by A. E. Howe
Dad nodded and we went up to the desk to be admitted to the unit. Jim looked horrible. A strong man who’d worked his farm every day of his life, and two weeks ago could have crushed my hand with his, lay on the bed looking like a breathing corpse. Dad held his hand and told him we were there. He stared down at his childhood friend, seeing the past and the terrifying future that we all face. Finally, he gently laid Jim’s hand down and turned away. I followed him back out of the ICU.
Tim was talking to a younger woman. I remembered there was a daughter.
“Sheriff, you remember my sister, Tilly.” Tim spoke with no emotion. The air felt tense.
“Of course, but you were smaller the last time I saw you,” Dad said to Tilly.
“It has been a few years.” She smiled.
“How’s your mother?”
“Same, hell on wheels. She won’t come by and see Daddy.”
“Why should she? She damn near broke him when she left.” Tim wasn’t even trying to hide his anger. “I’m not sure why you came back. Oh, yeah, I think I know.”
“Tim, I don’t think we need to air our dirty laundry in front of friends.” Her voice dripped with venom masquerading as honey.
“For once you’re right.” Tim turned to us. “I do appreciate you coming by, and I know it would mean a lot to Dad.” We shook hands with Tim and shared awkward hugs with Tilly.
“She takes after her mother, all right,” Dad said, pressing the lobby button in the elevator. “Margret was a queen bitch. Loved Jim’s money, but him, not so much.”
“When did she leave him?”
“It was as much him kicking her out as her leaving. About ten or twelve years ago. I think Tilly was fourteen, maybe younger, at the time… something like that. Went with her mother. Jim gave her a nice settlement. He didn’t like lawyers and hated the idea of going to court so he pretty much gave her what she wanted. She moved over to Jacksonville or someplace, which suited Jim. But he was heartbroken when Tilly went with her mom. Of course she was a teenager and who can figure them out? Her mom offered her the city and shopping sprees while Jim only knew about farming and hard work.”
We were out by the cars when Dad turned to me. “I need to get back to the office. Would you go by the house and pick up Mauser? He’s got a vet appointment.”
I was just able to choke back the What the hell? that came to mind. “Okay,” I heard myself saying, fighting back my annoyance.
I picked Mauser up at Dad’s house. The sitter handed me Mauser’s travel bags—yes, two reusable grocery bags full of treats, water bottles, poopy bags and toys for a ten-mile trip to the vet.
Of course Dad had failed to make going to the vet fun for Mauser, so as soon as we pulled into the parking lot he set his paws in the carpet of the van and his eyes got a determined look. Treats had no effect on him if he didn’t want to do something. A couple of Scooby Snacks weren’t going to get him out of the van and into the vet. All hundred and ninety pounds were planted firmly inside the vehicle and no amount of tugging on his harness was going to work.
I glanced at my watch and saw that we were already five minutes late for his appointment. I closed the van doors and headed in to tell the receptionist that we were there, but we just weren’t there.
I had just turned from the front desk when a woman came out of the back.
“Is that Mauser in the van?” Obviously a rhetorical question since the van had Dad’s election signs all over it and a giant dog head looking around defiantly from the back. But I answered anyway.
“Yes, sorry, I’m trying to get him out. If Dad had worked a little harder at teaching him that going to the vet is fun, this would be a heck—” I noticed that the vet tech was following me outside “—of a lot easier.”
“Mauser!” she called.
To my shock, he stood up and gave half a bark. I quickly clicked the van’s remote and the door slid open. Mauser jumped out and bounded over to the small woman, affectionately bumping into her.
I took a long look at this pied piper of Great Danes. Her name tag said “Cara Laursen,” and she looked to be a couple years younger than me. She was quite pretty, with dark red hair done up in a double braid, fair skin and petite features that fit her stature. Good God, I’m as attracted to her as Mauser is.
“Come on, boy, let’s go in and let the doc take a look at you.” Mauser and I followed her back into the office.
