Mercy Killing

by M. Glenn Graves

  “I am sure he meant you no harm,” Josh tried to assure her.

  Rosey stopped, turned and looked at Maxine.

  “Madame, no harm nor disrespect intended, I assure you. Didn’t want you to overplay your position as office manager. My companion here had some business to conduct with your...boss.”

  Rosey nodded in her direction and smiled.

  “I beg your forgiveness,” he continued. “You may rest confidently in the fact that I do not threaten people. I sometimes shoot folks and sometimes give them concussions. Threats are not my style.”

  Maxine gasped and quickly put her hand over her mouth. I think her pupils were dilating.

  I waved at Maxine. Rosey and I then turned and exited the building, walking briskly to the Jag.

  “So where is our next misdemeanor?” Rosey said.

  “The Morning Glory Nursing Care Facility, you brute.”

  15

  “Better hide the Jag somewhere. I haven’t seen too many of these models zooming around Riley Corners,” I said, no doubt suggesting what he had already planned.

  “Let’s go around the block and see if we can find some secluded spot close to the nursing home.”

  We found a vacant house on a block directly behind the nursing home. The crooked ‘for sale’ sign in the front yard showed significant deterioration. Leaves, limbs, and litter added to the unappealing ambience of the property.

  “Bet they don’t show this one much,” Rosey said.

  “But rather perfect for us.”

  He pulled into the driveway and parked at the back of the house safely hidden from the street and any idle patrol car which might be canvassing the neighborhood searching for a black man and white woman in a Jaguar. Probably not a common item in Riley Corners, neither mixed couple nor Jaguar. Certainly not both.

  “Should we separate and walk independently to the nursing home?” Rosey asked.

  “Not on your life. We be in this together,” I said.

  “Nice to have friends, even if they be white.”

  “Riot breaks out, you’ll need me.”

  “Might need more than you, Sweet Cakes,...if a riot breaks out. Check your firearm.”

  I leaned against the Jag and removed my Glock 9mm from my back holster. I checked the clip. It was full. I felt my pocket for the extra clip I had remembered to bring along on this trip. It was there.

  It took a few minutes to walk to the nursing home. It was now late afternoon and we figured we had a few minutes before Sheriff Tanner figured out that this would be a good place for us to find someone who was close to Bishop. I knew that Josh would be forced to tell him what I had wanted and that Maxine would gladly squeal any information she had.

  The lady at the desk was wearing street clothes, so with my keen detective skills I figured she was tangent to the health care team. Perhaps a volunteer. There was an attractive young girl sitting next to her. Likely another volunteer, perhaps in training from the master sitting next to her. I figured the older woman was the one in charge. Better talk to her.

  “We heard that Mr. Bishop Tanner died this morning,” I said to the lady. She was not wearing a name tag.

  “Yes, he did, but I am not allowed to give out any further information regarding Mr. Tanner.”

  “I understand perfectly. Did he have a private room or a roommate?”

  “We have very few private rooms here. Mr. Tanner was in room 34 with Mr. John Boxley.”

  “Which way to room 34?”

  “Go to the center station where the computers and nurses are, turn right, and walk about halfway down the hallway. Room 34 will be on your right. Even on the right, odd on the left.”

  “Thank you…ah….” I paused waiting for her to fill in the blank with her name.

  “You’re welcome,” she said without providing me any further information. So much for PR skills to say nothing of Southern hospitality.

  John Boxley was sitting in a wheelchair staring out the large window in Room 34. His view was that of a rose garden which because of the way the building was constructed was the same view for all the even-numbered rooms of the facility. It appeared to be a nice rose garden, but not that nice. John remained preoccupied with the flower garden even after we entered the room and spoke to him.

  “Could we talk with you, Mr. Boxley?” Rosey said addressing the back of the man seated in the chair.

  Boxley continued to fixate on the garden from his window.

  “Should be a grand year for the roses,” Boxley said.

