Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  “Don't play games with me. You gave Kevin fits today. He's only doing the job you and your husband have hired us to do. We expect full cooperation.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “He doesn't have to follow me all over the building.”

  “Yes, he does.” He pointed at George. “He should have been with you at this time. From now on, you tell your friends to come by here so your husband or one of us is present at all times.”

  “Oh, good grief, I'm a big girl. I don't need a chaperone.”

  “Unfortunately, at this point in the investigation, you do. You're going to find it very awkward if we have to restrain you completely so we can investigate without worrying about where you are. The more you buck us, the longer it will take. Don't you realize if there is a murderer stalking these halls, he or she knows you've hired a private investigator. You could be the next victim.”

  Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, my, I never thought about it in that vein.”

  “It's time you did. Promise you'll follow my instructions from now on.”

  She bowed her head. “I'm sorry I've caused this problem.”

  “Apology accepted. Now I've got work to do. I'll check in with you two later.”

  Hawkman left the room and took the elevator to the first floor. He doubted he'd find people in their offices today, but thought he'd give it a try. A door stood slightly ajar and the light from inside spilled a long streak across the carpet. He could hear the sound of a printer humming, and the click of fingernails on the keyboard of a computer.

  He tapped on the door, forcing it to open a bit more, hoping to get a glimpse of the person before she spotted him. However, the movement caught her eye and she glanced up from her work.

  “May I help you?”

  “Hello, I'm Tom Casey, the private investigator.”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Mackle told me about you. I didn't have a chance to meet you the other night as I was called out of town. I wouldn't normally be here, but needed to catch up on some paperwork. Please come in, and have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  Hawkman took the chair in front of her desk and couldn't help but notice her very unusual coiffure. She had very short hair curled tightly on the top of her head, but the sides were straight and split over her ears. Not everyone could wear this style, but it flattered her thin face and long neck. What he could see of her, she appeared to be fairly tall.

  “I'm Carmen Sanders, one of the Community Marketing Directors.”

  “I'm assuming you're familiar with the residents and probably know them by their first names.”

  She smiled. “Yes, it's part of my job, along with many other duties.”

  “Have any of the residents seemed hostile or uncooperative?”

  “I'm not sure what you mean? We have some who are very quiet and keep to themselves, but I wouldn't classify it as being hostile.”

  Hawkman shifted his position. “Let me word that differently. Are you aware of anyone who dislikes Maggie Hampton?”

  Carmen laughed. “I'd say you worded it quite bluntly.” She tapped her pen on the desk and gnawed her lip. “There are a few who don't care for her.”

  “Why?”

  “She's too talkative is one of the complaints. Another is she brags about how she came up from rags to riches. Many of the people in this home have experienced the same lifestyle, but don't rave about it.” She pointed a finger in the air. “Don't get me wrong, many people adore Maggie. In fact, more like her than don't. She's full of life and likes to laugh.”

  “Sounds like quite a mix.”

  She nodded. “Yes, and everyone loves her husband, George. They figure him as just a good old boy.”

  Hawkman rose. “Thank you, Ms. Sanders. I really appreciate your time.”

  “I don't know how much I helped, but happy to assist.”

  “I've just started the investigation, so I may want to speak with you again.”

  “No, problem. You can catch me somewhere in the building almost every day.”

  He left her office and headed back toward Maggie's room. He thought about how Carmen never made eye contact. It made him uncomfortable. She seemed cordial enough, but it always bothered him when people did this. Made him wonder if she'd told the whole truth. He shook his head and could see figuring out if the Hampton's friends died naturally, or were murdered, would be quite a challenge.

  He met George and Maggie strolling toward the dining room, told them goodnight and headed out of the building.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next morning, Hawkman sat at his office desk in Medford, holding the phone to his ear, and drumming his fingers on the desk. He hated being put on hold, but realized Monday happened to be one of the busiest days for doctors. Finally, a female voice came on the line.

  “My name is Tom Casey and I'd like to set up an appointment with Dr. Grahm.”

  He listened a moment, then flopped back in his chair. “No, I'm not a patient and I'm not sick. I just need to talk to him.”

  Tightening his jaw, he picked up a pencil and tapped it on the yellow tablet in front of him. “I can't wait for a month, I need to speak with him immediately.”

  He didn't want to reveal the reason, but decided if he didn't scare this little receptionist a bit, he'd have to wait outside the doctor's office and catch him when he left. “Look, I'm a private investigator, checking into the death of a resident of Morning Glory Haven. Dr. Grahm examined this patient and I need to speak with him soon.”

  The woman sputtered for a moment, then asked if she could call him back.

  “Yes.” He gave her his cell phone number and hung up.

  He wouldn't go this route with Dr. Eva Paulson. Instead, he'd go straight to her office at the hospital, along with Ronald White's oncologist, Dr. Stephen Riley. While in the mood to search out doctors, Hawkman looked up Marion Carter's personal physician, Dr. Phil Hart. He punched in his number and the receptionist answered the phone on the second ring. After explaining who he was, he asked to speak with the doctor. He couldn't believe his luck, punched on the speaker phone, and picked up a pen from the desk.

