Faye sat down on the bed.
“The Livingstons are together again and a perfect love affair goes on into eternity, just the way all Mommies and Daddies should go on,” Susie said. After a moment she asked, “Why don’t you say something, Faye? You’re just sitting there staring at the floor.”
“Not all Mommies and Daddies should be together forever, Susie.”
“Of course they should. Faye, when I left I looked at Sylvia’s picture and she was smiling again. Just like Mommy was smiling in all her pictures.”
“She wasn’t smiling, Susie,” Faye said. “She was crying.”
“That’s a silly thing to say. Why do you say such things? I’m tired,” Susie said quickly, afraid to hear the answer. “I always get tired afterward. I’m going to sleep. Good night.”
“Good night,” Faye said. When she looked up, Susie was gone, which was good, for she wouldn’t see the tears streaming down Faye’s face.
14
Perry Livingston jumped in his seat when his car phone rang; he was deep in his thoughts. He couldn’t help feeling guilty about returning to work so soon after his mother’s death, but the contemplation of all that paperwork piling up on his desk overwhelmed his sense of grief and mourning. He decided he would go to the office for just a little while to clear away some of the more important stuff. He could be in and out without most people realizing it and he would take no phone calls. This rationalization was enough to get him into his suit and tie and send him out of the house.
“What are you doing?” Todd demanded after Perry said hello. “I called your house and Grace said you were on your way to work.”
“Just going in for a few minutes to get rid of the ASAP business.”
“I can stay home from work and you can’t? What’s my ASAP business, less important?”
“I just thought … even Dad says we’ve got to get on with our lives, Todd.”
“He means after a decent period of mourning. Anyway, Dad’s why I’m calling.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Did you try to call him this morning?”
“Dad? No, I thought it was too early so …”
“I’ve been calling and calling but there’s no answer.”
Perry lifted his foot from the accelerator.
“No answer? Maybe he got up early and left the house.”
“He wouldn’t do that. Where would he go? He doesn’t have any ASAP business.”
Perry pulled to the side of the road.
“You sure you let it ring long enough?”
“Nearly ten times each time I called.”
“Maybe he was in the shower.”
“I’ve called every ten minutes for the last hour, Perry,” Todd said. “I’m not stupid.”
“Okay, I’ll turn around and go back that way,” Perry said.
“I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
“Right.”
As he turned around, Perry chastised himself for not calling his father first thing in the morning. His father should have been his first thought, not the pile of papers on his desk.
Why wouldn’t Dad answer the phone? He sped up, his pulse quickening so that he could actually feel it vibrating in his neck.
Todd had obviously left his house right after he had ended his conversation, Perry thought, for his brother pulled up behind him only a moment or so after he had turned into the driveway.
“He’ll probably bawl us out for rushing over here,” Perry said. He smiled a tight, nervous smile as Todd joined him, but Todd’s gaze fell on his father’s newspaper, still lying on the walkway. He bent down and in one motion took a step and scooped up the paper.
Perry’s younger brother was much stouter and broader shouldered. He had been the athlete, the high school and college football player, whereas Perry had been the student, the debater, the thespian. If anyone made a comparison in a deprecating manner, Sylvia Livingston would always claim to be happy her boys were so different. “They’re individuals,” she would brag, “each his own man and each successful in his own way.” She was proud that there hadn’t been very much sibling rivalry, but there hadn’t been very much sibling love, either.
So unalike in temperament and manner, they could never partner up to inherit Tommy Livingston’s business, even if they had been inclined to do so. They had different groups of friends and amused themselves in different ways. Their taste in clothing, homes and cars was dramatically dissimilar, too. And the contrasting personalities of their respective wives—Bobbi, who was more casual and colloquial in speech and more like the California girl of the Beach Boys songs; Perry’s wife Grace, who was more concerned about style and elegance, a product of an Eastern finishing school—reinforced the dissimilarity of the two brothers.
Perry tried ringing the doorbell, but they heard no sound from within. After a moment he rapped hard on the door.
“Dad!”
They waited.
“Check the garage. See if his car’s in there,” Todd ordered. Perry cupped his hands around his eyes to peer through the small window in the door.
“It’s there. Maybe he left with someone else in their car.”
“Dad!” Todd rapped harder.
“Maybe he just went for a walk,” Perry added, but not with any confidence. Todd just shook his head.
“I’ve got a key to the house on my car key chain,” Perry remembered. He rushed back to get it.
“What the hell’s going on? Why would he leave the house without letting us know and where would he go?” Todd thought aloud as Perry returned and inserted the key.
They opened the door and looked at each other. No lights, no sounds; nothing was what greeted them.
“Dad?”
“Dad?” Perry followed.
The two brothers hurried down the hallway, glanced in the kitchen and then turned to the master bedroom. The moment they set eyes on him, there was no question in either of their minds that their father had passed away. Neither let the reality set in, however, and both rushed to his bedside. Todd seized Tommy’s right hand and shook it hard.
“Dad!”