  I glanced out at the garden and noted that his assessment was likely to be accurate if someone would give the garden some needed attention. There seemed to be several rose bushes waiting to bloom. There were twice as many others that looked as if they were waiting to die. I chose not to mention my observation.

  “Better than some previous years?” I said.

  “Oh my, yes. Last year it was the blight that got over half. Always something, you know. Nature is a cruel mistress,” Boxley mused.

  I ignored the chance to add that lackadaisical gardeners can be just as brutal.

  “How long were you and Bishop roommates?” I said.

  Boxley was silent. I moved around to the side of his wheelchair so I could see his eyes. His focus was intense on something in the garden.

  “Bishop was a good man.”

  Rosey and I waited to see if he would say more.

  “I told him to keep his mouth shut about that baby,” he continued.

  He wheeled around abruptly and stared menacingly at Rosey.

  “I saw you talking with him earlier this morning, you know. You were asking questions about that baby.”

  “Bishop tell you what we talked about?”

  “They think I am a delirious old man, losing my memory. Call it dementia or Alzheimer’s or just getting’ old. It don’t matter what you call it, I ain’t got none of it. Sure, I forget from time to time. Doesn’t everybody? The real curse of aging is that you always remember the junk you wanna forget.”

  “You heard us talking about the death of Colby Johnson,” Rosey said.

  “Some of that, but mostly I read your lips. Been lip reading since I was a young’un. Comes in handy now and again. My baby brother, Jeffrey...was deaf, so we worked on reading lips together. He was two years younger and needed some encouragement. It was something we could do, and, ‘course, it helped him survive a little easier. Tough when you’re deaf.”

  “Did Bishop ever tell you much about Colby’s death?” Rosey asked.

  “Hmph! It was part of his family’s legacy. I suspect he was ashamed of it, as he should’ve been. One of those family secrets, you know. Families seem to like secrets. Sometimes secrets kill you.”

  “Bishop was an uncle to the local sheriff,” I said.

  Boxley nodded, “Yep. Their fathers were brothers, E.W. Tanner,...that was Bishop’s old man, and Ralph Tanner, papa to Roscoe.”

  “Close?”

  “Yeah. Especially after the death of young Colby. Seems that they developed a stronger bond.”

  “Sometimes families rally together after a crisis,” I said.

  “Helluva crisis, if you ask me. More like they agreed to keep a lid on it.”

  “Lid on what?” Rosey said.

  “Just you never mind. Ain’t gonna talk about those family secrets and get me killed.”

  “You think Bishop was killed?” Rosey said.

  “Don’t you? Don’t you think it odd that you were talkin’ to him this morning and he is dead by the afternoon?”

  “People die,” I said.

  “You mean old people die. Yeah, true enough, but...well, you weren’t the only visitor old Bishop had today.”

  “Who else was here?” Rosey said.

  “Didn’t recognize them.”

  “Them?” Rosey asked.

  “Two men came in to see him. Must have been about...shoot, I don’t know. Time don’t mean much to me anymore. Oh, let’s say about thirty minutes after you l
eft, young man.”

  “And you’d never seen them before?” I said.

  “Not until today. They weren’t regulars here. Didn’t deliver flowers or fruit nor sing Christmas carols. We get a pretty regular crowd you could say. I’ve been here for nearly ten years now. I know who comes and goes. These men were newbies.”

  “Newbies?” I said.

  “You know, fresh meat, new folks, didn’t seem to fit the environs.”

  “Why do you say that?” I said.

  “Long hair, beards, and tattoos were the clues. Seldom see a tattoo in this place. Now and then, yeah. You know, a wayward son or a granddaughter comes in to see granny or grandpa, but not like these guys. They looked like thugs to me.”

  “They say anything to you?” Rosey said.

  “Yeah, told me to go to the lounge and play checkers. Said they had some private business with Bishop.”

  “So you left,” Rosey said.

