Chapter
67
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.
“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?”