by Lori L. Lake
Should she talk to him now, or wait until tomorrow? She had no clue whether he'd be sleeping after eight p.m., but she knew of one sure way to find out. He wasn't in the TV room, so she bypassed that area and rounded the corner into the east wing. His door, the first one on the left, was open.
Leo heard the TV before she reached the doorway. An old rerun of Law and Order played, the volume up so high she wondered why his neighbors didn't complain. The man was sprawled in a dirt-brown-colored recliner that had seen better days. When she rapped on the doorframe, he shifted in the chair, and it made a squeaky shriek.
"Yeah?" he said, his eyes squinting her way.
She spoke loudly over the TV program. "Could I speak to you for a few moments about Callie Trimble's death?"
"At the commercial." He turned to concentrate on the show, while she stood in the doorway feeling awkward. On the TV, Detective Lenny Briscoe made a smart-aleck comment, the music swelled, and the program cut away to a loud commercial for laundry soap.
The old man held out a remote to mute the sound and beckoned her in.
The apartment was laid out like all the others. One half was a sitting area, and the other part consisted of an enclosed bathroom, an open bedroom area, and a huge walk-in closet. His bedroom space was bare of all but a twin-sized bed and a four-drawer dresser.
Spartan described the whole apartment. If Walter Green had lived at Rivers' Edge since it opened, Leo sure couldn't tell. No pictures hung on the walls or graced the top of the one bookcase off to the left of the TV. By the window, a dining-room-sized table with only two chairs was pushed up against the wall and heaped with mail and papers, magazines and newspapers.
The only place to sit other than the recliner was a shabby, pumpkin-orange, two-person loveseat. Leo lowered herself to the edge of it, set her valise on the floor, and said, "Mr. Green, I'm Leona Reese. I won't take up too much of your time."
"Sure hope not. Damn commercials go on and on, but the show'll start up again in a couple of minutes."
"Maybe I should return after the show is over."
He gave a toss of his full head of white hair. "Good idea." He crossed his arms and turned his attention to the television set.
Leo rose, biting back a chuckle. She supposed when she got to be his age she might not bother to engage in social graces either. "I'll stop by after nine."
She thought she heard a grunt but couldn't be sure.
Out in the hall, all was quiet, so she went to the staff room and knocked on the open door.
A woman's voice called out, "Come in."
A slim black woman in a white smock and light blue cotton pants stood in an alcove in front of a row of industrial washers and dryers. Braided through her hair were dozens of multicolored beads. When she moved her head, the beads clicked faintly. She deftly folded a towel and stacked it upon half-a-dozen others atop a folding table. The rest of the room contained a massive, sturdy bunk bed, and a bank of closed drawers that were built into the right wall. Both mattresses were neatly made up and covered with lightweight blue, purple, and white spreads that complemented the flowery border that ran along the top of all the white walls.
The woman glanced over her shoulder, a smile on her face. "You must be the lady from the State. Ms. Reese, right?"
"That's me. Are you Habibah Okello?"
"I am. People often mix up my sister and me, but she's much older." Her eyes twinkled. "Two years."
Her speech was accented slightly, and Leo remembered that the Okello sisters were originally from Kenya. Habibah closed the dryer door and pivoted, smoothing the front of her smock. "Shall we take a break somewhere?"
They went to the common area and found corner seats on adjacent couches with an end table between them. Leo dumped the recorder out, and for the first time, she wondered about batteries. She saw an outlet behind the table, so she dug out the cord. As she plugged it in she heard a peal of laughter from the dining hall. The Merry Widows must still be playing cards.
She was sick of giving the investigator spiel required by the State, but she did it once more, with apologies.
Habibah listened patiently, a relaxed smile on her broad brown face. "No need to apologize. If anyone understands government bureaucracy, it is me. I still remember being ten years old and standing in line all day for many days in Kenya so that my sister and I could come here."
"Nothing worse than waiting in line."
"It's far worse to sit in a prison, waiting for someone to find the error they've made."
