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.”
Chapter
68
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.
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.”