by Lynn Bohart
“What did he look like?” Giorgio asked.
“Just a moment. I should let you talk to Irene.”
She picked up the phone and asked Irene to join them. A moment later a girl in her twenties stepped into the office. She was dressed in dark slacks and a green sweater and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Irene,” Ms. Felton said, “these officers would like to ask you a few questions about that young man who came to see Mr. Montgomery.”
She glanced at them nervously.
“Sure,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Can you tell us what he looked like?” Detective Abrams asked.
“He was medium height and kind of skinny. Um…”
Her eyes flitted over to her boss and back again.
“That’s okay,” Abrams said. “Just take your time. You’re not in any kind of trouble.”
“Okay. Um…he was…he had blond hair…long…pulled back in a ponytail. But he had dark eyes and his lip was pierced.”
“Where?” Abrams wanted to know.
“Here,” she pointed to the corner of her bottom lip. “I also think he had a tattoo.”
“Could you tell what it was?” Abrams asked, taking notes. “Think hard.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He wore a turtleneck, but I saw just the tip of some ink above the neckline.”
“Who did he say he was?” Giorgio asked.
“He said he was Mr. Montgomery’s great nephew and that he was just passing through Seattle and would only be here a short time. He knew his uncle was ill, so he was really hoping he could see him. It was right after lunch, so I knew Mr. Montgomery would probably be awake. I told him I’d need some ID, and he showed me a driver’s license and an old picture with Mr. Montgomery.”
“Could you recognize Mr. Montgomery in the picture?” Abrams asked.
She fidgeted and glanced at the floor. “I…uh…it was a really old picture. You know, like one of those Polaroid pictures. So it was pretty faded. But it looked like Mr. Montgomery. And there was a blond kid sitting on his lap.”
“What was the name on the driver’s license?” Giorgio asked.
She paused and shot a glance at her boss. “I don’t remember. He showed it to me so quickly and then he got out this other picture. I’m sorry,” she whined as if she were about to cry. “But I had him sign the register.”
“Okay, we’ll take a look,” Abrams said. “So you let him go to Mr. Montgomery’s room.”
“Yes. He came out a little later with Mr. Montgomery in a wheelchair and said he wanted to take him outside for some fresh air. Mr. Montgomery waved at me and had a blanket wrapped around him. The sun was out, so I thought it would be okay. Besides, it was really busy yesterday, and…”
“And they never came back?” Giorgio said.
“No,” she said, slumping her shoulders. “They went out the front doors, and I saw them turn to the right along the pathway that goes to a nice bench out there. I thought that’s where they were headed. A lot of people go out there to smoke. I took a break and didn’t notice whether Mr. Montgomery came back inside. Then, the nurse came looking for him, and I realized they had been gone for over an hour. So I reported it.”
“We looked outside, but of course didn’t see them,” the administrator said. “So we searched the building. It wasn’t until the maintenance man went to throw something into the dumpster that he found him.”
“Is there anyone else who may have seen the two together, or talked to either one of them?”
Abrams asked. “A nurse, perhaps? Or a roommate?”
“He had a roommate,” Ms. Felton said, lighting up a bit. “Mr. Cornwall.” She stood up. “He should be awake. I’ll walk you down there,” she said. “You can return to the front desk, Irene.”
The girl left and the three of them moved past the front desk into the patient wing, where the newly waxed floor gleamed. The smell of urine, however, made Giorgio’s nose twitch. It reminded him too much of the place his grandfather had stayed just before he died of colon cancer. Giorgio didn’t have good memories of that. His grandfather had suffered terribly, making Giorgio glance through open doorways as they passed, wondering momentarily about the patients here.
They stopped at #32 and Ms. Felton knocked and then slowly opened the door. She stepped in first and spoke quietly to Mr. Cornwall. Then she swung the door open wide and allowed the two officers inside.
“Mr. Cornwall said he’d be happy to talk with you. Let me know if I can be of any more help.”
Lying in the first bed was a little, wrinkled old man. His face was covered in age spots, and his blue eyes had turned milky. There was a small explosion of white hair on the top of his head. He greeted them with a smile.
“What can I doose for you boys?” he asked with a fake New Jersey accent.
Detective Abrams shot a glance at Giorgio and smiled. The curtain was pulled back, so he moved to the bed that must have been Montgomery’s, which sat next to the window. It had been remade and all of Carson Montgomery’s belongings removed. Abrams sat down, while Giorgio remained standing.
“We were wondering if you remembered a young man coming to see Mr. Montgomery yesterday.”
His expression immediately became somber. “Too bad about old Montgomery. He was a good egg.”
“Were you here when someone came to visit him?” Abrams tried again.
“Yeah. I was asleep, but whoever it was closed my curtain,” he said, gesturing to the circular curtain that could be pulled around the bed. “And that woke me up. I don’t hear too good anymore, so I probably can’t tell you too much. But I did hear him say the name Freddie.”
“Freddie?” Giorgio repeated. “Nothing else? A last name, maybe?”
“Naw. Just the name Freddie. They were whispering. Then my nurse came in.”