Perry put out his hand slowly and placed his fingers against his father’s neck, vainly searching for a throbbing. But Perry Livingston merely had to look at his fathers eyes to confirm his worst fears. Tommys eyes were glassy and still, that spark Shakespeare had called “the Quick” was gone. They were fixed in his head now like two old marbles, their color faded.
“What happened to him?” Todd cried. Perry shook his head and then fixed his gaze on the pill bottle and the glass of water.
“Sleeping pills,” he said lifting the pill bottle to read the label. “They were Mom’s. He must have taken too many; there are only two left.”
“No, he wouldn’t do that. Let’s call a doctor. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe …”
“It’s too late,” Perry declared, his words hammering the reality home. Nevertheless, Todd went to the phone and dialed 911 to report an emergency. Then he flopped back into the chair at the side of the bed and stared at his father’s corpse dumbly while Perry went to the window and gazed out at the yard in which he had spent many happy hours playing. If only it were possible to blink and send yourself back in time. He’d never long to be eighteen or twenty-one; he wouldn’t rush the clock; he’d be a little boy forever, for his mother would forever be young and happy and his father would be strong, immortal.
It was too much: losing their mother and then their father in so short a space of time; it was too much.
Perry turned, tears streaming down his cheeks, and shook his head. The sound of an ambulance siren could be heard in the distance, the anthem of hope now an anthem of futility.
“Nolan wants to see you,” Billy Gibson, the dispatcher, told Frankie the moment he entered the station. He nodded and looked around. “Where’s everyone?”
“Rosina and Derek are on that car wash stakeout. There was a violent marital dispute in that trailer park off South Canyon
and a burglary last night at Pizza Hut.”
“Pizza Hut? What they take?”
Billy shrugged.
“Dough.”
“Very funny.”
Frankie crossed to Nolans office. The door was open and Nolan was on the phone. He waved Frankie in.
“Yeah, I’m going to bring that up with the city fathers tonight,” he said into the receiver. “In the meantime, see what you can do for us. We’re cutting it too close.” He hung up without saying goodbye and sat back. “How’s that loose end coming?”
“I found out there was a maid in the Murray apartment the night before he allegedly committed suicide.”
Nolan looked surprised.
“Yeah? And?”
“I haven’t been able to locate her yet. No cleaning agency employed her.”
“You got a name?”
“Just a first name, but enough of a physical description to ID her.”
“Try the neighbors.”
“That’s how I got what I got. I was going back to sniff around some more this morning.”
“Good. But before you do that,” Nolan said, his lips quivering as if he were fighting an urge to break into laughter, “I got another loose end for you.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“There’s another apparent suicide … man’s name is Thomas Livingston. Here’s the address. The paramedics are still at the scene.”
Frankie took the slip of paper from Nolan.
“You’re kidding?”
“Sure you’re up to all this work?” Nolan asked him.
“I’ll manage.”
“When is your pacemaker being installed?”
“I’m supposed to hear from the doctor any day,” Frankie said.
“Okay. Let me know what this is all about,” Nolan said, starting to punch out a number on his phone.
The ambulance was still in the driveway and the front door of the house was wide open when Frankie pulled up. He found Jack Martin in the hallway.
“Look who’s back in the saddle,” Martin quipped.
“What do we have, wise-ass?” Frankie asked.
“Well, I’m no detective,” Jack said, smiling, “but it looks like he overdosed on his wife’s sleeping pills.”
“Touch anything?”
“Just the corpse.” Jack lowered his voice and leaned toward Frankie. “The victim’s sons are in the living room,” he said shifting his eyes toward it.
Frankie nodded and entered Tommy Livingston’s bedroom first. Jack’s assistant was just putting away their gear.
“Couldn’t do much. He’s been dead awhile,” he said. Frankie nodded toward the pill bottle on the night table.
“That what did it?”
“If he took all that was supposedly in there … no problem. That’s chloral hydrate. The label says there were fifty capsules. His wife’s name’s on it.”
“Anything else?”
“No marks on his body, if that’s what you mean,” Jack said. “We called the coroner already.”
“Thanks. I better go talk to the sons.”
He found Perry and Todd sitting on the sofa, both looking pale and stunned, both with bloodshot eyes.
“I’m Detective Samuels,” Frankie said, showing his ID.
“I’m Todd Livingston. This is my brother, Perry. We found my father in his bed and called the ambulance.”
“Is your mother here or …”
“Our mother died two days ago,” Perry said. “That’s why he did it.”
Frankie stared down at them a moment. A second case of suicide with the same motivation within two weeks?
“When did either of you see or speak to him last?”
“He was at my house for dinner last night,” Todd said.
“Did he give you any indication he was going to do this?”
“What do you think?” Todd said angrily. “If he had, do you think I’d have let him go home and be alone?”
“I’m just trying to do this as fast as I can so you guys aren’t bothered at what has to be a terrible time of grief for you,” Frankie explained softly. “Any unattended death has to be investigated.”
