“Looks like you have your patterns, all right,” he concluded. “I’ll call the coroner and tell him about our suspicions and ask him to take another look at Livingston. In the meantime, I guess you better call the Sullivan sisters in for questioning.”
“Let me visit them first and speak to them in their own surroundings. I have better luck that way. This isn’t your typical deranged serial killer, if what we suspect is true. This is a sophisticated and intelligent psychotic. I mean, are they both guilty or is it just the nurse or just the maid? Is one aware of what the other does? I’d like to have something more, that old smoking gun, before I read them their rights and clamp the handcuffs on one or the other or both.”
Nolan thought a moment and then nodded.
“Okay. Play it the way you think best,” he said. His acquiescence made Frankie feel proud of himself, but he recognized that the man wasn’t motivated by his respect for Frankie’s abilities as much as by his fear of being held accountable for missing something very dramatic and very big.
Frankie was on his way out when the dispatcher signaled to him.
“It’s your wife. She doesn’t sound too happy,” he whispered loudly.
“Tell her I just left,” Frankie said.
He hurried away feeling very guilty but also full of that special excitement that came whenever he was on the verge of breaking a case or making a major crime discovery. Surely the gods would permit him just one more, and Jennie would forgive him.
17
The door buzzer took Faye by surprise. Her first thoughts went to Tillie, but she also feared that it might be Corpsy Ratner. He had sounded so anxious on the telephone. People as mentally unstable as he was were capable of doing anything impulsively, she thought. Susie, who had been preparing herself for visiting Corpsy, popped her head out of her doorway.
“Faye? Was that the door buzzer?”
“Yes. Just stay in there. It’s probably Tillie, but it might be that idiot. If it’s him, I’ll tell him you’re not here. Don’t make any noise.”
“All right.” Susie left the door open a crack.
“Close it,” Faye insisted. After Susie did so, Faye went to the front door.
“Faye Sullivan?” Frankie asked. Faye sensed immediately that he was a policeman. It was revealed to her in the way he carried himself and the way he scrutinized her quickly, his eyes sweeping over her and then moving off to look behind her.
“Yes?”
He produced his identification.
“My name is Frank Samuels. I’m with the Palm Springs police. May I come in?”
She didn’t accede to his request instantly, as most people would, even most guilty people who were anxious to put up a facade of innocence immediately. She hesitated, her shoulders stiffening. After all, she was someone who usually carried authority, someone who bore responsibilities and had self-confidence. She wasn’t easily intimidated.
“Why? What is it you want?” she demanded.
Frankie started to smile but stopped and became firm himself instead.
“I’m investigating an alleged suicide,” he replied. “You were one of the last to see this person alive.”
“Who is it, or was it, I should say,” she asked, still unflinching.
“Thomas Livingston.”
Her eyes softened, the tiny lines around them deepening as her lips curled inward. If she were pretending this shock and sadness, Frankie thought, she was real good at it. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. But she sucked in some air and pulled herself out of it.
“I’m really sorry to hear that. He was a very nice man.”
“There are just a few questions remaining,” Frankie said. “I don’t mean to take up much of your time.”
“I do have to go some place soon … to meet my sister,” she said.
“Oh, she’s not here?” he asked with disappointment.
“Not at the moment. Why?”
“From what I understand, she was with Mr. Livingston the day before he died. I’d like to talk to her. When do you expect her to return?”
“I don’t. I mean, not right away. We’re meeting an old friend for dinner. She’s already gone to be with him.”
“I see. Well, maybe I’ll be able to talk to her tomorrow. In the meantime …”
“Yes,” Faye said finally stepping back to permit him to enter. “Come in.”
He gazed around quickly. The apartment, from what he could see of it, had that transient feel to him. Nothing very personal was in view, no family heirlooms, no pictures, except for what looked like an album on the coffee table. All the living room furniture looked like the inexpensive rental package that included lamps. It reminded him of motel rooms.
“Please, sit down,” she said and moved forward quickly to take a copy of People magazine off the small sofa.
“Thanks.”
“Can I get you anything? A cool drink?”
“No thanks. From what I understand,” he said, wanting to get right to business, “after the funeral, you remained behind at Mr. Livingston’s house to be with him after all the mourners, including his family, had left.” He read from the notes he had gotten from a telephone call to Todd Livingston.
“That’s correct. He was obviously overwrought, but he was the sort of man who hated to be a burden to anyone, especially his family.”
“Yet he was willing to rely on you?” Frankie asked quickly.
“I’m a nurse, Detective Samuels. It’s my work, helping sick people. Mr. Livingston was sick with grief.”
“What did you do for him?”
“I got him to relax and then to sleep.”
“Did you give him any pills?”
“He didn’t have anything, but I found his wife’s prescription. It was fine.”
“You gave him the pills yourself? Brought them to him?”
“Yes,” she said and smiled. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve given someone pills.”
