"As topical as tomorrow’s newspaper, IMPERFECT DEFENSE takes on the issue of elder abuse. When Sophia Burgess, an emergency room nurse, examines Ralph Hoffman, a hard-of-hearing, blind senior, she is suspicious of how his injuries occurred. Ostensibly, he fell downstairs in the home of his daughter and son-in-law, but something about it rings false to Sophia. When she discovers he’s not the first elderly person in the Silebi household to suffer serious injuries, she is convinced that foul play is afoot. However, Franco Silebi is an influential supporter of the hospital who not only denies Sophia’s charges, but take steps against her. She must decide which is more important—her career or her principles."
Randy Rawls
Hot Rocks and Best Defense
featuring Beth Bowman, S FL PI
Thorns on Roses and The Runaway
featuring Tom Jeffries, S FL PI
http://www.RandyRawls.com
Imperfect
Defense
GREGG E. BRICKMAN
This is a work of fiction, and the characters, places, and events are the creation of the author. Resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Other Titles by the Author:
Tony Conte Mysteries:
Illegal Intent
Illegally Dead
Sophia Burgess and Ray Stone Imperfect Mysteries:
Imperfect Daddy
Imperfect Contract
Stand alone mysteries:
She Learned to Die
Plan to Kill
Please visit: www.GreggEBrickman.com
Amazon Author Page
Cover Design and Art by Victoria Landis
Copyright © 2017 Gregg E. Brickman
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1542406345
ISBN-10: 154240634X
For Henry:
Not everyone gets to be 100.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Publishing a book looks like an individual effort when one looks at the cover. For me, at least, that isn't the case. I thank the following for their gracious assistance:
Al Hallonquist—for corrections and pointers on police procedures
Steve Moses—for help with guns and answering questions about concealing
Lou Salerno at Arizona Shooting Range and Emporium—for answering a million questions and letting me touch his guns and ammunition
Joel Nathan MD, for allowing me to use his name. He is not responsible for the medical words I put in his mouth, nor the behavior I ascribed to his character.
Randy Rawls—for the extra help with chapter 2
Elaine Viets—who read, made suggestions, offered edits, and as always provided opportunity for my learning in the process.
Sylvia Dickey Smith—for help with the summary and blurb
My wonderful critique group—Randy Rawls, Stephanie Levine, Victoria Landis, Ann Meier, and Richard Hodes
Beta readers—Steve Brickman, Stephanie Levine, Jennifer Samuels, Joyce Moses, Janet Portnow, Joy Heit, and Geraldine Sutton
Just for fun, I borrowed a couple other friends' names. Neither the characters' personal traits nor actions belong to these individuals.
Mistakes, if any, are mine.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Sophia
Sophia Burgess' eighty-year-old neighbor Millie never left Scruffy outside alone, but mid-afternoon Thursday, Sophia found the dog in the middle of the street.
"Where's Millie?" she asked the dog. The appearance of the Jack Russell-poodle mix without Millie concerned her.
Scruffy didn't answer.
While he greeted Sophia's Boston terrier, Roxy, with sniffs, licks, and frantic barks, Sophia removed the belt from her short shorts and slipped it under his collar. Scruffy wasn't especially fond of Sophia—or most people other than Millie. Carrying him the long block to his home wasn't an option. "Sorry, pup, but I need to take you home." She slipped him one of Roxy's treats to soothe his feelings.
Millie acted as if Scruffy were all she loved in the world, though her son, Wayne, lived with her. She talked about Wayne at times, usually complaining about his drinking, trouble keeping a job, or messy habits. Scruffy, on the other hand, was gentlemanly, well trained, and didn't leave clutter—though Sophia considered him a yappy pain.
The garage door on Millie's corner-lot duplex stood open. Her unit was on the left. The adjacent driveways were empty, as was Millie's garage. Sophia couldn't imagine that Millie left in a hurry and didn't secure her pet.
Scruffy's long tie-out lead dangled from the decorative column on Millie's front porch. She often sat there in the evening, chatting with passersby and attempting to get Scruffy to act sociable and quit barking. That was how Sophia met her.
After Sophia secured Scruffy and told him to stop barking, she tied Roxy to the adjacent column, put her belt back on, and rang the doorbell. When there was no answer, she went into the garage. The door to the kitchen was open an inch. That breach of security caused the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck to bristle.
The little west Broward County neighborhood, like the rest of South Florida, was in transition. Though the crime rate had increased a bit over the last couple of years, neighbors still watched out for one another. Sophia considered calling 911 first, but didn't want to delay further. Perhaps Millie was in a situation where time mattered.
Sophia's nurse's mind ticked through the possibilities. Stroke. Heart attack. Broken hip from a fall. She reasoned Scruffy hadn't been outside for long. Wouldn't he have wandered farther? But if Millie was sick or injured, Sophia had no idea how long he would have stayed by his mistress's side. And, where was her car?
