by Carrie Smith
“Is anyone in Nostalgia taking oxycodone right now?”
She shook her head.
“Other than you, who has access to the dispensary in Nostalgia?”
“It’s locked at all times, and the only people who have a key are the nurse on duty and Baiba, the Nostalgia care coordinator. I suppose Ms. Hodges has a key, too, but she hardly ever comes up.”
“Did she come upstairs on Sunday during your shift, Lorena?”
Vivas’s smooth forehead wrinkled in concentration. “I don’t think so.”
“Where do you keep your key while you’re working? Is it with you at all times—like my service revolver is?” He smiled.
“Yes. Always.” She tapped the pocket of her burgundy Park Manor scrubs. “I never put it down. One of our residents, Dr. Evelyn Bruce, thinks she still does rounds at Sloan Kettering. Last year she got into the dispensary—not on my shift—and carted out bottles of medicine. She’s a little crazy. Well, they’re all a little crazy, to be honest,” she acknowledged conspiratorially.
“Like in that book I read once. The one with Nurse Ratched?”
“One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
“That’s it. Not that you’re a Nurse Ratched.”
“I hope not,” she laughed.
“At any time on Sunday, did you leave the dispensary unlocked?”
Vivas opened her mouth to say no and then stopped. Her forehead wrinkled again. Her eyes squinted. Then her whole face cringed. “There was an accident in the dining room at dinner time that evening. A resident fell over a chair and took a pretty hard fall.”
“Who was that?”
“Mrs. Lautner. Dottie Lautner. She has very poor balance.”
“What time did this happen?”
“It must have been between six and six thirty. I was in the dispensary. Mrs. Knight is on antibiotics—she has a UTI—and she takes a pill with dinner. I was preparing that. Baiba called me, so I dropped what I was doing and ran out. I didn’t lock the meds cabinet or the dispensary door.”
“You went to the dining room?”
Vivas nodded.
“How many minutes would you say you were away from the dispensary?”
The day nurse considered. “Somewhere between five and ten minutes, I guess. Probably closer to ten.”
Muñoz jotted notes on his pad. “Was anyone standing near the dispensary when you ran out of it?”
“I don’t think so. Everyone was in the dining room. Residents. Caregivers. Visitors.”
“Visitors? What visitors?”
“Family members. They show up to eat with their loved ones.”
“Which family members were there?”
“I don’t know all their names. I’m sorry. I don’t interact with them that much. But Baiba knows them. And the caregivers, of course. They could definitely tell you.”
“Did you notice anyone in or near the dispensary while you were in the dining room?”
Vivas shook her head. “I wouldn’t have seen. I was on the floor with Mrs. Lautner. She landed on her elbow. It swelled immediately. I was concerned that she might have an olecranon fracture.” Vivas bent her arm and rubbed her own elbow. “That kind of fracture happens when you come down hard on your elbow. As it turned out, she did fracture it. She ended up in surgery yesterday. She’s still in the hospital.”
“Did you notice anyone near the dispensary when you returned there?”
Again, Vivas shook her head. “Just Baiba. Baiba had gone back to her office to call Mrs. Lautner’s daughter—no, niece, I think. Baiba might have seen someone. You should ask her.”
“Thank you, Lorena.” Muñoz stood and handed her his card. “If you think of anything else, please call me immediately.”
Ten minutes later, he got more details from Maybelle Holder. “Mrs. Lautner fall over a chair that wasn’t pushed in.”
“Why wasn’t it pushed in?”
“Same reason as always, I suppose. Somebody pull it out. The visitors, they don’t think about the consequences. They don’t see how hard it is for the residents.”
“Who was near that chair? Who could have pulled it out?”
Holder rubbed her eyes. “Well, let’s see. Charlene were with her, of course. Charlene Sullivan. She’s assigned to Mrs. Lautner. And Julia Merchant was there. But she were sitting. She were feeding Lucy Merchant at the table over. She the one who call out for help.”
