deputy who discovered the unconscious King and Michelle. They were taken to UVA Hospital in Charlottesville. King recovered first. His head wound was bloody, but his skull proved hard enough and he’d suffered no serious damage. Michelle’s recovery would take a little longer, and she was sedated while her injuries were worked on. When she woke, King was sitting next to her, his head bandaged.
“God, you look awful,” she said in a weak voice.
“That’s all I get after sitting in this damn chair for hours waiting for the princess to awaken? ‘God, you look awful’?”
“I’m sorry. It’s really wonderful to see your face. I wasn’t sure you were alive.”
He studied the marks on her swollen neck. “Whoever it was did a number on you. Did you see anybody?”
“No. It was a man, that’s all.” She added, “I shot him.”
“You did what?”
“Shot him, through the seat.”
“Where’d you hit him?”
“In the side, I think.”
“The police are waiting to take a statement. I’ve already given them mine. The FBI and Deputy Marshal Parks are here too. I filled them in on finding the gun and my theory about Loretta blackmailing someone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell them much.”
“There must have been at least two of them: one to flush us out of the house and the other waiting in your truck. They were counting that I’d grab the gun. Saved them from looking for it. Someone must have been tailing us when we were at Loretta’s house. They could have seen us discover the gun, and decided to get it back.”
“There were three of them, then, because there were two in the car.” She paused and then said, “They got the gun, didn’t they?”
“Yes. Stupid when you think about it. We should have taken it right to the FBI, but we didn’t and that’s that.” He sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. “That was a close one, Michelle, way too close.”
“I fought as hard as I could.”
“I know you did. You’re the only reason I’m alive. I owe you.”
Before Michelle could answer, the door opened and a young man came in. “Agent Maxwell?” He held out credentials that identified him as Secret Service. “As soon as you’re discharged from the hospital, and have talked to the police, you’re to accompany me back to Washington.”
“Why?” asked King.
The man ignored him. “The doctors say you’re lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t think luck had much to do with it,” King pointed out.
“Why am I going back to Washington?” Michelle asked.
“As of right now, you’re being reassigned to a desk at the Washington field office.”
“Walter Bishop’s handiwork,” said King.
“I really can’t say.”
“I know. That’s why I said it.”
“I’ll be here when you’re ready to go.” The man nodded curtly at King and left.
“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” said King.
She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. “Hey, I’ll be back. I’m not going to let you have a good time all by yourself.”
“Just rest for now, okay?”
She nodded. “Sean?” He looked at her. “About last night, the swim and everything. It was fun. I think we both needed that. Maybe we can do it again someday.”
“Hell yes, I loved dumping your butt in the water.”
King was walking down the hallway after leaving Michelle when a woman stepped in front of him. Joan looked both anxious and upset. “I just heard. You’re okay?” She looked at his bandaged head.
“I’m fine.”
“Agent Maxwell?”
“Fine too. Thanks for asking.”
“You’re sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, Joan!”
“Okay, okay, calm down.” She motioned to some chairs in an empty room off the main corridor. They sat, and Joan looked at him, a serious expression on her face.
“I heard you discovered a gun at that woman’s home.”
“How the hell did you find that out? I just told the cops.”
“I’m in the private sector, but I didn’t turn in my investigative skills when I left the Service. Is it true?”
He hesitated. “Yeah, I found a gun.”
“And where do you think it came from?”
“I have my theories. But I’m not in a sharing mood.”
“Well, let me jump right in with one of mine. This woman was a maid at the Fairmount Hotel, she had a gun hidden in her garden and she meets a violent death with money stuffed in her mouth. She was blackmailing the person who was the owner of that gun. And that person may have been involved in Ritter’s assassination.”
He stared at the woman in amazement. “Who the hell are your sources?”
“Sorry, I’ve used up my sharing spirit too. So you get the gun, lose the gun, and you’re almost killed in the process.”
“Michelle actually got it a lot worse than I did. They just knocked me out. Apparently they did their best to kill her.”
She looked at him strangely when he said that. “Do you think this has anything to do with Bruno’s disappearance?” she asked abruptly.
He looked surprised. “How could it? Just because Ritter and Bruno were both presidential candidates? That’s quite a stretch.”
“Maybe so. But things that look complex tend to have very simple cores.”
“Thanks for the detective lesson. I’ll sure remember that one.”
“Maybe you need some basic lessons. You’re the one running around with the woman who let Bruno be kidnapped.”