"You were imprisoned in Kenya?"
"Not I. My father."
"How long did it take to correct the error?"
"Too long. He died before he could be released."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
"I like to speak of my father. He was a good man. One day I'll have a son and name him in his honor." Her eyes met Leo's with an openness Leo thought was refreshing. Habibah Okello was a strong woman, and her resolute voice affirmed it.
"Have you been in the U.S. for some time?"
"Almost nineteen years. We love it here."
"How long have you been working at Rivers' Edge?"
"Three years. Mrs. Hoxley hired my sister and me the very week she took the position of manager."
"So you've seen a lot of people come and go?"
"Yes. But some have been here as long as I have. Hazel and Ernesta and Silvia came before I did."
Habibah referred to the workers, but Leo had meant the residents. "A lot of the apartment residents have moved in and out as well."
"Yes, but the crazy ladies," she said and gestured toward the dining hall with a grin, "they have all been here for ages."
"Callie Trimble and Eleanor Sinclair were so new. Had you gotten to know them?"
"Oh, yes. Shani and I—my sister, I mean—we liked them both. Never a problem, even though Callie had the Old Timers' disease."
"Was it Alzheimer's? Or dementia?"
Habibah shrugged. "Either way, her memory was not so good, but she never forgot to laugh. I'm sad she's gone."
"Do you have any idea who would hurt her?"
"No. I don't know anything."
"Tell me about what happened Monday night. What time did you come on duty?"
"Sherry and I were on the afternoon shift. Ten o'clock was end of her shift, and I was on the overnight. We ate dinner with the residents."
"And who were they?"
"Let me see. The four card sharks in there—you know who I mean."
"The Merry Widows."
"Yes, they sat together. Franklin and Callie sat with my colleague, Sherry. I was at Walter's table, but I was up and down. One of the cooks—this is Dottie—wasn't feeling well. She was ill with a cold, so I helped Lorraine fill the plates and serve seconds and coffee and dessert, and Dottie did all the kitchen cleanup."
"Who was missing?"
"Eleanor had a book talk, so she was gone, and Norma is out of town."
"Anyone else?"
"No, unless something has changed in the last few days, we still have three vacancies."
"Then what happened on Monday night?"
"After dinner, everyone went away to their own rooms to rest or be refreshed. We gathered them together for the sing-along at 7:30."
"Who came to that?"
"Small gathering. The four ladies came and Franklin, Sherry, and me."
"Did anyone leave at any time?"
"No."
"You saw no one leave."
"No, nobody moved until we heard the alarm bell."
"What about you?"
"Huh?"
"You left the sing-along for a while, right?"
"Oh, no, I don't think so."
An expression flitted across her face for the briefest moment. Leo waited, watching intently. She often used this tactic on the street: Ask a question, get the first answer, then wait for something further. She was often surprised how much additional information a silent stare could gar
ner.
"I—I'm certain—fairly certain I didn't leave the sing-along."
"Not even for a quick trip to the bathroom?"
Habibah slouched slightly and swallowed, her throat working up and down. "Maybe. I don't think so, though."
"What if I were to tell you that every person at the sing-along agrees that you left the room for ten or as much as fifteen minutes?"
"Oh, no, I could not have possibly been gone that long!"
"I see. So you do recall leaving?"
"I think I did go to the bathroom, but I was in and out of there in minutes."
"You didn't go down the east hall to see Callie Trimble?"
Habibah's eyes widened. Before she could open her mouth to deny it, the front doorbell rang. She popped up from her seat as though ejected from a burning fighter plane.
A gust of warm air made its way to Leo. The sun was down, but night hadn't quite fallen, and the two men standing in the doorway were backlit so that Leo couldn't make out their faces. She recognized the physique of Detective Flanagan.
Flanagan held out his identification. "Ms. Okello, Detective DeWitt and I would like you to come down to the station with us now."
"The station?" she asked in a quavery voice.
"Yes, the police station. Please get your things," Flanagan said as he shouldered his way into the foyer.