Perry looked down.
“Neither of us expected it,” Todd said. “My father was made of iron. He was devastated by my mother’s death, just like we all were, but he was the sort of man who always came back.”
Perry straightened up in his seat. “It’s the Livingston backbone,” he added. “We come from a long line of independent, strong people who go back to the forefathers of this country, men who overcame extraordinary obstacles to make a name and a place for themselves,” he said proudly.
“Did either of you know he was taking your mother’s pills or give him the pills to take?”
“No,” Perry snapped. Then he looked at Todd. “Right?”
“No, we didn’t know. He didn’t say anything about them when he was at my house for dinner, and when he left … I just thought he was going home to go to sleep. He was tired and he didn’t have much appetite. Other than that … there was no warning.”
“Anyone touch that pill bottle?” Frankie asked.
“I’m afraid I did,” Todd said.
“I’ll need a copy of your prints,” Frankie said.
“Why?”
“Just to eliminate any we find and see if there are any we can’t ID.”
“What about the nurse?” Todd asked Perry.
“Nurse?” Frankie inquired.
“My mother’s private-duty nurse. She was here after the funeral,” Perry said.
“What’s her name?”
“Sullivan. Susie Sullivan.”
“No, that’s her sister’s name,” Todd said. “Her name was Faye.”
“Sister?”
“She has a sister who came by to help Dad … clean, cook.”
“A maid?” Frankie asked quickly. “Named Susie?”
“Yeah,” Todd said. “But she wasn’t here yesterday.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. Dad didn’t mention she was when he was at dinner.”
Frankie thought a moment.
“How about after he came home?”
“I don’t know,” Todd said. He looked at Perry, who shook his head.
“Can you describe this maid?”
“I never saw her. I just spoke to her on the phone,” Todd said. Frankie looked at Perry.
“I never saw her, either.”
“But you’re positive her name is Susie?”
“Yeah. Why is that so important?” Todd asked.
“I just have to have accurate information,” Frankie said as he scribbled in his notepad.
“I’ve got to call my wife,” Todd said.
“Me too,” Perry said.
Jack Martin poked his head in.
“Coroner’s here, Frankie,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“What happens now?” Perry asked.
“Your father’s body will be taken to autopsy. The coroner has to hold an inquest and determine the cause of death.”
They all looked toward the door as the attendants rolled the gurney past the living room.
“I can’t believe we’re going to be making funeral arrangements again,” Todd said shaking his head.
Perry buried his face in his hands.
“My family, my children … another nightmare.”
Todd finally gave in and started to sob. He turned away.
Frankie closed his notepad.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Then he went back to the bedroom to bag the empty pill bottle and peruse the room one more time before hurrying out and heading toward the Desert Hospital.
He had gotten to know most of the hospital clerical staff. Some were very cooperative and pleasant, some were bitchy, complaining about being overworked as it was and resenting him for doing the slightest thing to make their workload any bigger. Henrietta Scheinwald was on duty when he arrived, and the fifty-four-year-old woman liked him. But He
nrietta was in the middle of training a new employee, Cindy Kizer. The contrast between the flighty twenty-four-year-old strawberry blonde and her tutor was striking. Cindy listened with half an ear on what Henrietta was explaining and with half on what was going on around her in the hallways and outer offices. She had the attention span of a preteen, but she was skilled enough with the word processor and attractive enough for the hospital administrator to hire her. Now Henrietta was left with the burden.
Frankie watched them for a few moments from the doorway before tapping on the jamb. Cindy looked grateful for the interruption.
“Hello, Frankie. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, thanks, Henrietta.”
“You’re not working, are you?” she asked grimacing.
“Sorta.”
“Frankie,” she chastised.
“Just passing the time until I gotta have my implant,” he said. “Don’t be like my wife.”
“Men.” She looked at Cindy, who smiled with amusement at the way Henrietta chastised this man.
“I need a favor,” he said. “I’ve got to look at someone’s file quickly.”
“Uh huh.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “This is Detective Samuels, Cindy. Occasionally, more often than ever these days, unfortunately, he or one of his fellow officers stops by to get information.”
“Really?” Cindy said, wide-eyed.
“What is it you need, Frankie?” Henrietta asked.
“I’d like to look at a nurse’s file … a Faye Sullivan.”
“Oh yes. Well, she’s primarily a special-duty nurse here. She works for the agency, but, of course, we have her background.”
Henrietta went to her computer terminal and tapped out the commands. What Frankie liked the most about Henrietta Scheinwald was her respect for confidentiality. Unlike most of the others, she did not widen her eyes with interest and try to find out why he wanted the information.
“You want a hard copy or do you want to simply read it off the screen?” she asked.
“I’ll just read it,” he said. He took out his notepad. Henrietta rose and went back to Cindy, and Frankie took her seat in front of the monitor.
“All right, Cindy. Let’s get back to what I was showing you. Whenever we have to process a claim through Blue Cross …”
Angel of Mercy Page 14