“She didn’t let Bruno be kidnapped any more than I let Clyde Ritter get shot.”
“The fact is, I’m investigating Bruno’s disappearance, and at this juncture I can’t assume anyone is above suspicion, including your lady friend Michelle.”
“Great, and she’s not my ‘lady friend.’ ”
“Okay, what exactly is she?”
“I’m just following up some stuff, and she’s helping me.”
“Wonderful. I’m glad you’ve teamed up with someone, since it appears you’ve blown me off completely. Is Maxwell also offering a million-dollar payday if you crack the case, or just a kick-ass adventure between the sheets?”
He eyed her closely. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Maybe I am, Sean. But regardless, I think I at least deserve an answer to my offer.”
King glanced in the direction of Michelle’s room but turned back when Joan put a hand on his arm.
“I need to get going on this. And you never know, we might just find out the real truth about Clyde Ritter.”
He stared defiantly at her. “Yeah, we just might,” he shot back.
“So you’re in? I need to know. Right now.”
After a moment he nodded. “I’m in.”
CHAPTER
38
THEY FLEW VIA PRIVATE PLANE to Dayton, Ohio, and then drove to a state mental facility that was about thirty minutes north. Joan had called ahead and gotten the necessary approvals to visit Sidney Morse.
“It wasn’t as difficult as I would have thought,” she told King on the drive there. “Although when I told the woman whom I wanted to see, she laughed. Said we could come if we wanted, but it wouldn’t do us much good.”
“How long has Morse been there?” King asked.
“About a year or so. He was committed by his family. Or rather his brother, Peter Morse. I guess that’s all the family he had left.”
“I thought Peter Morse was in trouble with the police. And wasn’t he a druggie?”
“ ‘Was’ being the operative word. He never went to prison, probably due to his brother’s influence. He apparently cleaned up his act and when his older brother went nuts, put him in the state mental hospital.”
“Why in Ohio?”
“It seems that prior to being committed, Sidney was living with his brother here. I guess
he was so far gone he couldn’t live by himself.”
King shook his head. “Talk about your reversal of fortune. In less than ten years the guy goes from king of the hill to permanent residence in a nuthouse.”
A little while later King and Joan were sitting in a small room at the bleak institution. The sounds of wails and cries and sobbing filtered down the hallways. People whose minds had long since left them were hunched over in wheelchairs in the corridors. In a recreation room off the main reception area a small group of patients watched a show on TV. Nurses, doctors and attendants slowly moved up and down the halls in their scrubs, their energy seemingly sapped by the depressing surroundings.
King and Joan both stood as the man was wheeled into the room by one of the attendants. The young man nodded to them. “Okay, here’s Sid.”
The young man knelt down in front of Morse and patted him on the shoulder. “Okay, Sid, these people want to talk to you, okay, you hear me? It’s cool, just talk.” The attendant grinned when he said this.
He stood and Joan said, “Um, is there anything we should know, anything to avoid?”
The man smiled, showing a row of crooked teeth. “Not with Sid. It really doesn’t matter.”
King hadn’t been able to take his gaze off the wreck of a man who eight years ago had nearly pulled off one of the most impressive feats in American politics. Morse had lost some weight but was still chubby. His hair had been shaved off, although he had a short beard shot with gray. King had remembered his eyes being laser sharp, missing nothing. Now those eyes were clearly lifeless. It was Sidney Morse, but just barely, only the shell really.
He said, “So what’s the diagnosis?”
“That he ain’t never leaving here, that’s what,” said the attendant, who introduced himself as Carl. “His mind’s totally gone. Cracked out and ain’t coming back. Look, I’ll be down the hall. You can just come get me when you’re done.” Carl walked off.
Joan glanced at King. “I can’t believe it’s him,” she said. “I know his rep and career took a big hit after Ritter was killed, but you’d think it wouldn’t come to this.”
“Maybe it happened in stages. And I guess a lot can happen in eight years. I mean look at me. He was shattered after the Ritter debacle. Nobody wanted him. He grew depressed. And maybe his younger brother introduced a very vulnerable Sidney to some heavy drugs while they were living together. I recall during the campaign that Sidney said his brother’s drug habit had gotten him into a lot of trouble. He said his brother was pretty creative in coming up with ways to get the cash to support his habit. Quite the con man.”
