Simon was silent, but his brain was whacking formulas and thoughts like balls on a racket ball court.
‘I said more than that, Mr Dover. I did say we have to take genetics into consideration. It’s why some people live to be in their nineties even though they smoke and don’t exercise regularly. Remember George Burns?’
‘Don’t be condescending, Simon. This is not acceptable and you know it,’ Mr Dover shouted, his voice snapping like a whip through the receiver. Simon actually lifted it from his ear and rubbed his lobe.
‘I’m working on it, sir. I’m back to the drawing board and reviewing my findings,’ he said quickly. ‘I was on it the moment I heard from Dr Hoffman and ever since. I’ve stopped working only to take your call.’
‘I’m putting the other volunteers on indefinite hold until I hear back from you, Simon. There could be other problems because of this. This is not good.’
‘You don’t have to do that, sir. I’m sure this relates only to this one specimen. The program will be fine,’ Simon assured him, some panic now slipping into his voice. Could he lose it all, everything when he was this close?
‘Don’t tell me what I have to do and not do, Simon. This is not good,’ Mr Dover said with more firmness. ‘The man is still out there somewhere. You understand what that means for all of us, especially for you? It’s too soon for anyone to know anything or ask any questions.’
‘Yes, of course, sir,’ he said.
‘I have critical clean-up to arrange and that isn’t easy or pleasant for me. I have to ask for favors from people I would rather were in debt to me.’
‘I understand.’
‘I’m not sure you do. You’re too aloof. My God, man, you don’t even know how to write a check properly. Find a solution to this glitch, Simon, and quickly or we’ll have to pack up the whole thing and disappear into the woodwork. That includes you. You won’t even live in your mother’s memory,’ he threatened.
He wanted to say he probably never did anyway. His mother never understood him and secretly hoped babies were accidentally exchanged in the nursery. She voiced that idea. His physical resemblance both to her and his father was so slight she actually had him wondering.
‘I will be on it day and night until it’s solved, Mr Dover. I promise.’
The phone went dead; the receiver felt like a bird dying in his hand. When he was a little boy, he had found a small bird with a broken wing and held it and was amazed at how fragile were its bones and how easily he could squeeze the life out of it. It gave him the idea that life was something we sponged up, all living things sponged up, and when death came along, all he had to do was squeeze the sponge and life came seeping out.
He pressed the intercom.
‘Miss Pearson,’ his nurse on duty at the clinic announced. There were two nurses, splitting shifts and he always forgot which ones were on duty.
‘Prepare number five. I need to give our specimen another treatment,’ he told her. ‘Run another blood work up immediately on the specimen as well,’ he added.
She didn’t respond so much as grunt. He knew his referring to another human being as a ‘specimen’ struck a discordant note with Miss Pearson as it did with Mrs Randolph, his other nurse assistant, even though neither of them would dare say anything to him. He knew they complained at times to Larry Hoffman, however. When one or the other looked like she might make a comment to him, he challenged her by asking, ‘Is anything wrong?’
Of course each quickly shook her head.
He enjoyed teasing women. He always had, maybe because he felt none would ever look at him with any sexual interest. Once he achieved his goals here, succeeded beyond a doubt, he would be something akin to a rock star, he thought. Then they would pay attention to him and want to be in his bed.
Was that what motivated him to do all this in the first place? What a disappointing realization that would be if he discovered that he was motivated by the same urges and needs as any other man, and be just another one of those pebbles on the beach.
After all this, what could be more devastating than to learn he was mortal after all?
And maybe, just another specimen.
Tucker Browning didn’t say a word. He listened and held his forward gaze with such firmness it was as if he was terrified of moving his head to either side. Ceil Morris sat in the rear and simply added, ‘That’s right,’ whenever Palmer reconfirmed a part of the story she had told him.
‘Well now,’ Palmer said as they pulled to the curb in front of Ceil Morris’ brownstone. ‘Here we are, Mrs Morris.’
