by Sue Grafton
Mrs. Stegler gave me a significant look and signaled with her eyes that Merry was listening to every word we said. “Perhaps you’d like to step into his office. We can talk in there.”
She held open the hinged section of the counter and I passed inside. Her eyes were as small and as round as a parakeet’s, a pale watery blue with a ring of black around the iris. As we entered the inner office, she turned to Merry. “Please see that we’re not disturbed.”
Merry said, “Yes ma’am,” rolling her eyes at no one in particular.
For my part, I was intrigued by the opportunity to see Dr. Purcell’s office, which was small and neat. Desk, swivel chair, two upholstered guest chairs, and a bookcase filled with medical textbooks and assorted health care manuals. On the edge of his desk sat the newly shorn ivy, looking like a cocker spaniel with a summer clip. I’d have given a lot for the chance to go through his desk drawers, but the chances of that looked dim.
It was clear Mrs. Stegler thought it inappropriate to sit at his desk. She perched on one of his guest chairs and I took the other, which put us nearly knee to knee. She scooted her chair back and crossed her legs, exposing a band of narrow, white hairless shin above the rim of her wool sock.
I said, “I hope this doesn’t seem out of line, but I have to tell you I can’t stand gossip. Even in my line of work, I never encourage anyone to talk out of turn or breach a trust, especially in a matter like this.” She looked at me with a hint of suspicion, perhaps sensing the bullshit, perhaps not. “We’re in accord on that.”
“I’d appreciate your telling me about his last day at work.”
“I explained all that to the police. More than once, I might add.”
“I’m hoping you’ll explain it again to me. Detective Odessa told me you were very helpful.”
She peered uneasily at my shoulder bag resting on the floor by my chair. “You’re not recording this.”
I leaned over, grabbed the bag, and held it open so she could inspect the contents. The only thing that looked even vaguely like a recorder was my government-issue, secret, plastic tampon container with its high-powered directional mike.
“And you won’t quote me out of context?”
“I won’t quote you at all.”
She was silent, staring down at her lap. Finally, she said, “I’ve been divorced for years.”
She was silent again and I allowed the subject to sit there between us without comment on my part or elucidation on hers. I could see that she was struggling to speak. Her face twisted suddenly, her lips pulling together as though controlled by invisible strings. She spoke, but her voice was so tight and so raspy I could hardly understand what she said. “Dr. Purcell… was the closest… thing to a… friend I had. I can’t believe he’s gone. I came into work the following Monday morning and by then everyone was whispering that he was… missing. I was shocked. He was… such a sweet man… I so adored him…. If I’d known that was the last time I was going to see him, I would have expressed… my heartfelt thanks… for all his many, many… kindnesses to me.” She took another deep breath, humming with the kind of sorrow that didn’t lend itself to words. After half a minute, she seemed to regain her composure, though her grip was clearly fragile. She removed the cravat from her breast pocket and blew her nose noisily. The silk didn’t seem absorbent. She folded her hands together in her lap, the wadded cloth between her fingers where she twisted it. I could see a tear plop into her lap and then a second, like a slow drip from a shower handle that hasn’t been properly turned off.
I realized she was the first person, aside from Blanche, who’d shown any real emotional reaction to his vanishing. I leaned forward and clutched her cold hands. “I know this is hard. Take your time.”
She took a deep breath. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you this way. I just hope he’s safe. I don’t care what he’s done.” She paused, pressing the cravat against her lips. She took another deep breath. “I’m fine now. I’m fine. I don’t know what came over me. My apologies.”
“I understand. From everything I’ve heard, he was a wonderful man. My only purpose here is to help. You have to trust me on that. I’m not here to make trouble.”
“What do you want?”
“Just tell me what you know.”
