Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“You’re... you’re...”

“Right,” she said in a clipped tone.

“But what are you doin’ here?”

“What’s your first name?’

“Doug.”

“Okay, Doug . We’re here running down a lead. That led us to Jane Smith. She might be connected to some very grisly murders that have been going on in your fine state and that might point to a foreign element being present.”

“Foreign element?” said Dugan confusedly. “What’s that mean exactly?”

“Another name for them would be terrorists .”

Dugan’s jaw went slack. “What? In Mississippi? Are you shittin’ me?”

She shook her head. “No shit, Doug.”

He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial level. “Look, are we talkin’ A-rabs or what? If so I can get me some boys together loaded for bear to go after them desert suckers.”

“I don’t know if they are Muslims. We were hoping Ms. Smith could enlighten us.”

He waved this off. “If you’re countin’ on that, you’re outta luck.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s nuts, that’s why.”

“So she can’t communicate?”

“No, I mean she can talk. But it’s like talkin’ to a damn four-year-old.”

“Or maybe she’s actually speaking in code.”

“Give me a break. Do you get what I’m sayin’? She’s... a... wacko bird. What terrorist would involve someone like that? She could give it all away.”

“Are you sure she’s really wacko?”

“I think the docs would know if she’s fakin’.”

“But if she’s, let’s say, autistic, or has Asperger’s, she may be able to remember long streams of data that could be used to communicate plans and orders to various cells. And use the cover of being here to avert suspicion.”

“That sounds mighty unlikely to me. A-rabs and Jane Smith? Besides, there haven’t been any A-rabs come to visit her. They’d stick out here, don’t you think? This is Mississippi. We’re a God-fearin’ people. Our God, not theirs,” he added forcefully.

“Well, think about it, not all terrorists are Muslim. Some are homegrown, like Timothy McVeigh.”

“Still—” said Dugan, looking highly skeptical. “Ted Bunson is the only one who does visit her.”

“And we have not ruled out Mr. Bunson as a possible suspect in this, considering that the name Ted Bunson is an alias.”

Dugan paled. “Oh, okay. I didn’t know nothin’ about that. But I still don’t see what I can do.”

“Look, Doug, our investigations led us here. But if you won’t let us in to see her without a court order and something happens in the interim?” She took out a pen and a small pad of paper. “Is your full first name Douglas?”

“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.”

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.