Sophia eased the door open to provide a ready exit and easy access for medics, then glanced into Millie's kitchen. "Millie, are you here?" She raised her voice and called again.
A plate with a corncob and a chicken bone sat on the old-fashioned laminate table. Not a good sign. Sophia had been in the house many times and remembered being struck by its tidiness. Scruffy's water and food dishes were empty, and he'd nosed them off their matt and into the middle of the room.
Taking a deep breath, she continued through the hall leading to the living room on the right and the bedrooms, of which there were three, on the left. "Anybody home?"
The first bedroom was empty and unfurnished. The next one—Sophia assumed it was the son's—contained a messy bed, a chest of drawers, a small student desk, and a bedside cabinet. The pieces looked new, perhaps purchased when Wayne moved in with his mother a few months earlier.
Outside, Roxy no longer provided the required distraction for Scruffy to stay quiet, and he barked with enthusiasm. The other possibility was Sophia was no longe
r alone. With that thought in mind, she trotted down the hall to the front door and propped it open with a chair. The driveway remained empty and no one lurked in the front yard. Even so, her muscles tensed and stomach knotted.
Sophia returned to the rear of the house. "Millie, are you here?"
Approaching the last bedroom and using a corner of her shirt to cover the doorknob, she eased open the door, pushing it further with the toe of her sandal. The room looked as if a hurricane had passed through. "Millie?"
Millie was curled on her right side on the floor on the far side of the single bed. The bedspread draped off the mattress at an angle and covered the lower part of her body. Huge bruises covered the left side of her face and neck and the underside of her right forearm. Her wide-open, sightless eyes spoke of death, as did her deep-blue—cyanotic—color. A settling of blood to the dependent right shoulder—lividity—confirmed Sophia's suspicion Millie was beyond rescue. However, Sophia wanted to run to her and check if there was any sign of life, but didn't. She knew what death looked like and didn't want to further disturb the crime scene. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Who would do this to my friend? she thought.
"Damn." There were things she had to do. She brushed a tear and exited to the front porch, sat on the chair holding the door, and dialed 911. When the operator answered, she said, "This is Sophia Burgess." She gave Millie's address.
"What's your emergency?"
It took a minute to summarize the situation. Then Sophia said, "Yes, ma'am," when the emergency operator instructed her to stay at the duplex.
As she waited for the onslaught of emergency vehicles, she called Scruffy to her side, then lifted Roxy to her lap, cuddling and crying into soft fur. Sophia sought comfort in the warmth and sloppy kisses her pet offered.
Scruffy whimpered and whined.
"Quiet, Scruff." Sophia reached down and patted him again. He knew something was wrong because he allowed the affection and edged closer.
Sophia thought about the last time she saw Millie alive, fixing that image in her mind to replace the one of Millie lying dead on the floor. She was a petite lady, maybe ninety-five pounds. Easy to manhandle. Millie had worn a teal and coral print dress, coral sweater, and matching floppy sunhat. They'd talked about the intense sun and the danger of burns. Millie had chastised Sophia for a sleeveless top and short shorts and didn't stop until she swore to the use of sunscreen each and every day.
The four minutes it took for the first Coral Bay police cruiser to arrive seemed like an hour to Sophia. While waiting, her mind whirled. True, she'd been a police officer and had seen some horrible things, but had never discovered a friend dead from foul play before.
Sophia had grown attached to Millie, though she didn't know if the elderly lady considered her a friend or friendly acquaintance. Sophia was in her mid-thirties. Millie was older than Sophia's grandmother. Sophia would sit with Millie in front of the house while the dogs played and she talked about her life as a school teacher and the crusades she created or joined. Sophia had the idea Millie's husband had held her back. His death freed her to challenge the world as she saw fit.
Sophia wasn't a stranger to traumatic deaths. When she was a police officer, she was shot in the right hip and leg and left for dead during a routine traffic stop. Her partner had died at the scene. After recovering, she went to nursing school, choosing a calmer, more predictable existence—or so she thought at the time.
Daniel Harris, Coral Bay's first responding officer, eased out of his car. They'd attended the academy together. She remembered him as an arrogant, macho asshole in the academy, and based on limited interactions over the years, saw no change. They spoke on occasion when he brought a drunk or injured arrestee into the emergency department at Coral Bay Medical Center where Sophia worked.
"Hey, Burgess." Harris crossed the yard instead of using the walk. He had a chiseled face and brown hair. Nice looking in a cop sort of way.
"Watch for dog doo, Harris." She smirked when he checked his shoe, then rubbed it on the grass and checked again. Amazing how dealing with a jerk set aside the stress of the moment, she thought.
Harris didn't crack a smile. "Okay, tell me what this is all about."
"Like I told 911 when I called, Millie Peers is in the master bedroom. She's dead. It looks to me like someone beat her up."