  “Yeah, but…” he grinned a little at Rosey. “I didn’t go play checkers.”

  “Bishop seem to know them?”

  “No, and I could tell he was scared. Live with a person long enough you get to know their language even when they don’t say a word. It was like I used to read my brother Jeff. We communicated a lot with the eyes and facial expressions. Got to the place where I could read people pretty good.”

  “And you saw fear in Bishop this morning?”

  “Bet I did and I talked with the nurses at the center desk. Told them I didn’t like the looks of the men who had come to visit Bishop.”

  “What did they say to you?”

  “Laughed and told me that my imagination was running away again.”

  “So what happened after the men left?” I said.

  “They found Bishop dead in his bed.”

  16

  A nurse scurried into John Boxley’s room carrying a small cup of medicines. She stepped in front of us, handed Boxley a cup of water and his meds in an even smaller cup.

  “Almost time for supper, Mr. Boxley. Here are you go.”

  John took the small cup of pills and water from her. He emptied the pill cup into his mouth and then took a gulp of water. The nurse turned abruptly, walked back in front of us without a word, and left the room.

  Regimental efficiency.

  As soon as she left, Boxley spit the pills back into the same cup, took another gulp of water and chuckled a little.

  “You don’t take your meds,” I said.

  “Live longer that way. I have no idea what they give me, so I pretend to do what they say. Best not to ruffle too many official feathers around her. I don’t want to wind up like Bishop.”

  I raised my eyebrows and he saw my gesture.

  “Oh, I know I’m gonna die sooner or later. I got no pretense about that. I just mean I ain’t ready to go before my number comes up. Bishop had many more years to go, I suspect. He was healthy. Younger and stronger than I am. We enjoyed each other’s company, and you know, I think our friendship helped to prolong our life.”

  “Did you tell anyone else about the visitors Bishop had?”

  “Who would I tell?”

  “Sheriff Tanner.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Why tell him?”

  “Part of the family.”

  “Yeah, right,” John said as he wheeled his chair around a corner faster than I could have maneuvered the same turn if I had had a wheelchair.

  John then turned his chair abruptly and faced us. He was looking hard at me for some reason.

  “Who do you think sent those thugs here to see old Bishop?”

  “You think Roscoe was trying to keep Bishop quiet?” I said.

  “Is the pope a Catholic?”

  He turned his wheelchair quickly away from us and headed off in the direction I could only guess was towards the dining hall. We had to maintain a fast pace just to keep up. When we reached the dining area, John stopped in the large, open doorway. He turned his head slightly in our direction.

  “You asked me if Bishop ever told me much about Colby’s death. Truth is I knew more than he did. I told him things he never knew, and he began to connect the dots.”

  “How is it you knew more than he knew?” I said.

  “Can’t say for sure about that, but I can say why I knew what I knew.”

  “So how did you know so much?”

  “My grandfather was the physician called into that family home. He pronounced the infant dead. Hey, listen, few people know that about me. Most of them have forgotten that my mother was the daughter of Robert Cranebottom, the old physician of Riley Corners. I’d like to keep it that way, if you get my drift. I’ll probably stay alive longer so I can endure this grub. I gotta go. Come back to see me and we talk some more.”

  “Can we bring you something to eat from the outside?” I said just as he was about to wheel away to his evening meal.

  “Yeah. I used to dine a lot at Maybelline’s. You know the place?”

  Boxley headed his wheelchair down the corridor. Rosey and I followed at a fast clip behind him. The man could move that chair.

  “Been there a time or two,” I said still following. Felt like I was chasing him.

  “Bring me a Reuben. I cotton to that kind of sandwich. With some fries. I’ll make it worth your while. We’ll call it a bribe.”

  By this point we had arrived at the dining area of the facility. John Boxley wheeled off towards his table. I scanned the room to see if anyone in particular was watching us. Most of the patients were too busy eating to bother about two strangers standing at the door. The staff was busy serving the latecomers like John. No one appeared to be looking in our direction. Time to go.

