The Guilty

  “That’s…that’s illegal.”

  “Is it? Maybe, maybe not. I don’t think it’ll matter to your family.”

  “I…I…”

  “You might want to think about moving to another country and assuming a new identity,” said Reel. “Because your life, as you know it, is over. I don’t think folks around here would like a pedophile’s helper.” Reel looked around at the fine property. “I hope it was worth it,” she added.

  Cassandra slumped back in her chair. “Look, can we come to some sort’a understandin’?”

  “Like what?” asked Robie.

  “I tell you what I know and you forget I’m part of this at all.”

  “Let’s hear what you have to say.”

  “But—”

  “Let’s hear what you have to say,” said Robie more firmly.

  Cassandra finally nodded and sat forward, stubbing out her cigarette. She drew a few long breaths and began.

  “See, the thing was we had seasonal workers comin’ through,” she said, her voice trembling a bit. “They came through every year, usually from Mexico or Central America. And some of them were black folks, itinerant workers, tryin’ to get by.”

  “But no white kids then?” said Robie.

  “No, none that I can remember. They worked the fields all day when we were harvestin’. Most had kids, little kids. Me and my daughter would watch ’em and even do a little schoolin’ with ’em. That was all. I swear to God.”

  “Okay, when did things start to change?” asked Robie.

  “Sherm came to me one day and said he’d had a visitor. Apparently, Henry Barksdale got wind of the little kids we kept in the shack on the edge of our property. He had a friend, he said, who would pay well if we…”

  “If you left him alone with the kids for a while each day?” said Reel.

  She nodded.

  “When was this?” asked Robie.

  “Hell, I can’t recall exactly. Probably twenty-five years ago.”

  “Did your daughter know?”

  “Absolutely not!” snapped Cassandra. “She’s a good person. She never would have”—she drew another long breath—“she never would have been part of that. So, I just had her head up to the house when the man was comin’ by.”

  “But you obviously had no problem with it?” said Robie quietly.

  Tears started to spill out of the woman’s eyes. “I did have a problem with it. But I talked myself into believin’ it was really doin’ no harm. And those kids were so little and most of ’em didn’t even speak English. And the money, my God, the money was—”

  “—just too good? It made you forget about what was happening to the kids?” said Robie.

  “You can judge me,” said Cassandra spitefully. She added in a more resigned tone, “And Lord knows God will one day, but I didn’t know those kids. They were just part of these families comin’ through. And they didn’t take good care’a their kids neither, let me tell you. But when they were with me they were fed and clean and taught some—”

  “—and molested,” Reel finished for her.

  Cassandra wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse.

  “Did you see both Henry Barksdale and Nelson Wendell at the shack?” asked Robie.

  “Once. As a rule they didn’t come till I was gone. Sherm and them had it all worked out. Fewer people knew about it the better. And to tell the truth, I didn’t want to know. But I left late one day and they got there a bit early. They didn’t see me, but I saw them.”

  “And the kids?” asked Reel.

  Cassandra looked at her. “I swear to God they didn’t seem no worse for it. They were so young and all. Whatever they did to ’em, I don’t think it messed ’em up. Probably didn’t even know what was happenin’. And their parents never said anythin’, so I guess the kids never even told ’em. So, I think they’re okay, right?”

  Reel said fiercely, “No child walks away from being molested without being damaged.”

  “No, I…I guess not,” admitted Cassandra, sniffling a bit while Reel looked at her in unconcealed disgust.

  “Okay, Sherm was getting well paid for his ‘services.’ So when did he start blackmailing Wendell?” asked Robie quietly.

  “That came later, a few years or so after this whole thing started. He didn’t tell me he was going to do it, but I called him out on it after he told me who was buyin’ our farm.”

  “Coastal Energy?” said Robie.

  “Yes. Hell, we never had oil or gas on our land. I knew that. And nobody had come out there to check for it, so why was some big oil company writin’ us a huge check for our farm? I mean millions and millions of dollars. Well, I knew why. Nelson Wendell.”

  “So you were rich now, too?”

  “Yes. And Sherm had big plans. About twenty years ago we moved into a nice house outside of Cantrell. Then he got in on the ground floor with the casino folks at the Rebel Yell. He made a lot more money there. I was surprised at how smart he was at business, to tell the truth. Things were going good.” Her voice rose. “Till the son of a bitch came home one night less than a year later and basically told me I was being replaced by a floozy he’d been shackin’ up with behind my back and who was pregnant with that pissant Pete. I got my money, though he screwed me on that, and bought this place. He built that monstrosity over near Cantrell and he and the floozy had Pete. Then the floozy got the boot and it was just him and Pete. And Pete only stayed because he’s a lazy ass livin’ off Sherm’s money. He’s barely nineteen and probably can’t even wipe himself.”

  “The house burned down,” said Robie.

  “So I heard,” said Cassandra, not hiding her glee. “I guess what Sherm did came back to bite him in the ass.”

  “And the Barksdales?” said Robie. “They sold the Willows and slunk out of town. Why?”

  “I don’t know why. I just know that Henry was the go-between with Sherm and Wendell.”

  “And he was a pedophile too, of course, and Sherm knew that,” noted Robie.

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “What?” asked Robie sharply.

  “I know he sometimes came to the shack where the kids were, but from what Sherm told me, he wasn’t into the kids. Never touched ’em. That was just Wendell.”

  “But why be part of it at all then?” asked Reel. “If he wasn’t into kids?”

  “That’s easy. It was for the money too. Sherm told me Barksdale had bet on somethin’ big and it went south. He was broke. Goin’ to lose the Willows and everythin’ else. He needed the cash bad, and Wendell had more than enough for everybody.”

  “So Wendell was paying him to arrange things with the kids?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think Sherm might have been blackmailing Henry Barksdale as well?” asked Robie. “And maybe that’s why he left Cantrell so abruptly?”

  She shook her head. “Sherm was an asshole, but as crazy as it sounds, he was a man of his word. Sherm would’ve gotten zip if not for Henry Barksdale bringin’ him in on this. Sherm never forgot that. He told me that mor’n once. He wouldn’t have done nothin’ to hurt Barksdale.”

  “So if they were getting paid, why start blackmailing Nelson Wendell and make him buy the farm for an exorbitant price?” asked Reel.

  “Hell, that’s an easy one. Sherm was greedy as they come. And, yeah, we were gettin’ paid, but Sherm wanted more. A lot more. He had plans and he needed big money. So he got pictures of Wendell and the kids and that was his way of takin’ the guy to the cleaners. Sherm called Wendell his golden goose.”

  “I bet,” said Reel. “And it seems that Henry Barksdale might have supplied the pictures to Sherm just to make sure the guy never turned his sights on him.”

  Robie looked confused. “Okay, but if Wendell refused to pay, what leverage did Sherm have? If the truth came out, so would his role in the whole thing. They could have all gone to jail.”

  “Hell, Sherm was a nobody. Nelson Wendell was rich, from a well-known family, and ever
yone looked up to him. Sherm had nothin’ to lose if the truth came out. Wendell had everythin’ to lose. And Sherm might have been a blackmailer. But Wendell sexually abused little kids. Which do you think folks would find worse?”

  “I guess that makes sense,” said Reel.

  Cassandra said weakly, “So, can we just keep this between the three of us?”

  Robie and Reel rose together.

  Staring down at her, Robie said, “I guess only time will tell on that.”

  Her face fell. “So that’s all the assurance you can give me? I’ll worry myself sick.”

  “Then consider yourself lucky,” retorted Robie. “Because everybody else has ended up dead.”

  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?”