He was broke. Goin’ to lose the Willows and everythin’ else. He needed the cash bad, and Wendell had more than enough for everybody.”

“So Wendell was paying him to arrange things with the kids?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think Sherm might have been blackmailing Henry Barksdale as well?” asked Robie. “And maybe that’s why he left Cantrell so abruptly?”

She shook her head. “Sherm was an asshole, but as crazy as it sounds, he was a man of his word. Sherm would’ve gotten zip if not for Henry Barksdale bringin’ him in on this. Sherm never forgot that. He told me that mor’n once. He wouldn’t have done nothin’ to hurt Barksdale.”

“So if they were getting paid, why start blackmailing Nelson Wendell and make him buy the farm for an exorbitant price?” asked Reel.

“Hell, that’s an easy one. Sherm was greedy as they come. And, yeah, we were gettin’ paid, but Sherm wanted more. A lot more. He had plans and he needed big money. So he got pictures of Wendell and the kids and that was his way of takin’ the guy to the cleaners. Sherm called Wendell his golden goose.”

“I bet,” said Reel. “And it seems that Henry Barksdale might have supplied the pictures to Sherm just to make sure the guy never turned his sights on him.”

Robie looked confused. “Okay, but if Wendell refused to pay, what leverage did Sherm have? If the truth came out, so would his role in the whole thing. They could have all gone to jail.”

“Hell, Sherm was a nobody. Nelson Wendell was rich, from a well-known family, and everyone looked up to him. Sherm had nothin’ to lose if the truth came out. Wendell had everythin’ to lose. And Sherm might have been a blackmailer. But Wendell sexually abused little kids. Which do you think folks would find worse?”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Reel.

Cassandra said weakly, “So, can we just keep this between the three of us?”

Robie and Reel rose together.

Staring down at her, Robie said, “I guess only time will tell on that.”

Her face fell. “So that’s all the assurance you can give me? I’ll worry myself sick.”

“Then consider yourself lucky,” retorted Robie. “Because everybody else has ended up dead.”

“Damn, what a piece of work,” said Reel as they got back into their car.

“I guess people can rationalize anything,” commented Robie, staring up at the big house. “For the right price.”

Reel put the car in gear at the same time Robie’s phone buzzed. It wasn’t a call. It was an e-mail.

“It’s from Blue Man.”

He read through it, twice. “Well, this has taken an unexpected turn.”

“What? Did he find anything out about the Barksdales?”

“A man named Ted Bunson is the guardian of a patient at a state mental institution. It’s about an hour’s drive north of here.”

“Who’s Ted Bunson?”

“His real name, apparently, is Emmitt Barksdale.”

“Laura’s brother?”

“Yes.”

“How did Blue Man score that?”

“One of the things I asked him to do was track down the Barksdales. Well, Emmitt Barksdale had an arrest record, DUI, from when he lived in Cantrell. His fingerprints were taken and recorded. Apparently, they got uploaded to some database. Blue Man had a search done and a pair of prints belonging to one Ted Bunson came back as a match. Mr. Bunson had been fingerprinted for another DUI a number of years ago.”

“And he’s the guardian of a mental patient?”

“Jane Smith.”

“Jane Smith? Think it’s an alias?”

“Well, ‘Ted Bunson’ is. So her name might be as well. Not very imaginative though, Jane Smith ?”

“Does he have an address for Bunson?”

“An old one. He no longer lives there. They’re still checking on other possible ones. But if Emmitt is the guardian, he may visit the person. We could get on to him from that angle.”

“Worth an hour’s drive,” said Reel, and they sped out of the driveway.

The facility was old and foreboding in appearance. The brick façade was water stained, the cracked driveway was badly patched, and even the surrounding trees and grass lawns looked worn out.

As they parked and got out of the car, Reel said, “Well, if I was mental I don’t think this place would make me feel any better.”

They headed to the front entrance. After speaking to the receptionist they were handed off to the assistant administrator, a heavyset man in his forties wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, wide tie, thick glasses, and a bad attitude. He sat at his desk in his tiny office with the air of a king on his golden throne.

The name tag clipped on his shirt read DUGAN.

In answer to their query he said, “You can’t visit Ms. Smith without the requisite permission.”

“And we could get that from her guardian, Ted Bunson?” said Robie.

Dugan looked at him without answering. He held a clipboard like he was about to fling it at their heads.

“Or from one of her doctors?” suggested Robie.

“Do you have that permission?” asked a scowling Dugan.

“No.”

“Then I don’t know why we’re havin’ this conversation. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Is there any other way to see her?” asked Reel.

“Oh sure. A court order. You got one of those in your pocket?” he added snidely.

“Well, we can arrange that,” said Robie, pulling out his phone and heading over to a corner of the room where he could talk in private.

Dugan looked startled by this and gazed up accusingly at Reel. “Are you cops? You didn’t show ID. You’re supposed to.”

“Actually, we’re more than cops,” said Reel.

“What does that mean?” said Dugan warily.

Reel took out the perfectly valid credentials she used in the States, which showed her to be a member of an instantly recognizable federal agency.

Dugan dropped the clipboard.