Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

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 down in front of her again. “I’m Will. Will Robie.” He waited to see if either his name or his face sparked any hint of recognition from her.

“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.”

“Schizophrenia can happen to anyone at any time. It happens to teenagers. In fact, a lot of cases are diagnosed between eighteen and twenty-one.”