“Who else was there?”
“Mrs. Knight’s husband. He come for dinner. First time in a month! He were standing right there snapping his fingers to get Josie’s attention. He want her to get him another coffee.”
“Who else?”
“Mr. Lane. I see him wandering. He always wander during supper. The man don’t know how to sit still. Usually that’s when he go into people’s rooms. He’s a kleptomaniac, you see. But he were in the dining room that night.”
Maybelle Holder was hard to keep focused. “Anyone else?” Muñoz asked patiently.
“Senator Prinz’s granddaughter. She get all upset trying to find a table.”
“And where were you?”
“In the kitchen. I hear the crash and come running.”
Muñoz tried to visualize the scene, but Holder’s details were not coalescing. He tore a piece of paper off his pad and pushed it toward her. “Can you draw me the layout?” He held out his pen, but Holder said she wasn’t good at drawing.
Muñoz made a rectangle. “Let’s say this is the table where Lucy and Julia Merchant were sitting. Where was Lucy?”
Holder tapped her elaborate nail extension on one side of the rectangle. “Lucy always sit here. Julia were kitty corner, there.”
Muñoz jotted their initials where Holder had pointed. “And where was Mrs. Lautner?”
“She were standing in the aisle between them.” Holder pointed, and Muñoz drew a star to represent her.
“And the man who asked for coffee?”
“Mr. Knight. He were standing right by the chair she trip over. Here.”
Muñoz drew another rectangle and wrote the word Knight where Holder indicated. “And the granddaughter you mentioned?”
“Somewhere here.” Holder tapped a spot beside the star. “And Charlene were right behind Mrs. Lautner.”
“So it’s unlikely Charlene could have pulled out the chair before Mrs. Lautner tripped on it.”
“That’s true.”
“So, assuming someone pulled it out, it would have been one of the others—the senator’s granddaughter, Mr. Knight, or Mr. Lane.”
“I put any money on Mr. Knight,” said Holder. “All he care about was his coffee.”
CHAPTER 50
Julia Merchant swallowed the dregs of her Starbucks latte and massaged her neck where the healed fracture was aching again. Carlos and Susana would be in Park City again next week, but this time she wouldn’t be with them. She didn’t know where she would be. Nothing felt right anymore. There was no normal now. It was already two o’clock, and she hadn’t done anything. If this were an ordinary day, she would be walking to her physical therapy appointment right now, and from there she’d go straight to Park Manor and have dinner with her mother. But she would never do that again, and she hadn’t anticipated how untethered she would feel in the absence of that small daily ritual.
She stripped out of her T-shirt and pajama bottoms and got into the shower. Under the steaming water, she thought of Pamela’s unkind remark about her mother yesterday at lunch. You know what my therapist called her? A malignant narcissist. Maybe her mother had been a little narcissistic—most performers were—but that remark was awful and very poorly timed. Pamela had been jealous of her sister, Julia concluded.
When she finished showering, she got dressed and left the apartment, walked to the florist on Lexington Avenue, and had them construct a bouquet of pink orchids. Then she walked to Maison du Chocolat and charged a one-hundred-piece Boîte Maison to her father’s account. And then she walked up Madison to Park Manor.
“I don’t know, Constance. I don’t know what to feel or think. I don’t know what’s happening. Do you?”
“The police are here, in the second floor library. They’re interviewing members of the staff.”
“Detective Codella?”
“No. A different detective. A man named Muñoz.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? They need to find out what happened.”
“Yes. Absolutely,” Hodges agreed, and for once Julia felt comforted by the woman’s presence.
“I brought some flowers and chocolates for the caregivers.” She shrugged. “I know I haven’t always been the nicest person here, but—”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Julia. And I know the staff will be very thankful. Everyone is feeling the loss. They’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure.”
