“It’s possible Bridgestone has already warned her she might get a call like that,” Nathan said.
“If he still has any contact with her all, he probably has warned her or more accurately threatened her. She might go underground. Maybe we should’ve waited on the call.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Telemarketers call all the time. Listen, we just finished breakfast, we’re walking back to the motel. I’ll call you after we’ve met with Fitzgerald.”
Nathan tucked his phone away and filled Henning in on what he’d learned about Ernie’s old girlfriend and fake telemarketer call.
“That might have been her,” Henning said.
“It’s possible. We won’t know until we talk to her.”
“And if she won’t talk to us?”
“She’ll talk.”
The entrance to Fort Leavenworth looked like a hundred other military-base entries. A small guard shack divided the road. MPs with sidearms approached the taxi and asked for everyone’s identification. Their taxi had been expected so the security procedure went smoothly. As instructed, the driver placed the bright-yellow temporary-vehicle pass on the dashboard. He was given a small map of the base showing the location of the dining facility.
Nathan thought the fort had a college campus feel to it, lots of green open spaces, mature trees, and historic buildings. At the dining facility’s curb, Henning asked-told, really-the driver to wait for them. Army service members filtered in and out of the DFAC. Most of them wore Army combat uniforms. A man in civilian clothes stepped out and approached them, Fitzgerald, no doubt. The man looked nothing like the stereotype of a shrink. No Freudian glasses, bald pate, or goatee. No white coat. He looked more like an aging California surfer than a prison psychiatrist. Dressed in tan slacks and an aloha shirt, he was in his mid-fifties, with sandy-colored hair, broad shoulders, and pleasant smile.
Nathan offered his hand. “Dr. Fitzgerald, I presume?”
“The one and only.”
“Nathan McBride. Thank you for meeting with us. This is Special Agent Bruce Henning from the Sacramento field office.”
“I’m very sorry for the loss of your colleagues.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Henning said. “I appreciate it.”
“I’d prefer if we talk out here,” Fitzgerald said. “The less we’re seen together, the better. I know a nice spot under some trees. I eat lunch there all the time.”
The cabdriver looked over with a questioning expression. Nathan asked him to keep the meter running and wait. The three men began walking down the sidewalk. After several hundred yards, they veered over to a group of oaks. There wasn’t any place to sit except on the grass, so that’s what they did. The meeting instantly became cordial as though they were there for a picnic, not a discussion of national security.
“This okay?” Fitzgerald asked.
“Perfect,” Nathan answered. “You know why we’re here.”
“I do.”
“I appreciate you meeting with us on such short notice.”
“You realize I’m hanging my tail out on a limb talking to you.”
“You have my word as a Marine Corps officer, it doesn’t go any further than us. We need to find Ernie Bridgestone and his brother. Find them fast.”
“I’m not sure what I can do to help.”
“There are a couple of things. First, I’m looking for any insight into his head, how he thinks.”
“I’ve counseled hundreds of troubled souls, but he possesses a pathology we don’t see very often.”
Nathan waited while the doctor gathered his thoughts.
“He’s what I’d consider a borderline devoid.”
“Devoid?” Henning asked.
“I’ll try to explain by using an example. A mother has a child, a little boy for our purposes. As the child matures, his mother starts to notice he isn’t like other boys. He doesn’t smile or laugh or cry or show any type of emotion at all. He’s picked on by other children. They think he’s stupid because he doesn’t laugh when they do, and it’s made worse when he doesn’t react to their ridicule. So imagine the mother sitting the little boy down and explaining that when he sees other children laugh, he should do the same thing. She teaches him to curve his lips up in a smile, show his teeth, and make a heh-heh-heh sound like the other children do.”
“That is seriously messed up,” Henning said.
“That’s right, Special Agent Henning. Just as some children are born with a childhood disease that cripples parts of their bodies, others are either born or molded into masking emotions. That’s why I consider him a borderline case. I believe his emotional responses are suppressed, not missing altogether, although I can’t be certain of that diagnosis.”
“I’m assuming guilt would be missing as well?” Nathan asked.
“Definitely. As a child, he would’ve had a hard time distinguishing between right and wrong. What all of us instinctively know as being wrong, say like mistreating an animal, is missing, or more accurately, short-circuited. The safety mechanism is bypassed, or it’s missing altogether. He doesn’t feel any regret for the Sacramento bombing. None.”
Henning visibly stiffened a little.
“What about his brother, Leonard?” Nathan asked. “What would Ernie feel toward him?”
“Loyalty isn’t clearly defined as an emotion. In fact, I don’t think it’s an emotional state of mind per se. I mention it because Ernie Bridgestone is extremely loyal to his older brother. He talked about Leonard often.”
“In what way?” Nathan asked.
“Mostly about their childhood. Their father was abusive. Brutally so, I’m afraid, and their mother didn’t intervene. A common belief among psychologists is that the first year of a baby’s life is perhaps the most important. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ernie had also been neglected for long periods of time. Try to imagine it: An infant cries because it’s hungry or lonely, but there’s no one there to feed or comfort it, to give it the tactile feedback it needs to feel secure and loved. Think of it, an infant screaming into the dark, isolated and alone, for hours, maybe even days.” Fitzgerald shook his head. “It’s cruel beyond comprehension. I truly believe Ernie is the product of such an environment. Leonard is a few years older, so he might have filled in where his mother didn’t. It would explain the strong family bond Ernie feels toward Leonard.”
“Isn’t it reasonable to assume Leonard was subjected to the same neglect?” Henning asked. “And wouldn’t he then have the same condition?”
“Yes and no. I believe he was, but some people can overcome such trauma through intellect. My own father, for example. He was from a broken and abusive home, but he became a valuable member of society, putting himself through medical school and becoming a Naval flight surgeon. He was also a loving father to me and my sisters. He broke the cycle. Some can, some can’t, or more accurately, some won’t. They justify their negative behavior by blaming someone else. This act of blaming, of being a victim, if you will, becomes part of their pathology.”
Nathan nodded his understanding. “Would Ernie have been able to form a meaningful relationship with anyone other than his brother? We know he was married.”
“The answer is yes, but it depends on what you mean by meaningful.”
“Love, would he be capable of love?”
“I’d have to say no. At least not in the way we think of it. His love would be based on actions, not emotion. I’ll give you an example. Let’s say Ernie comes home from work and his wife hasn’t cleaned up the kitchen from breakfast. She’s tired or having a bad day, or whatever. Ernie would interpret the dirty dishes in the sink as a sign she didn’t love him. Follow?”
Nathan nodded. “Tough situation. She’d never be able to do enough to prove her love.”