“What I meant was, you went into the medicine cabinet, found the pill bottle, opened it and took out … what, two?”
“That’s correct. Two was enough.”
“Do you remember how many pills remained?”
“I didn’t count them, no.”
“Were there a great many left?”
“Most of the prescription, I’d say,” she replied and finally sat down across from him.
“So you handled the bottle?”
“Yes.” Now she knew what he was driving toward. “I left it out on the night table by his bed in case he needed some the next night,” she added quickly.
Frankie nodded, looked at his notepad and then without looking up, asked, “When did your sister come to work for him?”
“Susie relieved me that evening. I had promised the family I would look after him, but I had to go and I had already discussed his hiring my sister to do some work in his house. She does that sort of thing on a part-time basis.”
“She’s your twin?”
“That’s right.”
“How long did she stay with him that evening?”
“She remained through the evening, made him breakfast the next day, cleaned up, and came home,” Faye said. Her lips trembled. “She’s not going to take this well. Susie gets so involved with people. She’s very shy, but when she gets to know someone, she … devotes herself to him or to her.”
“Really?” Frankie said.
She looked up at him.
“Yes, really. It’s painful to just get to know someone, to commiserate with him, and think you’re making progress, you’re doing something good: you’re helping him deal with his great sorrow and then, what amounts to only hours later, to discover you were no influence at all.”
“Well, people with a great deal more training and experience than your sister do no better. I take it then he was talking about suicide, either with you or your sister?”
“Yes, but from what I’ve seen working with other lonely people, especially elderly people, that’s not unus
ual. What’s usual is it’s just talk. They feel sorry for themselves and they say things like that so we’ll feel sorry for them, too.”
“Susie didn’t mention his taking any more pills that night?”
“No. He slept through the night, and he ate well when he got up.”
“How much longer did your sister remain?”
“Just to clean up the bedroom and the kitchen. She was tired herself. She didn’t sleep well, worrying about not hearing him call or something. She’s like that.”
“I see.”
“Is there anything else, because I do have to go,” Faye said.
“I have just a few questions about another suicide that occurred in Palm Springs recently, Sam Murray.”
“Oh yes,” she said.
“Your sister worked for him too?”
“That’s correct.”
“Did you give her a pill called Dilantin to give him to help him sleep?” he asked quickly. She stared a moment and then smiled, but so coldly it made his spine feel like it had turned into an icicle.
“Hardly, Detective. If anyone should know not to give someone Dilantin without his doctor’s knowledge, you’d think it would be me, wouldn’t you?” she asked disdainfully. “There can be some serious side effects. You should know the patient’s medical history and condition.”
“Dilantin was found in his body, and there wasn’t any in the apartment, nor was any prescribed for him or his wife,” Frankie said. “It’s a prescription drug.”
“My experience with older people is that they often lend each other their medications. Some of them have been dealing with the medical community for so long, they see themselves as doctors and nurses. Have you asked any of his neighbors?”
“Some. What did you think about his injecting himself with insulin?”
“I wasn’t surprised. He used to administer it to his wife, so he was comfortable with the hypodermic,” she said.
“And how long did your sister stay with him?”
“Not long. She left the night before he died.”
“And she thought he was all right, too?”
“She was worried about him. He had no immediate family nearby. I was going to check on him in the morning, but by the time I got around to it, I found out it was too late.”
Frankie studied her a moment. She looked so confident or else … she really didn’t know what her sister was up to. He couldn’t decide.
“Why all these questions, Detective?”
“Why? Well, sometimes we take note of patterns. Believe it or not, most everything fits into a normal average … your normal average homicides, burglaries, car thefts—based upon the population, of course.”
She nodded.
“When something breaks out of the average and forms an unusual pattern, we look twice. Most of the time, it’s nothing,” he added forcing a smile. “But sometimes the pattern is our first clue.”
“It’s the same in medicine. If a man of your age and weight started to behave differently from other men of your age and weight, we’d think it justified an investigation. Only we call that a physical.”
Frankie laughed.
“You don’t know how close to the truth you are,” he said.
“Oh? You have a physical problem?”
“Hypertrophic …”
“Cardiomyopathy?” she said.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he said. He couldn’t help but be impressed. She was really a very good nurse.
“Sometimes it can be treated with medication, but most often a pacemaker is recommended,” she recited. “Did you have a pacemaker implanted?”
“I’m about to.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “But if you need a private-duty nurse …”
“Thanks,” he said, nearly laughing. Wouldn’t that be a twist? “Anyway, getting back to what I said about patterns. I noted from your work history that you were working in Phoenix recently.”
Faye finally shifted nervously in her seat. He noted that she also gazed quickly toward the rear of the apartment.
“Yes, that’s true.”
“A bit of checking revealed that there were a couple of similar situations there.”
“Similar?”
“Suicides with the same MO.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t keep up with the jargon. MO?”
“Modus operandi. How the crime or the act was committed,” he explained.
“I see. And these suicides all have the same MO?”
