Chapter 7. A Nurse's Uniform
Bill stared past Dr. Jamieson; the expression on his face bordered somewhere between confused and totally blank. The agent did not seem to comprehend what the doctor had said. It was, after all, utterly insane.
"Please, Mr. Maxwell, come with me. I will explain." The doctor took Bills arm again, and led him into his office. Ralph and Pam followed. The doctor offered his three guests seats, then leaned against his desk, arms folded across his chest.
"Mr. Fields believes in alien beings. On some level, there's nothing wrong with that. Many sane people believe in extraterrestrial life. But he believes that the government is hiding evidence that alien beings are visiting earth. And, he is totally convinced that the government wants to find out everything that he knows about the subject, then silence him. He truly believes that government agents are after him. Out to get him."
Lifting his hands in the air for emphasis, the doctor began to pace through the room.
"But on top of this, he believes that there are aliens beings who - disguised as government agents - also want to silence him."
"At this point, he is terrified of anyone who even looks remotely like a government employee! He doesn't even know he lives in a state facility. We had to order new china for the dining rooms, so that he wouldn't see the "Property of the State of California" stamped on the bottom of the plates."
Dr. Jamieson chuckled, paused, and then looked straight at Bill, who was beginning to understand the situation.
"So I am sure, Mr. Maxwell, you can understand why I cannot let him see you."
Ralph interrupted, and asked the doctor whether that man in the common room was Mr. Fields. The doctor nodded.
"He must have seen Mr. Maxwell and recognized that he was an government agent."
Pam looked at Bill, and smirked. Even in his civilian clothes, Bill looked like a G-Man. It must be the aviator glasses. She was convinced of it.
Suddenly, as if he had made a great discovery, Ralph looked up at the doctor and simply said "The Men in Black. That's what this is about." Ralph and the doctor both began to nod their heads.
"I see you have done your homework, Mr... Mr... I am sorry, but I didn't get your name."
"Yes, in all the confusion... I am Ralph Hinkley, and this is my fiancé Pamela Davidson. You of course know Bill Maxwell, part time federal agent, part time alien spy."
Unamused, Bill took a deep breath, then broke his silence.
"Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is all very funny. But we've got a dead man in Missouri, and Fields knew him. Enough to include him in his book. So we have to know what he knows." Bill knew he was stretching the truth a bit, by implying a McDonal's death was a murder. Unfortunately, he had no other cards to play.
"We are going to have to have a word with him, one way or the other."
Within the hour, Pamela Davidson found herself wiggling into a white nurse's uniform. It was just a little too tight, cut for someone a few pounds lighter and at least 6 inches shorter than she was. It was, however, the only spare one that the doctor could find, hidden in an old storage locker. As Ralph helped her squeeze into the uniform, zipping up her back, he made no comments about the clothing's fit, and the way it accentuated her attractive figure.
As soon as she was fully clothed, Bill and the doctor came back into the room and approached the couple.
"I am not sure about this, agent Maxwell. This is all highly irregular!" The doctor seemed nervous about the whole thing.
"If you won't let me in to meet with him, Doc, at least Davidson can try to ask him some questions. Right?" Bill looked at Pamela, then quickly turned away, as if he realized he was invading her privacy simply by looking at her outfit.
"Now, remember Counselor, try to ask him what he knows about Charles McDonald. Make up a story. Tell him you just moved here from Missouri, or something like that. Get any information you can. But don't let him think you are here just to find out about McDonald." Bill continued to talk, as Jamieson led Pam out the door, and they walked towards the patient's rooms.
As he walked away, the doctor called back to them. "You will understand, Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Hinkley, that I am going to have to ask you to wait here with these orderlies."
Two young men approached the men. Jamieson called back to them.
"Don't let them out of your sight. We will only be a few minutes. And remember, the agent has a gun."
Bill and Ralph both looked at each other. Ralph's plan was to follow Pam and the doctor into Fields' room, invisible in the suit. This, however, changed everything. This time, Pam was running this scenario.
