Chapter Nine:
"Jack Dawson?" Bruce asked. "As in the Jack Dawson who was supposed to have died on Titanic?"
"How many Jack Dawsons are there?" I asked.
"Probably a lot." Bruce replied. "Jack is a popular first name, and I'm sure I've come across a few Dawsons."
"Who both live in Chippewa Falls?" I asked.
Bruce paused. "How do you know the one who drew the picture lived in Chippewa Falls?"
"Because I met him." I replied simply. "It's a small town, you meet everyone at one point."
"So Yelwac's lying." Bruce surmised. "Why haven't you mentioned this before? Especially when we were examining the drawing."
"I'm waiting to see how this pans out." I confided.
"What do you think so far?"
I hesitated.
"You can trust me, boss." Bruce said solemnly. "I might even be able to help."
I did trust Bruce. . . it was just hard to divulge information that I felt was personal, especially after working alone for so long. But it was necessary if the case was to be solved.
"Well, I've been private-investigating Dawson since I turned him in to federal prison." I said.
"I thought you said you'd met him before." Bruce told me.
"Yeah, we both grew up around here, so we went to school together." I said. "But he left town when he was fifteen. His parents died in a fire or something. I didn't see him around until about six years later, and from what I heard, he was an odd bird."
"Define odd." Bruce interrupted.
"He was violent." I explained. "He wandered the streets aimlessly. Never got a job from what I heard. The school burned down in 1913, three people died-"
"What were their names?" Bruce asked curiously.
I ignored the question, for it was a rather unimportant one, and continued the story.
"Anyway, there was a rumor that Dawson did it, and I believe it."
"Why?"
"Because he was mentally disturbed." I replied simply. "Either that or inherently violent."
"And what about Rose?" Bruce asked. "Do you know anything about her?"
"I've never heard of Rose Dewitt Bukater in my entire life." I said.
"Well, we can check the newspapers or-"
"I would've heard of her by now." I interjected.
"Then why don't we ask Dawson?" Bruce suggested. "He's in prison-"
"If he's in prison, then why would Yelwac say he's dead? He knows I'm in law enforcement."
"What do you mean, boss?"
"Jack Dawson is at Cinderledge and they're hiding him." I said. "I know because when I went to interrogate him in prison a year ago, the guards said he was transferred."
"Why would he be at Cinderledge?"
I looked around to make sure that no one else was hiding in the woods.
"Have you ever heard of Gottlieb Burckhardt?" I asked.
"No, can't say I have." Bruce replied.
"He was a Swiss doctor who owned a mental hospital a lot like Cinderledge." I told him. "He had six patients, all of whom were violent and psychotic... and he decided to do something about that."
"What do you mean he-"
"He tampered with their heads." I said quietly. "He opened up their skulls and tried to take pieces out of their brains to induce calm. One of them died in surgery, another committed suicide. Two of them were never quite the same, but only two out of the six were unaffected."
"What does that have to do with Dawson, Rose, and Yelwac?"
"Yelwac owns a mental hospital."
"I see where you're going with this, boss." Bruce told me in an awed tone.
"All I'm saying is that Jack Dawson is the perfect candidate for an experiment like that."
"What are you going to do when you find him?" Bruce asked. "I mean, he killed your wife..."
"I hate the man, but I want to blow the lid on this place." I said. "And that means Dawson isn't going to get what he deserves, besides, I've had enough of violence."
"What about Rose?" Bruce asked. "What about her?"
"I don't know."
"You mean to tell me that you don't know where she came from, but you're trying to blow the lid on a government conspiracy right under Yelwac's nose?" Bruce exclaimed. "Maybe they didn't like you looking into Dawson so much! Maybe they brought you here on purpose so they could continue their operations without interruptions!"
I had never thought of that before, and unfortunately, he was making good sense.
Now I knew why they wouldn't let me phone anyone. Now I knew why they'd popped my car tire.
They didn't want us to leave.
It was a trap.