She hesitated, her no-gossip policy too deeply ingrained to give up all at once. She must have decided to trust me because she took a deep breath and opened up. “That last day, he seemed preoccupied. I think he was worried… I mean, why wouldn’t he be? Mrs. Purcell… excuse me, the first one, Fiona… stopped by to see him, but he’d gone out to lunch. She waited for a while, thinking he might return, and then she left him a note. When he came back, he worked in his office for the rest of the day. I remember he had a glass of whiskey sitting at his desk. This was late in the day.”
“Did he go out for dinner?”
“I don’t believe so. He usually ate quite late or skipped supper altogether. Many evenings, he had a little something at his desk… crackers or fruit… this was if his wife was going out and wouldn’t be cooking. When I tapped on his door to say goodnight, he was just sitting there.”
“Did he have papers in front of him? Files or charts?”
“He must have. I didn’t pay attention. It wasn’t in his nature to be idle. I do know that.”
“You had a conversation?”
“The usual pleasantries. Nothing significant.”
“Any phone calls or visitors that you know of?” She shook her head. “Not that I remember. When I came in the following Monday, his office was empty, highly unusual for him. He was always here at seven o’clock, before anyone else. By then, the rumors were beginning to circulate. Someone… I forget who… said he’d never gone home at all on Friday night. At first we didn’t attach much to it. Then, people got worried he’d been in an accident or taken ill. When the police came, we were frightened, but we still expected him to be found within a day or two. I’ve thought and thought about this, but there’s absolutely nothing else.”
“Didn’t I read in the paper he had a brief chat that night with an elderly woman sitting in the lobby?”
“That would be Mrs. Curtsinger. Ruby. She’s been a resident here since 1975. I’ll have Merry take you over to her room. I don’t want you upsetting her.”
“I promise I won’t.”
Chapter 11
*
Merry walked me down the hall. I could see the meal carts being rolled out, the vertical shelves stacked with dinner trays for those who preferred eating in their rooms. It was not even five o’clock and I suspected the early supper hour was designed to condense all three of the day’s meals to one long shift.
Merry was saying, “‘Member the nurse who was standing there when you left on Saturday? Her name’s Pepper Gray. Anyway, she started asking all these questions about you. I never let on a thing, just said you’d be back to talk to Mrs. S. today. She read me out good, saying I shouldn’t be talking to anyone about the clinic. I was so P.O.‘d. She doesn’t have any right to talk to me that way. She doesn’t even work in my department.”
“What do you think she heard?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s none of her business. I just thought you should be aware of it in case we run into her.”
We took a left, passing the staff lounge, central supply, and then a series of residential rooms. Many doors were closed, the exteriors decorated with greeting cards or wreaths of dried flowers. Sometimes the names of the occupants were spelled out in foil letters hanging jauntily from a miniclothesline of ribbon or string. Through the doors that remained open, I caught glimpses of twin-sized beds with floral spreads, photographs of family members lined up on the chests of drawers. Each room had a different color scheme and each looked out onto a narrow garden where flowering shrubs trembled with the first drops of a pattering rain. We passed an old woman, stumping down the hall with her walker. Her pace was rapid and when she reached the corner, she turned with such vigor she thr
eatened to topple sideways. Merry reached out a hand and steadied her. The woman banked, swerving wide, and then tottered on.
Ruby Curtsinger was sitting in an upholstered chair beside a set of sliding glass doors, one of which was pushed back to admit a breath of damp, fresh air. Her feet were propped on a stool. Just outside, a bird feeder was suspended from the eaves. Small brown birds were perched on the feeder’s edge. A line of birds, like clothespins, extended from the hanging support. Ruby was a tiny, shrunken woman with a small bony face and arms as thin as sticks. Her white hair was sparse, but it looked as if she’d recently had it washed and set. She turned a pair of bright blue eyes toward us and smiled, showing the many gaps in her lower teeth. Merry introduced us and explained what I wanted before she withdrew.
Ruby said, “You should talk to Charles. He saw Dr. Purcell after I said goodnight to him.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of Charles.”