“I’ll just go up then.” Julia backed out of the office. In the elevator, she impulsively pushed the second floor button instead of the third. When the doors opened, she stepped off and turned toward the library. The detective was sitting by himself at a table near the back of the room, in front of the window that faced the Park Manor courtyard below. He was writing in a small spiral notebook and didn’t look up until she was almost to his table. “I’m Julia Merchant.”
He stood and held out his hand. “Detective Muñoz.”
She shook it. He was handsome, she thought. Her kind of handsome. “You’re part of the team investigating my mother’s death?”
“That’s right,” he said.
“Are you making any progress?”
“These things take time.”
“But you’ll find out what happened?”
“That’s our goal,” he said, and she heard reassurance in his voice.
“Because it’s hard, you know, thinking that she was healthy one day and dead the next. It’s not easy to accept her death under those circumstances.”
Muñoz pulled out a chair for her. “Why don’t you sit for a moment?”
When she was seated, he said, “Do you mind if I ask you a question or two?”
“Of course not. Anything to help.”
“I understand you had dinner with your mother the night before she died.”
“That’s right. She was very happy. At least I have that memory.”
Muñoz returned to his seat and set a sketch in front of her. “There was an incident in the dining room that night. A woman fell. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember. I saw her go down. It was pretty bad. I heard a pop when she hit the floor.”
“Can you tell me what happened after that?”
“I called out. I don’t remember exactly what I said. We need help here, or something like that.”
“What happened next?”
“Baiba called the nurse—Lorena—and she came over. The resident who fell was crying and moaning. Lorena sat her up and looked at her arm. And then she told Baiba that the woman might have broken her arm and that Baiba needed to call the ambulance team.”
Julia watched Muñoz take notes in his spiral notebook.
“Then what happened?” he asked.
“Baiba made the call, and the ambulance guys were up there almost immediately.”
“Was the nurse with Mrs. Lautner the whole time this was happening?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“Were you there the whole time?”
“Except when I went to the restroom.”
“When was that?”
“While the ambulance crew was lifting her onto the stretcher. I asked my mother’s caregiver to sit with her while I took a quick break.”
She watched Muñoz take more notes. He was left handed, and he wrote in a jerky scrawl. He said, “The dispensary is next to Baiba Lielkaja’s office. Did you pass it on your way to the restroom?”
“No. I went through the kitchen so I wouldn’t get in the way of the ambulance guys. But I came back that way.”
“Did you happen to look in the dispensary?” he asked, and she felt his full attention on her now.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re thinking that’s when someone could have put something into my mother’s sedative, aren’t you?”
“Just answer the question, Ms. Merchant. Did you see anyone in the dispensary?”
“I saw Baiba, but—”
“You saw Baiba Lielkaja?”
Julia nodded.
“She was in the dispensary?”
“Yes.”
“Did you mention this to Detective Codella when you went to see her on Monday?”
Julia Merchant shook her head.
“Don’t you think you should have?”
Her hand went her mouth. “I didn’t think—I was so focused on the video. On the nurse and the caregiver in her room. It never occurred to me that—”
“What was Lielkaja doing in there?”
“She was at the counter, opening a bottle.”
“What bottle?”
“I don’t know. It was white. Tylenol, maybe.”
“And you’re absolutely sure it was Baiba? You could swear to that?”
“Of course I’m sure. I know Baiba well, Detective. I’ve seen her almost every day for the past eighteen months. I don’t think I’d confuse her with anyone else.”
Julia watched Muñoz sit back and nod. “Of course,” he said apologetically.
“Is there anything else I can tell you?”
He shook his head. His mind was somewhere else, she thought.
Julia pushed out her chair and stood. “Well, let me know if there is.”