“Thanks a million,” I said to her as I put Mauser’s leash on him. “It might have taken me an hour to get him in here.”
“Oh, he and I are old friends.” She smiled and Mauser looked up at her adoringly. I just hoped my face didn’t look as goofy as his.
Doctor Barnhill had heard the joke more than once that his name would be a better fit for a large animal vet. But he seemed fine with Mauser being his largest patient. He came in and wrestled with the beast, taking his temperature, a fecal sample and a blood sample. Mauser seemed to be willing to put up with all of it as long as he could see Cara. She would smile at him as she handed the doctor a syringe or whatever else he needed, and Mauser would keep his big dopey eyes glued to her every move.
“Do you have this effect on every dog?” I flirted with her. By the look the doctor gave me, I could tell she had the same effect on every four- and two-footed dog that came into the office.
“Guess it’s my superpower,” she said, turning the smile onto me for a moment. My mind was running through every possible scenario to get a date with her. Unfortunately for me, my mind didn’t have too much experience getting dates with strangers. Suddenly we were done. Mauser got an “okay” from the doc and we were being ushered out of the exam room. I was losing my opportunity fast. The receptionist told me I could go and she’d just bill my dad.
We would be out the door in a minute with no good excuse for coming back in to make a date. When I thought all was lost, Mauser earned my everlasting gratitude by turning and tugging his way back toward Cara, who was heading back into the examining rooms.
“Whoa, boy-o,” I said half-heartedly as he pulled me back toward Cara. She turned and laughed at the sight of me being dragged across the tile floor toward her. I would have gladly been pulled across broken glass barefoot to hear her musical laugh. She’s a witch, I thought. She’s put a spell on me. I’d never fallen for someone that fast. Never.
“Maybe you could walk us out,” I said. Clever boy, I mentally congratulated myself.
“Sure, no problem. You good with that, Mauser?”
He leaned into her, ignoring me at the other end of his leash. We all walked back out to the van where I opened the cargo door and Mauser reluctantly hopped in. I quickly shut the door.
“You all take care,” Cara smiled, turning back toward the office.
“Wait.” Okay, smart guy, now what?
She turned back, looking at me. I was frozen.
“Yes?”
“Umm, should I have scheduled another appointment for him?” Dumbest question ever.
“No. We’ll send your dad a postcard when Mauser’s due for his next checkup.” She stood still, facing me. She must have known that I wanted to ask something else.
“I… Would you like to have lunch sometime?” I blurted out like a puberty-challenged teenager.
“Well… Maybe.” Maybe? That felt like a punch in the gut.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you seeing someone?” Like it was any of my business.
“Sort of. Nothing too serious, but life’s a little complicated right now.” There was my answer—a pretty clear “go away and quit bothering me.”
“No problem. Take care.” I beat a hasty retreat to the driver’s side of the van. She turned and walked back inside.
When I got in the driver’s seat I looked back at Mauser, who gave me a disgusted look and burped deeply into my face. “For once, you’re right, I’m an idiot.” I started the engine and took Mauser home.
Pete was waiting for me when I finally got back to the office.
“We
finished up at the crime scene. They got some good stuff out of the drain. Said we should get a DNA match with our victim in a week. I’ve gone through most of the hotels and motels in the area. So far no one has a guest that’s disappeared or failed to check out. I’ll keep on it. I interviewed a dozen people who lived in the neighborhood close to the warehouse. Got nothing. Not too surprising since all of the houses are at least a quarter mile away. Also, gun shots aren’t that unusual south of the tracks. But I’ll check back on the ones who weren’t home.”
Pete rattled all of this off quickly and efficiently. He was effective when he was present, awake and not eating or reading anything.
“Thanks, Pete. You got any cases we should be working on?” I knew he’d taken a couple of calls while I’d been out doing personal chores for Dad.