He parked and then glanced at Tucker who finally moved himself to reach for the door handle, shaking his head slightly as he did so. They all got out and the two men then silently followed Ceil Morris to her building entrance. She began to relate the events again as she inserted her door key.
‘I stopped to check my mailbox as I always do when I return from work. For some reason, I wasn’t sure if I had checked it this morning. Isn’t that strange?’ she asked them, turning back before she searched for the key. ‘Isn’t it strange how our memories play tricks on us when we get a little older? You seem to forget the simplest things.’
‘Yes, our memories do play tricks on us,’ Tucker said dryly.
‘I do have to confess that I was more than a little nervous because I was afraid he was following me. I sensed it. You can sense things sometimes.’
‘Yes, you can,’ Tucker said and smiled at Palmer.
‘I suppose that could explain my confusion as well. Anyway, he wasn’t anywhere in sight so I entered the building just like this,’ she said opening the door and stepping into the entryway.
‘The woman is so far off the wall, she’s in another state, if not another country,’ Tucker whispered to Palmer and then held the door for him. He entered and Ceil paused to insert her mail key in the mailbox.
‘I thought you already got your mail, Mrs Morris,’ Tucker said.
‘Oh, I did, but I just thought I should do everything the same way so you get a complete picture.’
‘Yes,’ Tucker said smiling. ‘A complete picture. Thank you. Yes.’
She opened and closed the mailbox.
‘Then I opened the inside door, paused and looked back because I heard the entrance door open.’
‘But how could that be?’ Palmer asked quickly. ‘You need a key to open the entrance door. You just used it.’
‘Oh. Yes. I must have not let it close all the way. It does that often. You have to actually remember to turn around and push it closed. Very good, Detective Dorian.’
‘Yes, very good, Detective Dorian,’ Tucker said.
Palmer nudged him with his elbow.
‘Anyway, there he was standing in the doorway. I wasn’t afraid of him. He looked too old to hurt anyone but himself and even that would be difficult for him, I thought. I asked him if I could help him and he said, “I don’t think so, Mom. It’s too late.” That’s what he said.’
‘He definitely said “Mom”?’ Palmer asked her.
‘Absolutely. It threw me back and I know I was just standing there with my mouth wide open. I could see he was starting to cry, too. “Yes, it’s me, Mom,” he said. “It’s Bradley.” Of course, I couldn’t believe it and I shook my head. ‘You can’t be my son,’ I said. ‘My son couldn’t be as old as you and anyway, my son is dead. I saw his body. I was at his funeral. This is not very funny.’
‘“I’m your son all right,” he insisted and then he turned to show me the pear-shaped birthmark on the right side of his neck. My husband used to tease him when he was little and tell him I had eaten a pear before giving birth to him.’
‘Cute,’ Tucker said.
‘Yes. Anyway, when I saw it, I thought my legs would give out on me. Instead, it was he who faltered, steadied himself against the wall, closed and opened his eyes, and pleaded for me to get him into my apartment. He was very, very thirsty, too.
‘At this point I didn’t know what to do or say, so I s
tepped back and held the door for him. He came through and when we got to the elevator, he put his arm around my shoulders and I was basically holding him up. He looked asleep by the time I inserted the key into my apartment door. I led him in and he collapsed on the sofa. His head was back and his eyes were closed.
‘“Are you all right?” I asked him. His eyelids fluttered. “Water, please, Mom,” he said and I hurried to get him a glass of water. I had to feed it to him. “How can you be my son?” I asked him. “I am,” he said. “You’ve got a scar on your right side over your ribs where you fell when you were a little girl. You fell off playground monkey bars. Your rib was fractured.”
‘“Oh, my God,” I said. How would he know that? That’s not something I told anyone outside the family.
‘“I’m going to die very soon. I’m not sure how I managed to escape and get here under my own steam,” he told me.’”
She stepped into the elevator and pushed three. The doors closed. Tucker took a deep breath.
‘Escape from where?’ Tucker asked. ‘What did he mean by that?’
‘I don’t know. He fell into a deep sleep, maybe a coma. I couldn’t wake him to ask him anything else.’
