Chapter 6. The Visitors
"Yeah, boys and girls, it seems old McDonald bought the farm." Maxwell tried to make light of the situation as they pulled into the parking lot of Napa State Psychiatric Hospital. Ralph, seated to his right, was not amused. He turned and gave the agent a disapproving look.
"Bill, you know that's obscene, " Pam remarked from the back seat. She was annoyed, but not shocked.
"Don't get all upset, Counselor. I'm just trying to boost troop morale here."
Ralph shook his head in disgust, and looked down at some notes Bill had jotted down about Charles McDonald. Finally, he looked up and spoke. "I can't believe it, Bill. I just can't. Charles McDonald committed suicide. Just three weeks after he saw...well, you know, saw them." Pam reached over the seat and patted Ralph on the back. She knew this was upsetting to Ralph; it was all that he could talk about the night before.
"Bill, are you sure your contact in Saint Louis had it right? Are you sure that this is the right Charles McDonald?" Ralph hoped that this was all just a big misunderstanding.
Bill sighed, and looked at his partner through his dark aviator glasses. "That's him, Ralph. No doubt about it. The dates match up, the town, everything."
"But Bill... suicide?" Ralph sat motionless.
"Ralph, we all know that seeing that... spa..spa..space...shhhip was big league stuff. Come on. You have to admit - not everyone has the stomach to handle that kinda stuff." He looked nervously at his partner. "Not everyone's gonna hold up as well as we did. I mean, even I hit the bottle pretty hard that first night, you know."
"Yeah, I remember, Bill." As Bill turned off the ignition, Ralph sat and stared out the window, quietly.
"Come on, honey," Pam said softly. "It will be ok."
The three climbed out of the tan government issue sedan, and walked into the facilities. The inside the building was different than they had imagined. Clearly the place had the feel of an institution, but not a psychiatric hospital per se. Instead, the atmosphere was reminded them of a retirement home.
All together, the three approached the reception area. Bill flashed his badge at the young woman working behind the desk.
"Morning, darling," he said to the receptionist, as he held up his badge and signed his name in an open visitors log. "Bill Maxwell, F.B.I. I called yesterday and left a message. I need to speak with one of your patients. Martin Fields. Official gubmint business."
The receptionist rustled through some papers, and pulled out a file. "Oh, yes, Mr. Maxwell. I am sorry, but I have special orders from Doctor Jamieson. I'm terribly sorry, but it is not possible to see Martin Fields..."
The agent stared down at the receptionist, confused and annoyed. "Let me make myself perfectly clear! I need to speak with this patient. So I suggest you bring us to him, or I'm gonna start taking down names!"
The receptionist immediately picked up the phone and dialed. Not interested in waiting, Bill barged through two swinging doors and entered a long hallway. She called out after him, but he ignored her protest. Ralph, embarrassed and confused, followed closely behind his partner. Bill stopped at the door of a large common room, which was busy with patients engaged in leisurely morning activities, under the careful watch of their caretakers.
"Bill? Bill! What are you doing?"
"I'm gonna get some answers."
"By busting up a psychiatric ward? Bill!" It was clear that this was upsetting Bill more than he let on. Ralph grabbed his arm and held him back. A small swatch of red fabric was just barely visible underneath his shirt cuffs.
Suddenly, the two men heard scuffling noise and cries of manic fear pouring out of the common room.
"Let's go back and talk this through. I am sure we can reason with them, and nicely convince them that have to see Mr. Fields. These are reasonable professionals." Ralph pleaded with his partner, who grudgingly complied. The two moved away from the open door, just as they caught a glimpse of a patient being restrained inside.
As they walked back into the reception hall, two orderlies rushed down a large mahogany staircase. Not far behind, they were followed by an older man in a white doctor's coat. As the orderlies raced into the common room where Bill and Ralph had just been, the doctor headed for Bill.
"Excuse me, you can't just barge in here and upset my patients!" The doctor was forceful, and deeply concerned. "Is this the agent? Excuse me, but are you carrying any weapons? For everyone's safety, you can't bring firearms into this facility!"
Bill looked at the man and stood his ground, once again reaching into his pocket and pulling out his badge.
"Bill Maxwell, F.B.I. Now if you don't want to spend the rest of next week talking to your lawyer from a cozy downtown cell, you'll take me to Martin Fields. And that means now!"
Ralph dropped his head to his hand as he muttered something below his breath. Pam thought she heard him say "nice going." He was at his wit's end, since everything was falling apart around him, and it seemed like there was nothing he could do about it.
The doctor walked up to Bill, firmly grabbed him by the arm, and escorted the agent towards another hallway. Although the doctor walked quickly, Ralph and Bill followed closely behind.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Maxwell, but Mr. Fields' condition prohibits us from letting you see him. If you had waited to speak to one of us before coming here today, we would have told you that, and you could have saved you your trip."
Bill stopped in his tracks, forcing the doctor to loose his grip, releasing his arm.
"Would you please tell me what's going on here?"
"He suffers from a severe phobia, Mr. Maxwell." The doctor looked at Bill, and scratched his chin. He was unsure how to explain Fields' condition without sounding insane himself.
"Mr. Maxwell, he has a phobia of government employees."