“He’s an orderly on the night staff. He’s probably here somewhere. He likes to come into work early so he can visit with Mrs. Thornton and some of the other girls. They play gin rummy for pennies and you should hear them hoot. When I have trouble sleeping, I ring for him and he’ll put me in my chair and push me up and down the halls.
Sometimes I sit in the staff lounge and play euchre with him. The man does love to play cards. I take my meals here in my room. There are folks in the dining room I don’t much care for. One woman chews with her mouth open. I don’t want to look at that when I’m eating. It’s disgusting.
“The night you’re asking about – when I last saw the doctor – I took my usual pills, but nothing seemed to help. I rang for Charles, and he said he’d take me on Toad’s Wild Ride. That’s what he calls it. In truth, he wanted to smoke so he parked me in the lobby and went outside. That’s why I was sitting there, so Charles could sneak a cigarette. He’s trying to quit and I guess he thinks if no one knows what he’s doing, it won’t count. Dr. Purcell doesn’t allow anyone to smoke in here. He says too many people have problems breathing as it is. That’s one thing we talked about that night.”
“What time was this?”
“Five minutes to nine or so. We didn’t chat long.”
“Can you remember anything else?”
“He told me I was beautiful. He always says that to me, though I sometimes think he’s fibbing just a tiny bit. I asked about his boy. I forget what his name is,”
“Griffith.”
“That’s it. Doctor used to have his wife bring the little boy in to see us every week or so. Of course, she hasn’t brought him even once since his daddy disappeared. I notice the child’s feet scarcely ever touched the floor. They carried him every place and anything he wanted, he pointed to and grunted. I told the doctor, ‘He’s never going to learn to talk as long as you treat him that way,’ and he heartily agreed. And then we talked about the weather. It was a lovely night outside. Felt just like spring and I believe the moon was almost full. He went through the door and that’s the last I saw of him.”
“Could you tell what kind of mood he was in? Mad? Sad?” She put an index finger against her cheek and gave that some thought. Arthritis had bent the thumb on that hand until it formed a painful-looking angle perpendicular to her hand. “Absentminded, I’d say. I had to ask him twice if he could arrange an outing for us. The food here is good. I don’t mean to complain, but eating out is fun and gives us all a lift. Any little change makes such a difference.”
A Hispanic woman in scrubs appeared at the door. “I have your dinner tray, Miss Curtsinger. You want to eat in front of the TV so you can watch your show? It’s coming on in five minutes and you don’t want to miss the opening. That’s the best part you said.” She crossed to Ruby’s chair and set the dinner tray on a small rolling table that she pulled in close. She removed the aluminum lid, revealing the barbecued riblet laid out with all its accompaniments. The Jell-O was green with a smattering of fruit cocktail submerged in its glowing depths. “Thank you,” Ruby said, and then she smiled at me. “Will you come back and see me, dear? I like talking to you.”
“I’ll do what I can. Tell you what – next time, I’ll bring you a Quarter Pounder with Cheese.”
“And a Big Mac. I see those ads on television and they always look so good.”
“Believe me, they are. I’ll bring you one of those, too.” I walked down the hall as far as the staff lounge, where I stuck my head in and said, “I’m looking for Charles.”
The man I saw sitting at the table with the evening paper was in his fifties and was dressed in scrubs, like the woman bringing out the trays. He was a mild nut brown, and narrow through the shoulders, his arms hairless and scrawny. He set his paper aside and got to his feet politely to identify himself. “Charles Biedler,” he said. “How may I help you, Miss?”
I explained who I was and what I wanted, repeating the gist of what Ruby Curtsinger had told me. “I know you’ve answered these questions before, but it would really be a help if you’d tell me what you remember.”
“I could show you where he was parked and where I stood that night.”