  “Hello, this is Dr. Phil Hart.”

  “Good morning, Dr. Hart. I'm Tom Casey, private investigator. I promise to take only a minute of your time.”

  “I can give you a little more time. I had a cancellation, so we've got about fifteen minutes. How can I help you?” “I understand Marion Carter was a patient of yours?”

  “Oh, yes, and what a delightful person. My staff and I enjoyed her visits to the office. She always put everyone in such a positive mood. We truly miss her.”

  “Did you treat her when she went into Morning Glory Haven?”

  “She didn't have any serious problems, but I'd drop by to see her when I could. I know making regular doctor appointments is quite an expense for the elderly on fixed incomes and the home is costly. I'd check her out when I visited, and wouldn't charge.”

  “She didn't have diabetes?”

  “She was borderline, but this happens sometimes in older people. Nothing had changed at the time of her death. Why do you ask?”

  “One of the residents figured she'd lost her leg due to the disease.”

  “Oh, no. She lost it as a child due to a horrible accident with a combine in the fields of her father's farm. She adjusted to only having one leg years ago.”

  “You said she didn't have any serious conditions. What about her heart?”

  “Believe me, I was shocked to discover her heart had failed.”

  “Were you the doctor who signed the death certificate?”

  “Yes, and I might add, there had never been any indication Mrs. Carter had a cardiac problem.”

  “Did you by any chance recommend the family to have an autopsy?”

  “No, I didn't. They were devastated and it would have only caused more grief. At least Marion didn't suffer. I'm sure that's exactly the way she would've wanted her life to en
d. Peacefully, in her sleep. At least, it calmed her children knowing she went without pain.”

  “So you're saying, as far as your examinations went, you found nothing wrong with her heart?”

  “These questions are worrisome. Are you checking on more than just Marion's death?”

  “Yes, but I haven't found anything to warrant suspicion of foul play. However, I do find it odd so many patients have died in their sleep, with no history of heart problems.”

  “Old age can play tricks on our bodies. What might have been strong one day can turn on you within a few hours.”

  “This is true. Dr. Hart, I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk with me. May I contact you again if I have more questions?”

  “Certainly. If you find anything suspicious in these deaths you're investigating, would you please get back to me? I'd be very interested.”

  “I certainly will.”

  Hawkman had just placed the receiver on the cradle when his cell phone rang. The caller I.D. indicated it came from Dr. Grahm's office. When he answered, the receptionist asked if he could come in that evening around six thirty, after Dr. Grahm's last patient.

  “I'll be there.”

  After hanging up, since he had plenty of time, he decided to see if he'd have any luck on seeing Doctors Paulson and Riley.

  Driving to the Mercy Hospital, he pondered over the idea that only a couple of the deceased people had a history of heart problems; yet they all died in their sleep from cardiac failure. Sure, people's hearts gave out, but this many deaths with the same diagnosis, in the same place, appeared a bit much to swallow, even for a layman.

  He pulled into the hospital lot, parked, and strolled into the large lobby. Glancing around, he didn't see a directory, so ambled up to the information desk. The woman glanced up from her paperwork.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, could you direct me to Dr. Eva Paulson's office?”

  She pointed toward the elevators. “Go to the fourth floor. She's at four twenty-one.”

  Hawkman touched the brim of his hat. “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “You're welcome.”

  When Hawkman stepped into the waiting room, only two people occupied chairs. He crossed the room to the receptionist.

  Without raising her gaze, she said, “Your name and time, please.”

  “I'm Tom Casey, private investigator. I don't have an appointment, but need to talk to Dr. Paulson about one of her patients. It's very important.”

  She jerked up her head. “I'm sorry, but we're not allowed to give out personal information.”

  “The man has passed away, and my questions are generic. I don't think she'll have a problem.”

  “I'll have to speak with the doctor first. What was your name again?”

  Hawkman handed her a business card. “This will make it easier.”

  She pointed toward the waiting room. “Have a seat and I'll get back to you shortly.”

  He sat down and observed the soft shades of pastel paint on the walls. The artificial plants dominating the corners were pleasant to the eye. He noticed the magazines on the tables gave positive messages. Smiling physicians on the front covers with emblazoned titles like, ‘It isn't the end of the world’ and ‘Let us help you gain a strong heart'. Since this was a cardiac specialist's office, he figured they needed a pleasant atmosphere for their patients as they waited for their appointments.

  The receptionist reappeared and called his name. He moved to the counter.

  “Dr. Paulson would like to know which patient you're interested in.”

  “Fred Horn.”

  “Okay, hold on a second. I'll be right back.”

  Within a few moments, she returned. “The doctor would like to talk to you. She has a break after seeing a couple more patients. Could you wait about thirty minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  She again left his sight and disappeared down a hallway. Hawkman sat down in one of the chairs and picked up a flyer. He watched the last person enter one of the examination rooms. Shortly, the receptionist called his name and motioned for him to follow. She led him down a maze of hallway turns, then finally stopped in front of a closed door and knocked softly.