King knelt in front of Morse. “Sidney, Sidney, do you remember me? I’m Sean King. Agent Sean King,” he added.
There was no reaction. A bit of spittle oozed out of the man’s mouth and clung to his lip. King glanced at Joan. “His father was a well-known lawyer,” he said, “and his mother was some kind of heiress. I wonder where all that money went?”
“Maybe it’s used to support him here.”
“No, this is a state institution. It’s not some fancy private place.”
“Well, maybe his brother has control of it. I guess they each inherited and now he has both shares. And who cares about the Morse brothers? I’m here to find John Bruno.”
King turned to look back at Morse. The man hadn’t moved. “God, look at those knife marks on his face.”
“Self-mutilation. Sometimes that goes with being unbalanced.”
King rose, shaking his head.
“Hey, have you played the game with him?” said a high-pitched voice.
They both turned and looked at the short, skinny man standing behind them holding a ragged stuffed rabbit. His features were so tiny he looked like a leprechaun. He wore a ratty bathrobe and apparently little else. Joan averted her gaze.
“The game,” said the man, who looked at them with a childlike expression. “Have you played it yet?”
“What, with him?” asked King, pointing to Morse.
“I’m Buddy,” said the man, “and this is Buddy too,” he said, holding up the ragged rabbit.
“Nice to meet you, Buddy,” said King. He looked at the rabbit. “And you too, Buddy. So you know Sid?”
Buddy nodded vigorously. “Play the game.”
“The game, right, why don’t you show me? Can you do that?”
Again Buddy nodded his head, and smiled. He ran to the corner of the room where there was a box of stuff. He pulled out a tennis ball and came back to them.
He stood in front of Morse and held up the ball. “Okay, I’m pitching the…”
Buddy’s focus seemed to wander, and he just stood there holding the ball and his rabbit with his mouth wide open and his eyes expressionless.
King prompted, “The ball. You’re pitching the ball, Buddy.”
Buddy came back to life. “Okay, I’m pitching the ball.” He made a great show of a major league windup that exposed far more of his anatomy than either King or Joan cared to see. As he let the ball go, however, it was in a slow, underhand style.
It was heading right for Morse’s head. A second before it hit him, Morse’s right hand shot up and caught the ball. Then the hand dropped, the ball still clenched there. Buddy hopped ’round and then took a bow. “The game,” he said.
He went over to Morse and tried to get the ball back, but Morse’s fingers remained clenched around it. Buddy turned to them with a pathetic expression. “He never gives it back. He’s mean! Mean, mean, mean!”
Carl popped his head in. “Everything cool? Oh, hey, Buddy.”
“He won’t give the ball back,” Buddy cried out.
“No problem. Calm down.” Carl strode over, took the ball out of Morse’s hand and gave it back to Buddy. Buddy turned to King and held out the ball. “Your turn!”
King looked at Carl, who smiled and said, “It’s okay. It’s just a reflex action. Docs here have a long name for it, but that’s the only thing Sid does. The others get a big kick out of it.”
King shrugged and gently tossed the ball to Morse, who caught it again.
“So, does anyone ever visit Sid?” Joan asked Carl.
“Brother used to when he first got here, but he ain’t been around for a long time now. I guess Sid was some big deal years ago ’cause we had some reporters come by when he was admitted. But that didn’t last long after they saw what shape he was in. Now nobody comes. He just sits in that chair.”
“And catches the ball,” added Joan.
“Right.”
As they were leaving, Buddy came racing up after Joan and King. He had the tennis ball in his hand. “You can have this if you want to. I have lots of others.”
King took the ball. “Thanks, Buddy.”
Buddy held up his rabbit. “Thank Buddy too.”
“Thanks, Buddy.”
He looked at Joan and held up the rabbit even higher. “Kiss Buddy?”
King nudged Joan with his elbow. “Go ahead, he’s cute.”
“What, I don’t even get dinner first?”
Joan pecked the rabbit on the cheek. Then she said, “So are you good friends with Sidney? I mean Sid.”
Buddy nodded so hard his chin hit his chest.
“His room’s right next to mine. Wanna see?”
King looked at Joan. “We’re here.”
“In for a dime, in for a dollar,” she replied with a shrug.
Buddy took Joan’s hand and led them down a hallway. King and Joan weren’t sure they were supposed to be in this area without an attendant, but no one stopped them.
Buddy halted in front of one room and slapped the door. “This is my room! Wanna see? It’s cool.”