‘And then you left him in your apartment?’
‘Dying,’ she said. ‘Dying. That’s why I rushed out. I wanted to see someone from homicide. Someone has done something terrible to my son.’
The elevator doors opened and they followed her to her apartment door. She took a very deep breath, crossed herself and then opened the door.
They stepped in with her and looked at the sofa.
There was no one there.
‘Where is he?’ she asked. ‘He must have gotten up.’
‘I thought you said he fell into a coma,’ Tucker reminded her.
‘Yes, he did. I don’t understand.’
She hurried through the apartment, checking the bedroom, the kitchen and the bathroom. Both Tucker and Palmer stood there waiting.
‘Well?’ Tucker asked.
‘He’s not here,’ she said. ‘I don’t see how he got himself up and left.’
‘Is anything missing, Mrs Morris?’ Tucker asked in a very tired sounding tone.
‘Missing?’
‘Check, please,’ Palmer said. She stared a moment and then turned and went back into the bedroom.
‘Da da da da, da da da da’ Tucker sang under his breath, imitating the old The Twilight Zone theme.
When Ceil Morris came back to the living room, her face was pale and she was wringing her hands.
‘Well?’ Tucker asked.
‘My money.’
‘Your money? What about it?’
‘Gone?’ Palmer asked her.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Money I kept in a dresser drawer is gone,’ she said, her face crumbling.
‘How much?’ Tucker asked.
‘Nearly …’ She paused, choking on the number. ‘Two thousand dollars. All my extra money.’
‘Son of a bitch,’ Palmer said. ‘What gimmick won’t they think of next to take advantage of people?’ He almost said older people, but stopped himself. Nevertheless, she saw it in his face and his eyes.
‘How could that be his gimmick? How could he do such a thing?’ Ceil asked them.
‘Once a thief always a thief,’ Tucker said. ‘Age doesn’t mean anything when it comes to a person’s nature.’
She looked up sharply. ‘I don’t mean his just being older. What I meant,’ she said, ‘is I’m not surprised he’s still a thief, but my own son robbing from me.’ Before either Tucker or Palmer could speak, she added, ‘It was my son. Actually,’ she said lowering her eyes, ‘if I want to be honest, I’d have to admit he was very definitely capable of it.’ She sank to the sofa with her tone of confession. ‘I’m afraid he has done it before. It was what turned my husband against him so much.’
‘Mrs Morris,’ Tucker began, ‘anyone left alone in your apartment like that would look around, find what to take, especially money. Just because you were robbed here doesn’t mean it’s your son.’
‘Oh no, it was my son for sure. Who else would know where I kept my money?’
‘Why? Where did you keep it, Mrs Morris?’ Palmer asked.
‘In an empty Tampax box under a pair of panties at the bottom of a drawer. That’s an unusual hiding place, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ Palmer said.
‘A man wouldn’t normally open a box of Tampax to search for money,’ she said.
‘Just a lucky hit, I guess,’ Tucker said. ‘We’ll make a report to the detectives who handle these sort of crimes, ma’am,’ he added, ignoring all of her references to the thief being her son.
Who returned from the dead to rob her!
She looked at the floor and shook her head. ‘I know you don’t believe me. I can understand, but you didn’t see it,’ she said. ‘You didn’t see the birthmark or hear what he said. Besides, a mother knows her child.’ She looked up sharply at Palmer. ‘No matter what, a mother knows her child. I’m not crazy.’
‘No one said you were, ma’am,’ Tucker said. Palmer continued to stare at her. ‘There’s some logical explanation for it all.’
‘Are you going to be all right?’ he asked.
‘What? Oh. Yes.’
‘Someone will call you and come see you from the police station, Mrs Morris. We’ll see to it personally,’ he said.
She nodded and stared again at the floor. ‘He never called me Mother or Ma. He always called me Mom. Even when he was a little boy. He didn’t say Mommy. He always said Mom.’
She looked up at them, her eyes so full of tears, they looked as if they were made of glass.