“A possible car-jacking, but I think he’s bullshitting me. My guess, he traded it for drugs and the report is for the insurance and his wife. I’ll lean on him when wifey isn’t hanging over his shoulder. We also got a heads-up from the Tallahassee police. They had to handle a public disturbance call at the hospital. You won’t believe this one. Tim and Tilly Devries.”
He had my full attention. “Richest family in the county, and the brother and sister are shoving and slapping each other at the hospital.” He was shaking his head in wonder.
“I’ll take that and look into it.” I wasn’t sure exactly why I wanted to get involved. Maybe because their father was a good friend of Dad’s? I didn’t know, but I felt that this was something I should deal with. Pete, as usual, had no problem passing work on to someone else.
“Works for me. I talked to the TPD officer who responded. He said it was all over by the time he got there, but that they both had marks on them. The hospital wouldn’t drop it either. Corporate policy or some crap.”
“I’ll talk to all the parties and come up with some kind of resolution. Not much to worry about anyway. The State Attorney isn’t going to file any complaints against the Devrieses unless there is blood on the ground. Even then it would have to be a lot of blood.”
“Must be nice to have money. Shouldn’t say that, I guess… Tim and Jim are two of the most upright people in this county. Bet you they haven’t missed a church service in years. And they take all that Jesus stuff to heart.” Pete’s wife was always nagging him about going to church instead of spending his Sundays puttering around his garage or at the gun range.
But Pete was right about the Devrieses. Some of the large landowners were mean in every sense of the word, but the Devries family contributed to almost any charity in the county that was worthy. And I’d never heard anyone say a bad word about any of them.
“Mrs. Devries, now that’s a different story. She spent money on herself and the kids and to hell with everyone else. Has a tongue that could cut steel. Just the opposite of Jim and Tim. Don’t think I ever heard anyone say a good word about her. Maybe the daughter got a little bit of the pit viper in her.” Pete looked at his watch. “I’m gonna head out for the day.”
“See you tomorrow,” I said to his back, and he waved over his shoulder in acknowledgement. I went over to his desk and rooted around until I found the report from Tallahassee on the Devrieses little altercation. I skimmed the narrative.
Complainant, Mrs. Blackman, R.N., stated that when she heard raised voices she looked over and Tilly Devries shoved her brother, Tim Devries, who in turn shoved his sister. She then slapped him across the face, at which point he shouted “Bitch” in a very loud voice and slugged or slapped his sister back. At this point Dr. Chandler tried to intervene and slipped and fell on the floor. A male nurse, Bob Lansky, rushed over and grabbed Tim, which allowed the sister to scratch Tim’s face. Dr. Chandler had gotten back to his feet by now and pulled Tilly away from Tim. Security showed up in a couple of minutes and both parties were told they would have to wait for the police to arrive since they had already been called. When I arrived I talked to both parties and got them to write up a statement (attachment A and B). Per the request of the hospital, I told each of them that they would need to leave the premises and to contact the administration before they could return. They agreed. Tim’s injuries were treated before he left the hospital.
Typical report. I picked up the phone and called Tim after finding his number in the report.
“Tim, this is Deputy Larry Macklin.”
“I really appreciate you and your dad coming by the hospital.”
“I was glad that I had the chance to see you father. But there seems to have been some trouble between you and your sister after we left.”
“Nothing, really. She can be so damn cold. Wants me to take Dad off the respirator.”
“It’s hard, but families sometimes have to make these hard decisions. But throwing punches in a hospital is not the way to do it,” I said in my stern deputy voice.
“I know, I know. She just gets to me. Look, can you talk to the hospital? I need to get back there and be with my dad.” There was grief and something else in his voice. Regret? Still some anger?
“I’m not going to do that until I’m satisfied that you all aren’t going to get into another altercation. Someone could get hurt, like the doctor who ended up on the floor during y’all’s little boxing match.”
“I’m not going to cause any trouble. My sister’s the one who needs to keep her distance.” There it was… definitely anger.
