“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.”
“But if that is Laura and she’s forty and she was committed only two years ago, that means she was diagnosed in her late thirties.”
“No, she came here two years ago. She could have been in another facility before this. Or she could have been in someone’s home and she became too much to handle, so they committed her. We have no way of knowing how long she’s been like this without taking a deep dive into her personal and medical history.”
“Damn, could she change that much, though?” asked Robie.
“Like you said, it’s been twenty-two years. You’ve been away from her longer than you knew her. People can become unrecognizable, Robie. Especially someone with her condition.”
“I guess.”
“But let’s look at this logically. If she was committed, there had to be a court hearing. So how could they commit Laura Barksdale as Jane Smith? It’s inconceivable.”
“Unless she was brought to the court as Jane Smith with accompanying documentation,” noted Robie.
“But with what purpose? To cut her out of the will? It doesn’t seem like Henry Barksdale was exactly rolling in dough. And she obviously isn’t all there. She should be in a place like this under a doctor’s care and with medications. She clearly can’t be on her own.”
“But it doesn’t explain what happened to her. Unless, like you said, she became schizophrenic.”
“The thing is, when that happens, and depending on the severity, the person can sometimes manage it with meds. And lead a relatively normal life. Every situation is different, of course, but if Jane’s on three very powerful antipsychotic meds and she still has the mental capacity of a four-year-old, something else is going on.”
“Like maybe she suffered irreversible brain damage?” asked Robie.
“Yes.”
“But how? An injury?”
They got in the car and Reel started it up.
“Well, maybe Ted-slash-Emmitt can provide some much needed answers,” she said.
Chapter
69
“Well, the guy’s not rich,” said Robie as they pulled into the neighborhood where Emmitt Barksdale lived under the name Ted Bunson. The homes and yards were in good condition, but the houses were modest and old.
“So there goes any theory of skullduggery and a will.”
They pulled into the driveway of Barksdale’s house. There was a Toyota Camry parked there that was a good ten years old. The yard was small but well maintained, and a few potted plants were on the front porch, though the flowers in them drooped in the heat.
They got out of the car and approached the house. Robie looked to his left and saw a woman out watering some flowers in a planting bed. To his right a man worked on his car in the driveway.
Neither paid much attention to Robie and Reel.
Robie knocked on the front door.
And waited.
They heard nothing from inside.
He knocked again.
Once more, nothing.
“Think he has more than one car?” asked Reel.
“I don’t know. The carport’s a single.”
“Are you looking for Ted?”
They glanced over to see the woman watering her flowers staring at them, the hose still in her hand.
“We are,” said Reel. “Do you know if he’s home?”
“Well, he should be. He only has the one car.”
“Have you seen him recently?”
The woman paused to think. “Maybe two or three days ago. My memory’s not as good as it was.”
“Maybe he went somewhere with his family?” suggested Reel.
“Oh, he has no family. No wife, no kids.”
“You know him well?” said Robie.
The woman frowned. “Not that well, no. He’s nice enough, but keeps to himself mostly.”
“Do you know what he does for a living?”
“Who exactly are you?”
“We’re trying to find Ted to ask him about Jane Smith?”
The woman looked at him blankly.
“He’s her guardian. She’s a patient at a mental institution. We have some information that needs to be conveyed to Mr. Bunson about her.”
“Have you tried to phone or e-mail him?”
“It’s information that needs to be communicated in person,” said Robie. “Fairly serious.”
“Oh, dear, I see. Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t even know he was someone’s guardian.”
“I think he might be home.”
This came from the man who’d been working on his car.
He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked over to them.