“Did you see them when they left the room?” Giorgio asked.
“No. I was pretty focused on Hannah,” he said with a smile. “She likes to wear her uniform pretty tight, if you know what I mean.”
Giorgio smiled. “Is there anything else you can think of that might be helpful?”
The old man shook his head. “Naw. Sorry.” He glanced up at the two men, his eyes beginning to water. “I’ll miss old Montgomery. He was a cantankerous old coot, but he wasn’t so bad. And now I’ll never have a chance to find out what he knew about that girl.”
“Girl?” Giorgio said, his nerves on alert.
“Yeah. We were out in the activity room watching the news day before yesterday. CNN had a report about that girl’s skeleton they found down in Southern California. Montgomery mumbled something and when I asked him about it, he said I’d have to beat him at poker to find out.” The old man shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Now I’ll never find out.”
Abrams and Giorgio glanced at each other.
“You couldn’t hear what he mumbled?” Abrams asked.
“It was just something like, ‘ruined my life,’ or ‘my wife,’” he said apologetically. “Like I said, I don’t hear too good no more.”
Abrams stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Cornwall. We appreciate your time.” He handed over his card. “Please let me know if you think of anything else.”
The two men headed down the hallway toward the entrance.
“So, it looks like you were right. Someone wanted him dead because of your cold case,” Abrams said.
Just then, the ringtone on Abrams’ cell phone chimed and he answered it. He listened for a moment and then exclaimed, “Shit. Okay. Thanks.”
He flicked off the phone and turned a grim expression in Giorgio’s direction.
“The M.E. hasn’t cut him open yet, but says we need to be looking for a syringe.”
“Why?” Giorgio asked.
“Because Montgomery has a big, ugly puncture wound in his neck.”
Abrams immediately dialed his phone to call someone else. “Tim,” he barked into the phone.
“Get a fo
rensics team out to the Cascades Nursing Home up by Green Lake pronto. Yeah. It looks like that old guy we tracked down today was murdered. Meet me in the parking on the west side of the building.” He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. “Let’s go give the good news to the lovely Mrs. Felton. I want to see if anyone found a syringe when they cleaned out his room, and then check the register.”
They were nearly to the lobby when they passed double doors leading to a large activity room. There were several round tables filled with people chatting, playing board games or cards. Giorgio glanced across the room to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the side yard and the parking lot.
“You go see Felton,” he said to Abrams. “I want to talk to a few people in here.”
Abrams nodded and disappeared. Giorgio pushed the door open and crossed to the window. The front walkway looped around the corner of the building and back along the side street to a parking lot. The front half of the parking lot was right in front of the rec room windows. But from where he stood, he couldn’t see the dumpsters.
Two women sat up against the windows, playing cards. One was wearing a blue robe. The other woman was dressed in a polyester pantsuit. He interrupted them.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said. “But by any chance, were you here playing cards yesterday?”
The woman in the polyester suit looked up over her glasses. The other one either ignored him, or hadn’t heard him.
“Yes, we were, weren’t we, Sister?”
“Hunh?” the one in the robe mumbled. “Weren’t we what?”
“Playing cards here yesterday.”
Sister looked up at Giorgio as if she just noticed him. “Who are you?”
He pulled out his badge. “I’m a police officer, looking into the death of Mr. Montgomery. Did you know Mr. Montgomery?”
“Knew a Montgomery when I was a kid. Kent Montgomery. He was a real pain in the ass,” she said.
“No, Sister,” the woman in the pantsuit said. “Did you know a Mr. Montgomery here at the nursing home?”
“Bethany, you know I hate it when you call me Sister all the time. I may actually be your sister, but my name is Corinne. Call me Corinne. You’d think we were Mormons or something,” she said to Giorgio. “No. I didn’t know Mr. Montgomery. Why are you looking into his death? People die around here all the time.”
Giorgio had to suppress a smile. “We believe someone may have taken him out of here against his will yesterday. Did you happen to see a young man pushing an older man in a wheelchair yesterday, down the walkway into the parking lot?” He gestured toward the walkway outside the big window.
They both turned and looked out the window as if Mr. Montgomery would be out there now. Then the one named Bethany turned back to him quickly.
“Yes, I did. We were just beginning our second hand of cribbage, and I glanced outside. He was a blond kid. Not a kid really, a young man – maybe in his late twenties.”
“Did you see where they went?” Giorgio asked.
“No,” Bethany said. “They disappeared into the parking lot. But he wasn’t gone long. He came jogging back a few minutes later.”
“What do you mean? Like he was running away from something?”
“Not like he was scared or anything. Just in a hurry,” she said. “Then he jumped into a van that was parked right there and drove off,” she said, pointing into the parking lot.
“That’s right, and he wasn’t blond anymore,” Corinne said, moving cards around in her hand.
Bethany’s head snapped around. “You saw him, too?”
Corinne looked up. “I know you think I’m half dead, Bethany, but I’m actually quite alive. Yes, I saw both of them.” She looked back at Giorgio. “There was a blue van parked in the second or third spot. He got into that.”