  “Come in.”

  Opening the door, she said. “Mr. Tom Casey is here.”

  “Very good, I'll see him now.”

  The woman left, and Hawkman approached the desk, holding out his hand. “Dr. Paulson, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

  They shook hands, and she gestured toward a chair. “Please, have a seat. I'm very interested in the reason you're here.”

  He scrutinized the doctor as he sat down. Her long brown hair cascaded in a French braid down her back. She wore little make-up on a flawless skin, except for just a touch of rose on her cheeks and a pale pink lipstick. Her hazel eyes were nothing out of the ordinary, but her gaze met his without hesitation. Even though, not beautiful, her appearance hit him as very attractive, and her fixed look emitted an air of authority. From what he could see of her frame behind the desk, a white coat hiding her clothing, she seemed slight of build, with small shoulders. Her hands had long fingers and short, unpolished nails, but when he grasped her hand, she had a firm grip. He liked the woman before she even said anything.

  “I understand you were Fred Horn's physician?”

  “Yes. May I ask why you're so interested in his case?”

  Hawkman explained who had hired him and why. “Instead of sticking with those three the Hamptons were concerned with, I thought I'd examine some previous deaths and see if there were any connections. I've discovered most of the families were shocked by their loved ones’ sudden death, and they all died in their sleep, just like the three the Hampton's are concerned about. I thought this odd.”

  She frowned. “Very strange. I'm glad they got suspicious and have hired someone to look into it. I'm not sure what you'll find out, but it's certainly worth the effort.” She scooted forward and opened a folder on her desk. “I've pulled his file so I could refresh my memory.” She pushed on a pair of glasses that hung around her neck on a gold chain, and glanced through some of the papers. “Fred was a very cheerful and positive person until his wife died. The tests we took indicated he'd experienced some small strokes after the trauma of losing her. I saw him often so I could monitor his heart. But when he went into the home, he couldn't pay their cost, along with the fees from the hospital, so it sort of left me dangling. However, I did drop by on social calls and checked his vital signs while there. Occasionally, I had one of the volunteer associates go by and see him, just to keep a check on his progress. Also wanted to make sure he took his medications regularly. I'm truly sorry Mr. Horn didn't make it.”

  “Who was the volunteer physician you sent over?”

  “Dr. Jeff Grahm.”

  “Did you talk to the family about his cardiac health?”

  “Oh, yes. Susan, his daughter, kept close tabs on her father.”

  “After his death, did you by any chance advise the family to get an autopsy?”

  The doctor leaned back in her chair and sighed. “No, but now I wish I had.”

  “Why?”

  “I just felt there was something fishy about his death.”

  “In what way?”

  “I would have expected another stroke which might have been strong enough to kill him, but there would have been symptoms and help could have been sought. On the other hand, there's the possibility he wasn't taking his medication regularly, even though he insisted he did. The worst scenario I could imagine would be he could have been given the wrong pills from the pharmacy.”

  “You think that's a possibility?”

  “Accidents happen, even in hospitals. So anything is conceivable.”

  “Could someone have slipped something into his food or drink?”

  She smiled. “That's your job to uncover.”

  Hawkman scratched his sideburn and grinned. “You're right.”

  A knock s
ounded on the door.

  “Yes,” the doctor called.

  “Your next patient is here.”

  “I'll be right there.”

  Hawkman quickly stood. “I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Thank you for seeing me. If I have more questions, may I contact you again?”

  She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “This is my private line at home. Please, feel free to call me. I'd really like to hear more about this case.”

  “Will do.”

  He walked down the hallway and took the elevator to the ground floor. Checking his watch, he found he still had time to see Ronald White's oncologist before returning to Dr. Grahm's office. He headed for the information desk.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After getting instructions, Hawkman headed back to the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. He approached the woman at the front desk and asked if he could speak with Dr. Riley.

  “I'm sorry; he won't be back in the office until next week. He's attending a cancer conference. Can I set up an appointment for you?”

  “No,” Hawkman said. “I just need to ask him some questions. I'll drop by another time.” Can't win them all, he thought, as he stepped onto the ground floor.

  When he reached his vehicle, he checked the battery in his recorder and noted it had gotten low. He rummaged through the glove compartment where he kept extra car chargers for his equipment. Once he found the right one, he shoved it into the lighter receptacle, then attached it to the small black box. It wouldn't take long to bring it up to full capacity.

  He looked at his wristwatch and still had a good forty-five minutes before seeing Dr. Grahm. Since he happened to be parked in the shade, he decided to take a few minutes and jot some notes to refresh his memory on what he'd learned about the deceased patients. He removed the file from his briefcase, and pushed back his seat. After thirty minutes of reading through the folder, he tacked it up, pushed the valise back under the seat and drove toward Dr. Grahm's office. The number of vehicles in the parking area had dwindled down to where Hawkman had his choice of slots.