Shutter Island(64)

“I believe he’s here. No doubt about that.”

“He could have had a psychological break, though. I mean, an actual one. He does have the history. This could all be legitimate. He cracks up in prison and they say, ’Hey, this guy was once a patient at Ashecliffe. Let’s send him back.’”

“It’s possible,” Teddy said. “But the last time I saw him, he looked pretty damn sane to me.”

“When was that?”

“A month ago.”

“Lot can change in a month.”

“True.”

“And what about the lighthouse?” Chuck said. “You believe there’s a bunch of mad scientists in there, implanting antennas into Laeddis’s skull as we speak?”

“I don’t think they fence off a septic processing plant.”

“I’ll grant you,” Chuck said. “But it’s all a bit Grand Guignol, don’t you think?”

Teddy frowned. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.”

“Horrific,” Chuck said. “In a fairy-tale, boo-ga-boo-ga-boo-ga kind of way.”

“I understand that,” Teddy said. “What was the gran-gweeg-what?”

“Grand Guignol,” Chuck said. “It’s French. Forgive me.”

Teddy watched Chuck trying to smile his way through it, probably thinking of a way to change the subject.

Teddy said, “You study a lot of French growing up in Portland?”

“Seattle.”

“Right.” Teddy placed a palm to his chest. “Forgive me.”

“I like the theater, okay?” Chuck said. “It’s a theatrical term.”

“You know, I knew a guy worked the Seattle office,” Teddy said.

“Really?” Chuck patted his pockets, distracted.

“Yeah. You probably knew him too.”

“Probably,” Chuck said. “You want to see what I got from the Laeddis file?”

“His name was Joe. Joe…” Teddy snapped his fingers, looked at Chuck. “Help me out here. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Joe, um, Joe…”

“There’s a lot of Joes,” Chuck said, reaching around to his back pocket.

“I thought it was a small office.”

“Here it is.” Chuck’s hand jerked up from his back pocket and his hand was empty.

Teddy could see the folded square of paper that had slipped from his grasp still sticking out of the pocket.

“Joe Fairfield,” Teddy said, back at the way Chuck’s hand had jerked out of that pocket. Awkwardly. “You know him?”

Chuck reached back again. “No.”

“I’m sure he transferred there.”

Chuck shrugged. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Oh, maybe it was Portland. I get them mixed up.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Chuck pulled the paper free and Teddy could see him the day of their arrival handing over his gun to the guard in a fumble of motion, having trouble with the holster snap. Not something your average marshal had trouble with. Kind of thing, in point of fact, that got you killed on the job.

Chuck held out the piece of paper. “It’s his intake form. Laeddis’s. That and his medical records were all I could find. No incident reports, no session notes, no picture. It was weird.”

“Weird,” Teddy said. “Sure.”

Chuck’s hand was still extended, the piece of folded paper drooping off his fingers.

“Take it,” Chuck said.

“Nah,” Teddy said. “You hold on to it.”

“You don’t want to see it?”

Teddy said, “I’ll look at it later.”

He looked at his partner. He let the silence grow.

“What?” Chuck said finally. “I don’t know who Joe Whoever-the-Fuck is, so now you’re looking at me funny?”

“I’m not looking at you funny, Chuck. Like I said, I get Portland and Seattle mixed up a lot.”

“Right. So then—”

“Let’s keep walking,” Teddy said.

Teddy stood. Chuck sat there for a few seconds, looking at the piece of paper still dangling from his hand. He looked at the trees around them. He looked up at Teddy. He looked off toward the shore.

The foghorn sounded again.

Chuck stood and returned the piece of paper to his back pocket.

He said, “Okay.” He said, “Fine.” He said, “By all means, lead the way.”

Teddy started walking east through the woods.

“Where you going?” Chuck said. “Ashecliffe’s the other way.”

Teddy looked back at him. “I’m not going to Ashecliffe.”

Chuck looked annoyed, maybe even frightened. “Then where the fuck are we going, Teddy?”

Teddy smiled.

“The lighthouse, Chuck.”



“WHERE ARE WE?” Chuck said.

“Lost.”

They’d come out of the woods and instead of facing the fence around the lighthouse, they’d somehow managed to move well north of it. The woods had been turned into a bayou by the storm, and they’d been forced off a straight path by a number of downed or leaning trees. Teddy had known they’d be off course by a bit, but judging by his latest calculations, they’d meandered their way almost as far as the cemetery.