Then she went upstairs and let herself into Nostalgia. Baiba was not in her office, but Melissa Posen was right outside it, standing on a stepstool in front of a framed cork bulletin board. Julia watched Melissa use blue pushpins to mount a long strip of text at the top of the board. Below the text, the young woman pinned a recent photo of Julia’s mother sitting in the Nostalgia dining room. Julia studied her mother’s vacant eyes. As Melissa mounted a second snapshot, Julia realized she wasn’t breathing and that she didn’t want to see any more images. She turned, walked into the kitchen, and set the flowers and chocolates on the counter. And then she let herself out of the Nostalgia Neighborhood as fast as she could.
CHAPTER 51
Codella answered the call from Muñoz as she sped up the West Side Highway. “I’ll meet you at Lielkaja’s apartment in fifteen minutes,” she told him.
He was standing at the bottom of the care coordinator’s brownstone steps when she pulled up and got out. Halfway up the block, men were unloading a crate from a double-parked truck. “I just spoke to Brandon Johnson,” she shouted over angry horn blasts from cars having trouble squeezing through. “According to him, Lielkaja and Merchant were sleeping together. Apparently Merchant liked it rough.”
“No surprise considering Jackie Freimor,” said Muñoz. “I just saw Julia Merchant. According to her, Lielkaja was in the dispensary Sunday night.”
“She told you that just now?”
He nodded. “She saw Lielkaja standing at the counter with a white bottle in her hand.”
Codella frowned. “Why didn’t she mention that to me on Monday?”
“I asked her that. She said it never occurred to her to think of Baiba being involved.”
“Maybe because all along she’s been convinced it’s someone else.”
“Who?”
“Her father.” Codella remembered her instant dislike of Julia when they’d first met, and she felt her annoyance at the young woman flaring up again. She climbed the steps and Muñoz followed. “It’s time to put some hard questions to Baiba.”
She pressed the care coordinator’s buzzer, but there was no response. She held it down a second time for several seconds. There was still no answer. “I want to speak to that woman.” She pressed the superintendent’s buzzer
. When his voice came over the intercom, she said, “NYPD. Let us in.”
A minute later, the super appeared and opened the front door for them. Codella showed her identification, and she and Muñoz headed for the stairs. The super started to follow, but Codella turned on the steps and held up her hand. “No. You stay down here.”
Muñoz banged on Lielkaja’s door. “Police!” he called. “Open up.”
When Lielkaja failed to answer, Codella pounded the door with her fist. Then she took out her iPhone and dialed the care coordinator’s cell phone number. She listened to the ringing through her phone, and then she realized she could also hear the ring on the other side of the door. She looked at Muñoz. “Get that super up here,” she said.
Muñoz descended to the first floor and she waited in silence. How many times had she stood in front of someone’s locked door like this? Were they going to find an empty, unremarkable room on the other side, or were they about to enter yet another scene of terrible violence?
A minute later, she and Muñoz watched the super insert a key into Lielkaja’s lock. He swung the door open and moved to step forward, but Muñoz grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the stairwell.
Codella had seen what he saw. “Put your hands in your pockets right now,” she instructed him. “Go back to your apartment and stay there. Don’t speak to anyone you see. Don’t touch anything. Nothing. If you do, you’re tampering with a potential crime scene and I’ll make sure there are consequences. Do you understand?”
He nodded, but his eyes kept darting into the room. “Go,” she said. “Now. We’ll speak to you later.”
When he was gone, she and Muñoz moved carefully into the room. They stopped at the foot of the bed. Lielkaja lay on her back with one arm dangling off the mattress. The scarf Codella had seen coiled around her neck yesterday now lay on the mattress along with her big sweater. Codella stared at Lielkaja’s flawless skin and clouded sea-blue eyes. She wore a gray T-shirt and the same cotton sweats Codella had seen her in yesterday. Her full breasts pressed against the thin fabric of the shirt. Her body was firm and shapely. A few strands of her butter-blond hair were in her face. She was like a reclining starlet who might rise from sleep at any moment to electrify the room. But Lielkaja was never going to rise. Her lips were bluish. Her pupils were tiny pinpoints. And her skin was cold and lifeless when Codella checked for a pulse.