“Well, these people all turned to some form of medicine to use as a poison. And when you see something like that, naturally, you get curious about it.”
She didn’t respond, but she fixed her eyes on him intently.
“And there are some other coincidences, shall we say.”
“Namely?”
“Well, I checked the records, and you were the private-duty nurse for the spouses on each occasion.”
Faye sat back, her shoulders straight.
“If you please one patient and his or her family, they often recommend you to friends in need.”
“Yeah, well, I suppose that’s true, but …”
“It’s more than true, Detective Samuels; it’s very common. The rule instead of the exception, as they say.”
“I’ve had the opportunity to look at only a few with more attention, but in every case so far, your sister was employed to care for and clean the home of the surviving spouse.”
“Oh, I see. That coincidence troubles you. Well,” she said leaning forward, “my sister was born with one leg shorter than the other, which caused a problem that can only be alleviated by wearing a brace. Consequently, she grew up very shy, introverted. I’m the one who goes out and gets her the employment. She thinks everyone’s looking at her limp. She’s very self-conscious about wearing the brace. I’ve always had to look after her. If I didn’t find her the work, she’d remain in this apartment cleaning and recleaning it, watching those inane soap operas all day, reading those gossip magazines,” she added, nodding toward one on the table, “and eating junk food.”
“I see. Well, there are other interesting details. Like the time factor. Every one of the men who committed suicide did it soon after his wife passed away.”
“Losing a loved one, one you’ve been with for years and years, is devastating.” She paused and stared at him, her expression becoming hard, cold. “What are you suggesting, Detective Samuels?”
“Remember what I said about the unusual pattern? If I research your work in Florida, will I come up with similar circumstances? You the nurse, your sister their maid?”
“I’m not sure I like where this conversation is headed,” Faye said. “Maybe we shouldn’t be having this conversation. I know of too many instances of wrongful malpractice cases that ruined good nurses and doctors.”
“I wasn’t thinking in terms of a malpractice case, Miss Sullivan. I was thinking in terms of someone helping a depressed individual take his own life. Do you believe people are sometimes better off dead? Did you or your sister ever advise anyone to do himself in? Maybe show him how?”
Faye glared at him.
“I’m a nurse, someone dedicated to alleviating pain and suffering, someone dedicated to helping people get well. I don’t advise people to die. I advise them on how to get well. And Susie, Susie couldn’t hurt a fly. That’s literally true. She won’t kill an insect when she cleans. She’ll spend hours trapping it and then throw it out of the house.”
“Nevertheless, I’m afraid I’m going to have to have a talk with her. I’d like you to bring her into the police station tomorrow,” he said standing. “What’s a convenient time for you?”
“I’m on call tomorrow,” she said, “but I should know by nine if I’m getting an assignment. Can I let you know then?”
“Sure. If there’s a problem, I’ll come here,” he said.
“Fine,” she said, “but I must warn you, Susie is very shy and can become very nervous, burst out in tears … It’s best th
at I’m with her when you speak to her.”
“Well, we’ll do the best we can,” Frankie said. Faye didn’t like his tenacity. She followed him to the door. “If your sister has such serious problems,” he said, “you wouldn’t be helping her by ignoring them.” His implication was clear.
“I think I know best how to take care of Susie,” Faye replied.
“Okay. Thanks,” he said. She watched him leave and then closed the door. Susie was already standing in the living room when Faye turned.
“Did you listen to that conversation?” Faye asked. Susie nodded, her face nearly in tears. “Now do you understand why we have to do what we have to do, and do it quickly?”
“Yes, Faye.” Susie stepped back. “How do I look?”
Faye inspected her.
“Open another button on the uniform,” she instructed. “I want him to see more cleavage.”
Susie complied.
“My perfume?” Faye asked.
“I put it on. How do you like my hair?”
“It’s fine.”
“I feel funny not wearing a bra. You can see my nipples.”
Faye smirked.
“Only Corpsy will see you, and that won’t matter very much, will it?”
“I guess not.”
“You had better not mess this up, Susie,” Faye warned.
“I won’t,” Susie promised. “But I can’t help being afraid. I wish I was more like you.”
Faye finally smiled.
“I told you: I’ll be with you every moment. Whenever you get frightened or nervous, just listen for my voice and the things I’ve said. Okay?”
Susie nodded.
Faye went to the window and looked out to be sure Frankie was gone.
“Give me a few minutes,” she said. “And then we’ll go, and you’ll do what has to be done.”
Susie nodded, but her heart was beating so hard, she felt sure Corpsy Ratner would hear it and know what she had come to do to him.
18
Susie sat in the car and looked anxiously at the door of unit 31. Beside her on the passenger’s seat was her purse, inside of which was only one thing: the hypodermic filled with Tubarine, a neuromuscular blocking agent Faye had prepared in a lethal dosage. She had assured Susie that the effect would be immediate.
Angel of Mercy Page 17