Carrying some clean linens and a bedpan, she walked into the dimly lit room right behind Dr. Jamieson. Fields lay in his bed, obviously enjoying the calming effects of Valium. With a piece of a charcoal pencil in his hand, he calmly sketched something on a pad of paper.
"Doctor, how can I talk to him while he is in this state?" Pam was a bit nervous, as she whispered her concern to the doctor.
"It's ok, the effects of his medication keep him calm, but he can talk." As he approached the bed, he raised his voice to a normal level.
"Martin! We have a new nurse here today. She will be with us a couple of days, just filling in." He held his hand out to Pam, calling her near. "This is Nurse Davidson."
As Pam approached, the image on Martin's pad became clearer. It was a sketch of Bill Maxwell. He wasn't quite finished, but it was clear that Bill was wearing his dark sunglasses. She looked up at the doctor in surprise, then realized that this was not the first time Martin had tried his hand at facial sketches. As the doctor slowly let more light into the room by opening the shades a few inches, she noticed a gallery of charcoal drawings covering the walls. Above his bed, and along the long dresser wall, Martin had taped up dozens of sketches, each depicting the face of a different man. Most wore sunglasses, and many wore black hats with uninteresting black suits. The sight made Pam shiver.
"Hello, Martin," Pamela said, cautiously. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
Martin continued to look down at his pad and work on his sketch.
The doctor encouraged Pam to sit next to Martin's bed. Pam sat down, and as calmly as she could, asked Martin who the men were who covered her wall.
The doctor did not like the way the conversation was progressing. He approached the bed, and stayed close, to remind Pam that there had to be some boundaries. Pam nodded, and decided to change the subject.
"Well, I will be here a few days, like the doctor said." Pam tried to steer the conversation towards McDonald. "I just moved here. I used to live in Missouri. Have you ever been to Missouri?" She felt uncomfortable lying to the man, but couldn't think of another way to turn the conversation to McDonald.
Martin continued to draw, silently.
"People from Missouri are awfully friendly," she continued. "If you ever get a chance, you should go visit. Have you ever met anyone from Missouri?"
"You're here with him, aren't you?" Martin finally said, in a slow monotone voice. "The agent man, from the hallway. They usually don't send women. It's usually just men. You're the only other woman they ever sent to me."
Pam looked up at Jamieson, surprised. The doctor pointed to a picture in the corner. It was a charcoal drawing, just like the others, except the face was that of a woman. Her hair was straight, ending just below the chin in a slightly upturned curl. Her face was also unique, since it was one of the few depicted without sunglasses. Pam saw desperation in her eyes. Martin had captured that well.
Suddenly, Pam realized that her own image would someday find itself taped up on the wall, in Martin's black and white charcoal gallery.
"Are all these pictures of the men who have been sent for you?" Pam inquired, looking up at the walls covered in papers.
"No. Only some of them came for me." Martin's words were stated as a matter of fact. "Some came for the others. From my book."
Pam was lost for words.
"Martin, I need to know what you know about Charles McDonald. From Sikeston, Missouri. Do you remember him? You wrote about him in your book. We think that you met him. We need to know if he was alone when you met him. We need to know what happened to him, or if you know anything about how he died."
Never looking up at Pam, Martin shook his head slowly, and spoke cautiously. "I never met him. He called me in San Francisco. In 1972. And he told me his story. For my book. He sent me a picture. In a letter."
The doctor placed his hand on Pam's shoulder. It was time to go.
Thanking Martin, Pam turned around to leave the room. She wondered if any of this was useful, or if any of this mattered at all. As a lawyer, she knew that nothing he said would ever be taken at face value. Never in a court of law. A brief encounter with a clinically insane man was not the kind of evidence she would like to use in any of her cases.
As she approached the door, she heard Martin say something, quietly, and to himself.
"Funny. Whenever they want to know about Charles McDonald, they send a woman."