  As we headed towards the entrance, I had an idea. Sometimes they come to me, seemingly from nowhere. Must be my natural detective skills.

  “I’ll wait for you at the Jag,” Rosey said and left the building.

  I stopped at the desk near the entrance. The older and anonymous volunteer was no longer there. The young attractive girl was holding fort. I wanted to speak with her anyway.

  “Were you here this morning when some, shall we say, unusual gentlemen came calling on Bishop Tanner?” I smiled and was turning on the charm so she would trust me.

  “Well, I’ve been here all day. I don’t know about unusual men,” she said looking away from me as if trying to remember some hard fact that had escaped her.

  “These men had long hair and some tattoos adorning their bodies.”

  “Oh, them...yes, I do remember them.”

  “They stopped by here and spoke with you?”

  “Well, they asked for Mr. Tanner’s room. Like they wanted to see him and all.”

  “And you gave them the information?”

  “I didn’t. Like, you know, Mrs. Palmer here, like she’s in charge of the station, you know. I’m in training, like it’s rocket science, you know? Greet people, answer the phone, smile and be pleasant, like I don’t know how to do that. This is so yesterday.”

  “So you don’t recall anything specific about them?” I said and refrained from smiling at her. No one likes to be so yesterday.

  “Well, I didn’t say that exactly. They were so nice, like you know, they smiled at me, one of them like winked at me. He was kinda cute and all. So, I jumped up and decided to help them, like, you know, do my job. Duh.”

  “Help them,” I repeated.

  “Yeah, you know, show them to Mr. Tanner’s room, they being strangers and all and not being her before I imagined.”

  “How kind of you,” I said, still holding back my award-winning smile.

  “Yeah, you know, public relations and all, like no sweat off me.”

  “They say anything to you as you escorted them to Mr. Tanner’s room?”

  “Maybe,” she looked like she had swallowed more than a canary.

  I waited and continued to maintain eye contact. She looked away and then finally mustered enough courage to look back at me.

  “One of them, like t
he cute one, you know, said he’d like to see me again sometime. Like wow, okay. I’m good with that.”

  “And?”

  “Well, like he took out a matchbook and scribbled his cell phone number on the inside.”

  “Wow. How thrilling for you,” I said and smiled.

  “Yeah, like nothing exciting happens around this place very often...except when, like someone falls or someone vomits in the dining room or, you know, like dies.”

  “Real drag here, huh?”

  “Yee-ea-ah,” she said as if the word was three syllables.

  “Do you still have the matchbook?”

  “Like yeah, of course I do. It’s solid gold you know.”

  “I can only imagine. May I see it?”

  She looked around as if she was about to hand me some secret document from an undercover mission sanctioned by the CIA. Finally when the lobby seemed to be clear enough to dissuade her angst, she reached into her pink jacket pocket and retrieved the book of matches. She held them up for me to see without offering to allow me to touch them.

  “May I see the number?”

  “Not on your life, lady. Like, he’s mine.”

  “Oh, I can assure you that I have no interest in your cutie pie, at least not like you have.”

  “Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that. Just take a look at the matches. This proves I ain’t lying.”

  Since she was not about to hand over her priceless treasure, all I could do was to see the skull and crossbones on the matchbook cover along with a name. Advertising is so vital to our culture.

  She hurriedly put the matchbook back into her pocket. I noticed her lips were now tightly shut as if to tell me there would be no more information coming forth. The well was dry.

  “Thank you, sweetie...and good luck with that cutie pie of yours.”

  It was approaching dusk when I climbed into the Jag. I called Rogers to update her and to see if she had anything to tell us.

  “Seems to be a scarcity of news coming out of Riley Corners when you go back all those years,” she said.

  “Keep digging. Perhaps you will unearth something more.”

  “Tenacity is my name.”

  “Oh, do me a favor and find out who owns the Morning Glory Nursing Care Facility of Riley Corners.”