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“Quite sure. I know all the residents. There’s no one here with that name or nickname.”
Decker interjected, “But what about with thoseinitials, B-U-D?”
The woman started to peck on the computer keyboard. A few minutes passed as she scrolled through some screens. Then she stopped and smiled. “It’s Brad. Bradley Unger Daniels. That’s B-U-D, right?”
“Yes it is,” said Decker.
“MARY?”SAIDBRADDANIELS. He was old and shrunken and seated in a wheelchair in the tiny, antiseptic room he would call home for the remainder of his life.
Decker, Jamison, and Kelly were seated across from him, pretty much filling up the small space.
Jamison nodded. “Yes, Mary Rice. She worked here a little over a year ago as a physical therapist.”
Daniels’s arthritic fingers clutched the head of his cane. “Mary, okay, yeah. I knew her.”
They had been told that Daniels was in his nineties and had been at the facility for ten years. His wife was dead; he had outlived his siblings and even both his children. His grandchildren lived out of state and came once a year at Christmas to visit him.
Kelly had tried to show him the picture of Cramer but Daniels shook his head. “Can’t really see no more.”
Decker looked around the room. Next to the bed on a small shelf were some pictures of little kids, and what looked to be birthday cards. On the nightstand was a ballcap. It was one worn by people who had served in World War II and denoted their branch of service.
“You were in the Air Force in World War II?” said Decker, glancing at the hat.
“Called it the Army Air Forces back then,” said Daniels, smiling feebly. “Was the Army Air Corps before that. Didn’t come to be the U.S. Air Force till later.”
“Were you a pilot?” asked Jamison.
“No. A navigator.” He perked up. “Flew on the B-17, -24, and the big boy, the B-29 Superfortress. Boy, those were some exciting times.”
“Navigator, huh?” said Kelly.
Daniels slowly nodded. “Always liked that stuff. Signals, radio waves. Radar, which was new back then. Got us where we were going and then got us back. Did a lot of bombing runs. Thought I was gonna die every time. Never managed to.” He chuckled softly.
“What’d you do after the war? Did you leave the service?” asked Decker.
“No, I stuck around and worked for the government.”
“What did you do?” asked Jamison.
Now the man’s weakened eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?” he said, his tone suddenly sharp.
Decker squatted down in front of the man. “Did you talk to Mary about some of the things you’d done?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet, so why should I answer yours?”
“You liked Mary?”
“She was a nice gal. Patient. Pushed me to do my therapy, but she did it in a way that wasn’t too overbearing like some of them can be here. I liked her. Too bad when she left. Where’d she get to?”
“Would it surprise you to learn that she moved to London, North Dakota?”
The old man flinched. “London?”
“Yes. It’s where the Douglas S. George Defense Complex is located.”
“Well, I know that.”
“Because you worked there? A long time ago?” said Decker.
