'Uh-huh.'
'Tell me, Garrett,' Bernard said, anxious to take the offensive before Dr. Barber or anyone else arrived, 'do you really think this is a hospital?'
'I know it is.'
'Then what are you doing holding this man here, who just happens to be a government agent who disappeared in Boston several months ago?'
'You're out of your mind.'.. I?'
'This place is for the criminally insane. If he was here-which he ain't-it'd be because he's a danger to society. And your being here with this gun tells me you were trying to bust one of our patients out.'
Nelson shook his head sadly.
'Garrett, Garrett,' he said. 'Have they really taken you in that badly?'
'You just shut up.'
Pike checked his watch once again. Nelson felt desperate to win the man over before anyone else showed up. He thought about the gruesome discovery he and Chippy Smith had made. He was grasping at straws, but still…
'Listen,' he said, 'do the names Richard or Marilyn Colson mean anything to you?'
There was a moment of telltale hesitation before Pike said, 'No.
Why?'
Sensing the man's confusion, Bernard bored in.
'I found their bodies out in the desert, that's why.
'You kill'em?'
'I… I don't know what you're talking about.'
'I think you do. I think they stumbled on this place and you killed them-took them out in the desert and shot 'em both dead.'
'I never heard of them.'
'Pike, listen to me. My Land Rover's parked'just over those hills there. Right behind the cornfield. the Colsons' wallets are under the front seat along with my ID. I'm a private detective from Boston.
Tomorrow morning, whether I show up in Moab or not, this place'll be crawling with cops. Believe that. Help me now, and I promise you'll get a break.'
'I don't believe a word you've-' Pike was cut short by the sound of car doors slamming. A minute later two men entered the room.
Bernard managed one last furtive look at Pike, but the guard just turned away.
'Dr. Barber,' Pike said, 'I'm glad you're back. I found this guy spyin'on the town, takin'pictures. He says his name's Bernard Nelson, and he claims to be a private detective from Boston. He had this on him.'
He handed over Bernard's gun. He hesitated for a beat, and then reached into his pocket. 'He says he's here looking for this guy.'
Barber scanned the flier, then clucked disapprovingly.
'We've been expecting occasional attempts to break our patients out of here,' he said, 'but nothing as crude as this. Good job, Garrett. You can expect a double-sized bonus in your next check.'
Pike looked as if he were about to say something.
Then he simply nodded and walked out.
'Take him in the back, John,' Barber ordered.
'Use the straitjacket.'
The man named John, a full-blooded Indian from his appearance, pulled Nelson to his feet and shoved him rudely down the hallway into a two-bed infirmary.
There, Nelson's legs were bound together and his arms forced into the sleeves of a canvas straitjacket that barely fit over his middle.
Barber followed them into the room.
'That's good, John,' he said. 'Don't go too far.'
The Indian grunted a reply, and left.
'So then,' Barber said, 'what have we here? An old fat man who carries a gun and a poster and claims to be a detective. But instead he goes and gets himself caught by a bohunk with the IQ of a rabbit.'
'It's over for you, Barber,' Nelson said evenly.
'I'm not the only one who knows what's going on here.' Barber looked around.
'Then where are they all?' he asked. He paced about the room for a time, then sat down on the bed nearest Bernard's chair. 'So then, suppose we start with the basics. Bernard Nelson: that really your name?'
'No,' Nelson said. 'It's Thumb; first name, Tom.'
Nelson's initial read of the man was not encouraging. There was nothing in his eyes but a flat, sadistic coldness. As if verifying the impression, Barber stepped forward and with one pudgy hand squeezed Nielson's cheeks tightly against his teeth.
'Don't fuck with me,' he said, pulling Bernard's face up. 'I've given a good chunk of my life to this project, and I expect to spend the rest of it enjoying the rewards. So you better believe me when I say that I don't have the least hesitation in causing pain to someone like you who wants to make trouble for US.
Now, who are you, and what are you doing here?'
Bernard waited until Barber had released his grip.
'Look, how about we trade?' he said. 'You tell me what the hell is going on here, and I'll tell you how many dozens of people will show up here if I haven't returned to Moab by tomorrow:'
'You're bluffing, my fat friend. I can see it all over your face. If anyone besides you was interested in this place, they would have been out here with you today.
And as for the folks in Moab, they know this place is a hospital for the criminally insane, and they don't care to know anything more.'
Nelson searched desperately for a soft spot in the man. All he could come up with was the sense that he was confronting a fanatic with an enormous ego.
It was not much of a card to play, but unfortunately it was the only one he held.
'Your man Pike called you Doctor,' he said. 'Is that a sham, too, like the hospital story?'
'MD PhD as a matter of fact,' Barber said proudly. 'There, I did my bit. Now, who are you really?
Who sent you?'
'Bernard Nelson is my name. I'm from Boston.
I'm working for the sister of the man on that flier.'
'Scott Enders. Never heard of him.'
'I think you have. Maybe not by that name, but I think he's here, and I think he was brought here by Donald Devine.'
Barber's attempt to mask his reaction was too slow, and he obviously sensed that.
'Very good,' he said. 'Good timing, decent delivery. I'm impressed.
What else do you know?'
'I know enough to tell you that the best thing you can do is come clean about what's going on here, and hope that I believe enough of your story to help you deal with the authorities.'
'You help me?' Barber began pacing again. 'talk about chutzpah.
You sit there trussed up like a goddam Thanksgiving turkey offering to help me, then, let me tell you something, friend: This is no fly-by night operation you've stumbled onto. There's more at stake here than you could ever imagine, and minds a hell of a lot sharpe-f than yours have worked out a response for every contingency.' He took a small strongbox from a locked metal cabinet, and withdrew a vial of powder and a pair of rubber gloves. 'And right here just happens to be our response for this one.'
The man's eyes were growing wider and wilder.
Bernard had read the account of Eric Najarian's night of horror, and had no trouble making the connection to what he was experiencing.
'It won't wash, Dr. Barber,' he said. 'Too many people know where I am,'
'I don't think so,' Barber replied. 'I think you came here snooping around because nobody knows anything for sure. If anyone does show up, we have certification for our facility and perfectly documented files on all of our