‘He knew where I kept my money, how I hid it. He used to laugh at me, and there was that other time. I told you … when my husband got so enraged.’
She was babbling now.
‘Someone will contact you,’ Tucker emphasized. He was obviously uncomfortable in her presence. He reached for the door. ‘Palmer?’ he said.
Palmer hesitated and then dug into his pocket and produced his card.
‘If you think of something else for us, Mrs Morris, or just want to talk about it some more, here’s my card.’ He took out his pen and wrote something on the back. ‘My home number is here as well.’
She looked up gratefully and took it. ‘Thank you, Detective Dorian,’ she said.
‘Palmer,’ Tucker said from the door.
Palmer joined him, but looked back at her once before closing the door. She looked pathetic, lost, stunned, aging herself right before his eyes.
Neither of them spoke until they were in the elevator.
‘One for the books,’ Tucker said. ‘Robbed by a dead son, hiding money in a box of Tampax …’
Palmer was pensive.
‘Why the hell did you give her your home number?’
Palmer didn’t respond. Tucker stopped walking.
‘All right, what’s bothering you, Palmer? And don’t deny that something is. I can see that crystal-ball mind of yours spinning.’
Palmer waited until the elevator door opened and then he turned to him. ‘I believe her,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask me why, but I believe her.’
Tucker stopped walking and watched him go to the entrance. Then he shook his head and followed. ‘How or why in hell would you believe that story, Palmer? Enlighten me, will ya?’
‘It’s just an instinctive feeling … that mother thing.’
‘So, what, are you a mother too now?’
‘No, but she was right about a mother always knowing her own child,’ Palmer insisted. ‘Mother’s do have an uncanny ability to recognize their own children, even years and years later. You know that from some of the stories about missing kids who turn up ten, even twenty years later.’
‘A mother in her right mind, Palmer. Jesus. I’ll do you a favor. I’ll take care of this. You go prepare for your special birthday date and forget it, will ya.’
Palmer nodded.
‘I mean
it, stupid. If you keep thinking about it, you’ll go as crazy as she is. It’s not brain surgery. This woman lives alone, battles to survive, probably bathes in paranoia and is reaching the end of the line. Maybe she wasn’t even robbed. We didn’t go look.’
‘Huh? No, she was robbed.’
‘Right. She was robbed. I’ll give it to Wizner. You can check in with him after he does his preliminaries, OK?’
‘Yes,’ Palmer said and got into the car.
‘I can’t believe you gave her your home number,’ Tucker repeated.
They drove back to the precinct quietly.
‘OK, here’s a theory,’ Tucker said when they pulled into the lot. ‘The old bastard who followed her from Starbucks knew her son in prison and knew about the birthmark. He put one on artificially to throw her into a tizzy and get into her place. He also knew about her scar, that story about her falling in a playground. Well?’
Palmer nodded. ‘Could be, I suppose.’
‘No, Palmer, not could be. Was or is,’ Tucker said getting out. ‘Oh,’ he added holding the door open. He looked in. ‘Happy birthday.’ He reached into his pocket and threw a small gift box to him.
‘What’s this?’
‘A token of my appreciation that you’re getting older,’ Tucker said and closed the door.
Palmer opened it to find a very attractive, antique pocket watch. There was even an inscription inside: Every minute counts. Your buddy, Tucker.
Palmer smiled and looked as his partner entered the precinct. After hearing Ceil Morris’ story, nothing rang truer, he thought.
Then he focused his thoughts on Tracy and put Mrs Morris and, for now, the strange story out of sight and out of mind.
He would not burn out quickly.
He would survive.
Three
Even though as a kid he had done it, he hated robbing his own mother, especially when he saw how she was living. How she was surviving was more like it. He hadn’t seen her for years before he had been arrested and put on trial. She looked pathetic then, but even more so now with her hair almost completely gray, her face so thin and her eyes so vacant. Despite his fatigue, he almost moved faster than she did. For a moment he felt sorrier for her than he did for himself.
Life Sentence Page 4