“That’s right, officer,” Bethany said. “But it was gray, not blue.”
“Dammit, Bethany! I know what the color gray is. It’s the color of my hair. And I know what the color blue is. And it’s the color of yours.”
“Ladies,” Detective Abrams said, interrupting them.
They both looked up at the tall detective who had come up quietly from behind. Their eyes said it all – even at their age, they recognized sex appeal when they saw it.
“Did either of you see anyone else in the van? Or a license plate number, maybe?” he asked.
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
“No,” Bethany said. “We were arguing over the card game, so I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Me neither,” Corinne admitted. “Now, if it had been either one of you…” she said with a seductive wink. “I would’ve paid more attention.”
Giorgio smiled. “But you’re sure it was the same person,” he stressed. “One minute he was blond. And the next minute, what?”
“His hair was black,” Bethany said.
“That’s right,” Corinne confirmed.
“And it was the same young man?” Giorgio asked again.
“He was wearing the same clothes,” Bethany said. “Black pants and a black hooded sweatshirt.”
“And he had glasses,” Corinne added. “Which he threw away as he got in the car.”
Bethany stared at her sister in shock. “I didn’t see him do that.”
“No, you were too busy trying to cheat.” Corinne looked up at the two men as Bethany gasped at the remark. “I saw him reach up and take the glasses off as he climbed into the van and toss them away.”
Giorgio was impressed. “Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”
Detective Abrams pulled out his notepad again. “Can I get your names?”
“I’m Bethany Ames,” the woman in the pantsuit said. “And this is my sister…”
“I think they have that part,” Corinne said with a sneer. “My name is Corinne Paulson.”
“Here’s my card,” Abrams said. “If you can think of anything else, would you give me a call?”
Corinne looked at his card and then back up at him with a mischievous smile. “Is this your home phone?”
“Sister!”
Corinne turned an evil gaze on her sister. “I swear I’m going to rip out your tongue if you call me that one more time.”
The detectives left the two sisters arguing and stepped into the hallway.
“Let’s walk around to the side,” Giorgio said.
They went out the front entrance and followed the path to the side street and the parking lot. The street ended in a cul-de-sac, with the entrance to the parking lot in the middle of the circle. Giorgio stood at the curb, looking back at the windows along the activity room. He couldn’t see the two sisters because the windows were heavily tinted. But he assumed that they could see him.
“From here,” he said, “you can’t see the people inside. You wouldn’t know if someone was watching you or not.”
“Which might make you careless,” Abrams said.
They turned and walked to the dumpsters, which sat some twenty yards back into the lot, up against the exterior wall of the building. They moved to the far side, where they were protected from view.
“So this is where they must’ve found him.” Abrams looked around. “Pretty private. It’s probably where he was killed, too.”
The two men surveyed the ground around the dumpster, but all they found were empty candy wrappers and cigarette butts. Giorgio opened the dumpster.
“When your guys get here, they should probably go through this, just in case,” he said to the tall officer.
“I’ll have them check around Montgomery’s bed, too,” he said. “In fact, I’ll check with Mrs. Felton and get a hold of all his personal belongings.”
“Let’s go see if we can find those glasses,” Giorgio said, heading back towards where the van had parked. “Hopefully, someone didn’t drive over them with their car.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sun had set by the time they were finished. The forensics team had combed the pa
rking lot, the dumpster and Montgomery’s room, but found nothing of consequence.
Giorgio did find the killer’s cheap glasses under the tire of a car, but they’d been pretty much smashed to smithereens. Abrams still had them bagged and tagged, just in case. The registration book had revealed that the killer had signed in as one Trent Wagner. A quick check of public records showed that Trent Wagner had died in Afghanistan in 2013.
“Well, we’re hitting a dead end here,” Abrams said, stretching his arms above his head.
“What time does your flight leave?”
They were standing at Abrams’ car and were ready to leave.
“It’s an open ticket,” Giorgio answered.
“Good. Let’s get something to eat.”
They stopped at a local Applebee’s. While they waited for their orders, the two detectives got to know each other.
“So I decided it was time to move to a smaller town,” Giorgio said, finishing the story in which his partner had been killed in New York. “I thought maybe my wife wouldn’t have to worry so much. Then there were three murders up at this monastery in town, and now, I’m following up on yet one more murder that took place decades ago. All in a town where murders are supposed to be rare.”
“Well, at least the weather is better in Southern California,” Abrams said with a smile. “I’ve been thinking of doing the same thing. Switching to a small town, I mean.”
“Why?” Giorgio asked.
The big man shrugged. “I got divorced about a year ago. My wife…” he paused, tapping his fingers on the table. “Let’s just say I haven’t been too easy to live with at the department. I’ve burned some bridges.”
“You should think about Southern California,” Giorgio said.
Abrams laughed. “Naw, too many actors down there. If I collared one, I wouldn’t be able to tell if he was acting or telling the truth.”
“Some actors are okay,” Giorgio said with mock insult.
“Is your brother an actor or something? Am I offending a family member?”