"But I can't leave my job."
"If you'd been home earlier in the day, we could have made this easier."
Leo rose. A swarm of gnats swirled around the porch light.
DeWitt shut the door. He glanced Leo's way, his face cast in an unpleasant scowl. "Ms. Okello, you've got two choices. Wouldn't you rather come with us voluntarily? Or do you want an arrest on your record?"
The poor woman looked like her knees would buckle. Leo hastened to her side and got hold of her forearm. "Steady up."
Habibah whipped her head toward Leo, her beads clacking together. "Help me," she pleaded.
LEO HAD NEITHER the status nor the inclination to intercede on Habibah Okello's behalf. The most important thing she could do was extract information from Flanagan. While DeWitt followed Habibah to the staff room to get her purse and sweater, Leo faced off with Flanagan.
"What have you found out? Are you detaining her for murder?"
"We're not arresting her, per se. We need to get a statement and verify some things."
"What things?"
He stepped closer and leaned down so he could speak softly. "Prior to working here, Miss Okello worked at a hospital in Milwaukee where three unexplained mercy killings took place."
"Same MO?"
Flanagan shifted back uncomfortably. "Not exactly. One by a pillow over the face, the other two with overdoses of morphine injected into the IV lines."
"And you think she did it?"
"She worked there at the time. It's possible."
"Please let me know, will you, Detective? I can finish off this investigation as soon as you have verification."
With a sigh, he agreed, and DeWitt escorted a shaking Habibah to the front door.
"Who will do my job?" Habibah asked.
"I'll talk to Sherry right away," Leo said.
"I should do that myself." Holding back tears with an effort, she stared up at the enormous cop next to her. "Please don't do this."
Leo patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. These guys will probably have you back here before you know it." Leo recognized the fear in her eyes. "Habibah, you'll be safe. No one will hurt you."
DeWitt said, "Come along, miss." He tugged on her forearm, as Habibah dissolved into tears. Leo accompanied them to the entrance and closed the door behind them.
The four elderly women clustered silently in the dining room doorway. Leo hadn't seen them congregate there, and she didn't know how much they'd heard.
Agnes Trumpeter fingered her cat-eye glasses, removed them, and ran a cloth over the lenses. "You can't possibly believe Habibah killed Callie Trimble."
Leo shrugged. "I'm just as surprised as everyone else. Where is Sherry Colton?"
The women exchanged glances until Willie Stepanek finally said, "Perhaps she's in with Walter. Or Eleanor."
"Thanks." Leo gathered up her recorder, which she'd left on, and dumped it into her valise. The Merry Widows headed off to their respective rooms, calling good night, and she followed them to the apartment wing. She hesitated. Walter or Eleanor? She checked her watch, but it was twenty minutes to nine, and Walter was still watching his TV program, so she went past his room. The door to Eleanor Sinclair's apartment was open, but unless someone was in the bathroom, no one was there. Across the hall, Callie Trimble's door was closed, but Leo heard a faint murmur, so she knocked.
The voices stopped, and a moment later the door creaked open.
"Hello, Eleanor. Have you seen Sherry?"
Eleanor whipped open the door. Sherry rose from the couch. "Hello, Ms. Reese. What can I help you with?"
From the doorway, Leo quickly explained that Habibah had been taken into custody.
"This is impossible." Sherry scowled and managed to look all of ten years old. "I'm supposed to go home at ten."
"It's possible she might be back by then."
"What if she's not?"
"Good question. You may want to call Rowena Hoxley." She looked from Sherry to Eleanor. The older woman's face was flushed and her eyes red. She held a handkerchief in one hand.
"Forgive me for being slow," Eleanor said, "but I don't understand. The police can't possibly think Habibah killed Callie."
"Apparently they're exploring the notion," Leo said.
Eleanor stumbled over to the couch and sat heavily. "Why? Why would Habibah do that?" She buried her face in the hanky. Though she didn't make a sound, her shoulders shook.