“I’ll talk to her too.”
“She shoved me first!” Okay, we were back on the playground.
“Tim, this is not the time to be feuding with your sister. Your father needs both of you to come together. I suggest that you all don’t talk about removing the ventilator unless there is a doctor or someone else from the hospital there to help explain the medical and legal issues to you both. My father and I had to go through this when my mother was dying. I know it’s difficult. Sometimes there just doesn’t seem to be a right answer. Now, if you can promise me that you will avoid talking to Tilly about any… uh… emotional subjects unless there is a third party present to keep the tempers in check, I’ll talk to Tilly and then the hospital and get your visiting privileges restored.”
“Of course.” He sounded more subdued. “I appreciate you taking this on. You can count on me. Good luck with Tilly.”
He seemed to have let some of the anger and frustration go. I remembered what Pete had said about father and son attending church.
“Tim, why don’t you talk with your minister too.”
“Actually, I just got off the phone with him. You don’t have to worry about me. But thanks.”
We said our goodbyes and I reluctantly called Tilly. She screamed at me for five minutes, swearing that she loved her father more than Tim ever did and that she should be the one to take care of their father. I didn’t ask her what she meant by “take care of.” Eventually, she wound down and I was able to elicit the same promises from her that I got from her brother.
A call to the hospital got them to agree not to pursue the issue, but the case would stay open so that if anything else happened there was a record showing that the hospital had been on top of it. Typical CYA. Tim and Tilly were told that their visiting privileges were reinstated, leaving me done for the day. Exhausted from almost two days without sleep, I headed home.
Chapter Eight
Friday I was up and at my desk early. I wanted to see if I could make any headway with the single clue I had on my John Doe, that he sold stuff to hospitals. It was a daunting prospect, knowing just how much stuff a hospital must buy every week, let alone in a month or a year.
I powered up my computer and went straight to my email. One message jumped out. It was from Dahlia and said:
You aren’t too good at this job, are you? LOL. You didn’t think to ask me if I could remember his face. I’m an artist. I’m much more likely to remember what something looks like than to remember its name. This goes for people too. Attached is a drawing based on what I remembered.
I opened up the pictur
e and saw a middle-aged man looking back at me. Naturally, I couldn’t tell if it was a good likeness, but it certainly was a fine drawing. The forensic artist had confirmed Dr. Darzi’s prediction that it was going to take a while to do a facial reconstruction from the badly damaged face. Since the bones had been smashed, it would have to be stripped of flesh and the bones put back together before they could do a full reconstruction and rendering. Having Dahlia’s drawing at least gave me something to work with until then. Dahlia was definitely on my Christmas list.
I could now send the picture to hospitals and ask if this man sold them equipment or supplies. Much better than asking if they knew a salesman with “Kiss My Ass” tattooed on his butt.
I started the grunt work, which involved much less grunting than in the old days thanks to the Internet. I built a list of hospitals in the southeast, got contact emails for them and began sending out my request for information.
It was past noon by the time I was done. Pete had come and gone. He hadn’t had any luck with witnesses around the warehouse. We were just damn lucky we had the witness that we did.
I ate lunch at the Donut Hole. I know, cops and donuts—ha, ha. But they actually made great croissant sandwiches. While I chewed I wondered if I’d ever hear from Eddie Thompson, my new confidential informant. If it was a big dodge, he’d done too good a job of salting the mine. I wanted to know more about the dirty cops. Particularly any dirty deputies. It wasn’t as much for me as it was for Dad. Whatever came out of the department was his responsibility. Having a scandal happen while he was sheriff would be like getting stabbed in the heart. I’d give Eddie a couple more days before I went looking for him.
I checked my email on my phone. Why is it when you send something out you feel like you should get an instant reply? I’d sent over a hundred emails to more than fifty hospitals. Two to each, covering both their security offices and whatever department looked like it handled procurement.