“I’d love that,” I said. He picked up a folded section of the paper and carried it with him as we moved toward the entrance. I paused to retrieve my umbrella and my slicker, which I held over my head like a yellow plastic tent. Charles used his newspaper as a rain hat and we hurried outside, hunched against the rain, which was blowing against us in gusts. Charles paused at the end of the walkway, pointing toward the cars. “See where that little blue VW’s parked? Doctor’s space was right there. I saw him crossing the lot and then he got in his car and pulled out right around to here.”
“You didn’t see anyone else?”
“No, but now that corner of the parking lot was darker at nine o’clock than it is right now. Warm that night. I was in my shirt sleeves like this only without the gooseflesh. I spoke to him like always, you know, calling out a word and he said something back, kind of bantering like.”
“There was nothing unusual?”
“Not as I recall.”
“I’m trying to see this as you did. Ruby says he had his suit jacket over his arm. Did he carry anything else?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t picture it if he did.”
“What about his car keys?”
“I guess he must have had those in hand. I don’t remember him reaching in his pocket.”
“So he unlocked the car door and then what?”
“I don’t remember nothing about that.”
“Did the interior light go on?”
“Might have. After he got in, he sat a while and then he started up the engine and swung around this way so he could drive out the front.”
“Was that his pattern?”
Charles blinked, shaking his head. “Most times.”
His newspaper was getting soaked and I knew it was time to retreat to the overhang.
“Let’s get out of this rain,” I said.
We headed back to the entrance, pausing again just outside the front door.
I said, “Was there anything else? Anything at all, even if it seems trivial.”
“He didn’t call out goodnight like he usually did when he drove past. Last thing he’d do, he used to wave and shake a finger, kind of teasing me like, because I told him I quit smoking.”
“Was the car window down?”
“I couldn’t say for sure.”
“You didn’t see anyone in the car with him?”
Charles shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. And truthfully, that’s as much as I know.”
“Well, I appreciate your time. If you should think of anything else, would you give me a call?” I took a business card from my bag and handed it to him. “I can be reached at this number. There’s a machine if I’m gone.”
As I left the porch and started out across the parking lot, I turned and waved. Charles was still there, staring after me.
I sat in
my car for a while, thinking about the fact that I was parked right where Dow Purcell had been on the night of September 12 I did a 180 survey, turning my head. What had happened to him? The rain kept tapping on my car roof like the restless drumming of fingers on a tabletop. He hadn’t been assaulted. He’d gotten in his car and he’d sat there a while… doing what? I started the car and backed out of the space, heading, as Purcell had, toward Dave Levine Street. I glanced back at the building. Charles was gone by then. The walk was empty and the rain slanting against the light made the entrance seem bleak.
I turned right, scanning the street on either side of me. The area was residential. St. Terry’s Hospital was only four blocks away. There were medical buildings in the surrounding area, apartment buildings, and a few private homes, but not much else. No bars or restaurants along this stretch where he might have stopped for a drink. Once I reached the next intersection, it was impossible to guess which way he might have gone.
I circled back to the office, and by 5:30, I was typing up a rough draft of the next installment of my report. It helped to be forced to lay it all out again in narrative form. I’d done an additional four hours of work, which I deducted from the balance of the retainer, leaving me $1,125 of indentured servitude. I could feel anxiety whispering through my bones. I was no wiser now than I’d been when I first started and probably no closer to finding Dr. Purcell. I didn’t even have a scheme, no clever strategy about how to proceed. What more could I do? Fiona wanted results. I was moving, but getting nowhere. I checked my watch. 6:02. I leaped to my feet. I was already late for Rosie’s, but it couldn’t be helped. I shoved the report in my handbag, thinking I could work on it later if I needed to.
Traffic was heavy on the rain-slick streets. While stuck at a stoplight, I turned the rearview mirror to check my appearance. I seldom wear makeup so I looked much the same; sallow by the light of streetlamps, my hair a dense thatch of brown. I felt less than glamorous in my jeans and turtleneck, but it couldn’t be helped. I didn’t have time to go home and change. Into what? I don’t have anything else. This is what I wear.