"Right. Did you check to be sure she's dead?"
"I didn't, no. It's obvious she's been dead for hours. I didn't touch her." Sophia paused to remember, then described the situation.
"Did you touch anything else?"
"No." She paused. "I touched the door from the garage when I pulled it open. Nothing else, though."
Harris asked several more questions and made some notes before entering the house. "I'm securing the scene. Don't go into the house." She had the idea he was delaying, hoping someone else arrived before he got to the body.
The prerequisite fire truck and ambulance arrived next. She knew the paramedics and suggested they wait a minute before entering what she believed was a crime scene.
"Sophia, are you sure she expired?" One of the guys used the healthcare workers' euphemism for death.
"I'm sure, though I didn't lay a hand on her. Looks to me like she's been dead for hours."
"I'll just go in and make sure, then I'll come back." He did and returned in two minutes. "No question about it," he said as he walked through the front door.
An unmarked vehicle stopped behind the fire truck. Sophia watched Detective Ray Stone appear a moment later. He was tall, lean, and well muscled with riveting blue eyes and a frequently annoying smile. Ray was also her on-again, off-again fiancé, and they were in the on-again mode.
He wasn't smiling. He saw her and jogged up the walk. "Sophie." He's the only one who got away with using that name. He kissed a greeting on her lips. "What happened?"
Ray's soft bass voice did her in, and all of her pseudo-bravery vanished. She started to cry. "Someone killed Millie, and I think she's been lying there dead since yesterday." She hugged Roxy tighter, then put her on the ground, stood, and hugged Ray instead. It took a minute before she collected herself and wiped her tears. "Dan Harris went in a few minutes ago, and the paramedic," she pointed to the guy, "went in and verified the death."
"Deg, why don't you get started. I'll run through things with Sophia and send her home."
When Ray had approached, she didn't notice that Deglin Lewis, his long-term partner, followed. Deg was a hard guy to miss. He was huge, dark skinned, shaved bald, mean looking, and ripped. His only nod to the gentler side of life was the delicate wire-framed glasses he always wore. That, and the fact he was a caring, sincere dude.
"Hey, sweet thing." Deg planted a kiss on her forehead. He glanced at Ray. "Works for me. I'll stop by the house when we're done here and talk with her as well. Just for the record." He pulled on shoe covers.
"Good point." Ray sat next to Sophia, wiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, then set his iPhone to record. He walked her through the event from the time Scruffy met her in the street. "Tell me again why you think she was killed yesterday."
"You know Millie and I met a few months ago. She's the little lady I tell you about. She is . . . was neat and tidy." Sophia nodded in the direction of the garage. "Look how clean it is. Inside, too. Even the empty bedroom is spotless. No dust bunnies or unpacked boxes. I can't see her leaving dinner dishes around." She shook her head. "No. It doesn't fit the picture." She took a deep breath. "Then there is the matter of how her body looks."
"Tell me."
Sophia repeated the description. "Also, she's wearing a cotton duster."
He raised a questioning eyebrow.
"It's an old fashioned housecoat. Like my mother wears in the morning before she gets dressed."
While it was painful, the telling helped settle Sophia into the facts and remove some of the emotion, which could have been Ray's goal.
"Did you see anything else unusual when you were i
nside?"
After a few seconds, she nodded. "I know she always fed Scruffy in the morning, and it took him the entire day to eat. Leaving the dish on the kitchen floor hadn't created a bug problem for her in New Jersey. She was trying to get him to hurry the process because of the creepy critters we have here."
"Go on. I think you're leaving something out here."
"Yeah. The dishes are empty. They'd sat there awhile."
Ray shook his head. "I don't think we'll be using dog dishes to help figure the time of death." He motioned toward the open garage door. "Do you have any idea where her vehicle might be?"
"None. When she's in the yard or sitting outside, the garage door is usually open with the car inside." She thought for a moment. "Last week she told me Wayne's van was giving him trouble, and he sometimes took her car if he had a job. It's a white Camry, four or five years old, maybe."
"You don't know cars well enough to estimate the age."
Sophia gave him a disgusted look, but didn't mouth off because of the recording and it happened to be true. "I remember her commenting about the warranty expiring before she left New Jersey, and she needed to find a reliable mechanic rather than use the dealership."
"That works." He nodded.
Deg returned, muttering to himself and making notes on a small pad as he walked. "Crime scene and the medical examiner are en route. Based on the look of things, I'd say she's been dead several hours."
Harris followed in Deg's steps.
"Harris, run some crime scene tape in the rear then come to the front and secure the scene as well." Ray motioned toward the rear of the house.
"Already done behind the house," Harris said.
Ray pointed at a couple of trees. "They'll make a good perimeter for the tape there. Then stay in front until more officers arrive. Brief them and get them started canvassing the neighborhood. Maybe someone heard or saw something."
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