Sherry stepped closer and patted her on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Eleanor. So sorry…" She met Leo's eyes. "We've been talking about who could have done this, but Habibah was never anyone we suspected. I'd have expected them to haul off Walter before anyone else."
"Why Walter?" Leo asked.
"He didn't much care for Callie. Or Eleanor. In fact, he's quite the mis… What's that word?"
Muffled by the hanky, Eleanor said, "Misogynist. He's probably more correctly classified as a misanthrope. He doesn't seem to like anyone." She wiped her face and sniffled. "Walter has always been rude, but we avoided him. I agree with Sherry. He's a much more likely culprit than Habibah."
Leo couldn't comment on that, but the brief exchange she'd had with Walter hadn't impressed her. "I'd like to talk to you, Sherry. Could we step into Rowena's office for a bit?"
Sherry leaned down. "Eleanor? I'll be gone a little while. I'll come back and check on you when Ms. Reese is done, all right?"
Eleanor straightened up and shifted to sit closer to the front of the sofa, composing herself with a speed that amazed Leo. "I'll be fine, Sherry. Just fine. You don't need to trouble yourself with me."
"Oh, please. You're never a bit of trouble. I'll be back in a while."
Leo followed Sherry out to the front foyer and into the manager's office. "Thanks for taking the time now."
"Nothing much happens this time of the evening anyway." Sherry slid in behind the neatly organized desk. The paperwork that had littered the surface earlier was gone, leaving only an inbox, a blotter, a photo that Leo couldn't see, and a lamp, which Sherry clicked on.
The interview with the aide took a solid twenty minutes, but Leo found out nothing notable. On the subject of Habibah leaving the sing-along, Sherry said, "I'm clueless. We'd pulled the piano out a bit, so that I was at an angle and able to see the residents, but the piano is tall. I didn't pay a bit of attention to anything but the sing-along."
"Did you have a view of the foyer or common area?"
"Not at all. Even if I had, I might not have seen anything. I'm a pretty good pianist, but I have to work extra hard to read the music if I want to keep up the pace. I was concentrating on playing, not on anything else
."
"Who do you think killed Callie Trimble?"
Sherry shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I can't believe it happened. The only thing that makes sense is that someone came over the wall to rob the place, and Callie interrupted them. No way did Habibah do it."
WHEN LEO ARRIVED at Walter Green's doorway, he was watching a new television program—some crime show she didn't recognize.
"Mr. Green?"
He glanced her way, irritation on his face. "Oh. You again."
"Yes, I'd like to have a word with you."
"At the commercial."
Leo strode across the room and clicked off the television set.
The recliner extension thumped down, and the old man sat forward in his seat. "Hey! You can't do that."
She stood in front of the TV and stared him down. When he looked away, she said, "Shall we get this over with?"
"You ain't got any right to come in here and disrupt a person's life."
"That's where you're wrong, sir. If you don't take the time to talk to me right now, I'm going to slap a closure order on this facility and you'll be moving to a motel at your own expense."
"Ridiculous."
Now that he was mad, Leo heard a drawl in his words and wondered where he'd been raised. He certainly didn't have the Minnesota accent.
"You ain't the cops."
"No, I'm much worse. I'm with the State, and if I don't get some answers to this murder pretty soon, the Rivers' Edge license will be suspended, and you'll have to move."
He let out a disgusted huff and crossed his arms over the long-sleeved shirt he wore. Underneath, his t-shirt was yellowed around the collar. His white hair was thinning, and uneven white stubble on his chin and jowls showed he hadn't shaved for a couple of days.
She stepped away from the television, sat on the orange loveseat, and took the tape recorder out of the bag. She didn't bother to hunt for a plug-in. Batteries would have to do. She'd cover the warnings and details afterward, too. She wanted to get as much information as possible before he clammed up.
"What do you know about the death of Callie Trimble?"
"Absolutely nothin' at all."
"You were next door in the TV area at the time of her death. Did you see anyone pass by?"
