Imperfect Defense

by Gregg E. Brickman

  Sophia decided to be more direct. "Do you think they're abusive?"

  "No, nothing like that. When Lorraine was here, before she died, they were bossy to Ralph. He seemed forgetful and needed direction though. The other thing is, since Ralph is blind, he needs a lot of help. He was already seventy-five when he lost his vision and hasn't developed blind independent-living skills."

  "Mr. Silebi—Franco—did all the talking this morning, answered the questions for both his wife and Ralph."

  "He's like that. Very much in charge," Connie said.

  "Guess it goes with a strong macho persona, but he borders on bully."

  "Maybe. I think he's very concerned with what people think of him. From what I saw at the holiday party, he . . ." Connie shook her head as if sorting her thoughts. "Was more, maybe, more interested in getting everything right than being nice."

  "I've met people like that, too. Still I'm concerned that Ralph is abused. Maybe someone helped him fall down the stairs."

  Connie's mouth dropped open. "Now who is making assumptions, like you always accuse me of doing? I think your friend Millie's death has affected your brain."

  "I don't know. I don't feel comfortable about the whole thing. Maybe I'll talk to Nancy and Dr. Kalet and ask what they think."

  Connie shook her head. "Be sure it's private, girl. You don't need that family focusing on you if there is an abuse investigation by the state. Franco is a power player."

  ***

  The ED manager, Nancy Mitchell, waved Sophia into her office after Sophia tapped on the doorjamb. It must have been a meeting day for Nancy because she wore a bright red dress instead of her usual scrubs and lab coat. She had warm brown skin tones, an impressive fro, a solid, muscular build, and was older than Sophia by about ten years.

  "What can I do for you?" Nancy's accent was Atlanta-Southern. It sounded different from Ray's Tennessee-Southern, though Sophia couldn't list the variations.

  "I need to get your opinion on something." Sophia sat on the edge of a side chair, staying forward in the seat to rest her feet on the floor, and turned to face Nancy. After taking a big breath, Sophia plunged in, starting with a summary of Ralph's admission. "The thing that concerned me was he never said how the accident happened. He deferred to the son-in-law, who, by the way, is one impressive, uptight dude. Now, I find out Ralph's wife fell down the same steps and died as a result."

  "I know your friend was killed yesterday. I'm sorry." Nancy tugged at a big hoop earring, looking bored but dutiful.

  "Thank you."

  "Don't let that cloud your judgment," Nancy said.

  Twice in an hour someone had told her that. Sophia was beginning to dislike the implication. Just because Millie was beaten didn't mean Ralph wasn't abused or pushed—in her estimation, anyway. "How do last night's events influence my thinking today?"

  "Nothing you said suggests abuse. The old man is blind. He deferred to a caregiver. That isn't unusual." Nancy shifted forward in her chair. "Franco Silebi is a wealthy donor and sits on our board. Not the kind of man who would sanction abuse, much less participate. If the old man bugs him, he could stick him in a nursing home—out of sight and out of mind."

  "How does any of that preclude abuse?"

  "Sophia, you're not listening. Don't get into it. Trust me. The other thing is Melinda Silebi is a dietician here at Coral Bay."

  "I know. She was dressed up, and I didn't recognize her, but Connie Kuhn reminded me." Sophia thought about it. "She didn't mention it when she was here, and, in fact, didn't say much at all. She let her man do all the talking." She stood to leave. "Her behavior, too, is from the I'm Abused textbook. But, think about it, even rich board members can be abusers. Power and all its glory. Thanks for meeting with me."

  "Anytime. Follow my suggestions. You do not, I repeat, do not, want to make an issue of this."

  Sophia walked out of the office thinking that she did want to do something about it. She needed to find an ally because both Connie and her manager had disregarded her assessments. She headed for the corner of the main nursing station where Dr. Kalet sat when doing her charts.

  The doctor poked at her cell phone, but she looked up when Sophia approached. "Words with Friends." Dr. Kalet held up the screen. "I'm addicted to the game."

  "Are you good at it?" Sophia grinned.

  "I enjoy it, and I win a lot."

  "That's always good. Do you have a minute?"

  She set the game aside. "What's up?"

  For the third time in as many hours, Sophia reviewed the situation.

  "I would say at a minimum the Silebis are guilty of neglect, which is part of the whole abuse issue." Dr. Kalet frowned. "But proving it is a different matter, especially in an upscale community with a powerful family."

  "But, at the very least, they should protect a blind man from tumbling down the stairs. Don't you think? I mean, Ralph's wife fell to her death down the same damn steps."

  "You don't know that," Dr. Kalet said. "Most of the time when seniors fall, the death certificate doesn't include the accident as part of the cause. Old folks lose their balance all the time. When you add that to the fact Ralph defers to the son-in-law, you'll never get a solid investigation. All Ralph has to say is that he's lived in that home for ten years and this is the first incident. Yes, Lorraine fell, but she had Alzheimer's, and Ralph was caring for her at the time."

  "You're current on the case."

  "I was on duty when she came in, and I looked it up to refresh my memory."

  "You're considering an abuse issue as well?" Sophia said.

  "No, I'm thinking about neglect and safety. But, I'm not convinced it's reportable, so I'm not calling it in."

  "Isn't the neglect of basic safety needs part of the whole abuse issue? I know the Florida statute requires reporting of neglect as well as out-and-out abuse."

  "Listen, if you've already formed your opinion, why are you trying to involve me? We each make our own conclusions. Perhaps in the time you spent with Mr. Hoffman, you arrived at a different conclusion than I did. I hope that if you file a report, it doesn't come back on the rest of us for failure to do so."

  Sophia excused herself without answering the doctor's actual or implied questions and retreated to her own station, thinking it was awful to get old and be victimized.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sophia

  Sophia gave a quick report detailing all her patients' pertinent information to the nurse who relieved her and left the ED two seconds after it was legal to clock out—seven twenty-three. Her red MINI Cooper S sat in the front row of the employees' lot next to the walkway. Another minute, and she climbed into the car and headed around the back loop connecting to the medical center's access road. It had been an emotional, frustrating day, and she was thankful it was over. She'd refused overtime, had Saturday off, and didn't need to return until seven Sunday morning.

  After parking in the garage, she rushed into the house. Poor little Roxy was popping her seams—it had been a long day for her, too. The first thing on Sophia's list was to open the doggy door to the patio.

  Roxy dispensed the briefest hello kiss, then hit the door flap. A moment later, the outer doggy door—the one connecting the patio to the yard—slapped. When Roxy returned, she lavished Sophia with licks and tail wags. She told the small pet about her day while pouring kibble into the dog dish and wine into her own glass. The nice thing about telling Roxy her troubles was Roxy never suggested Sophia butt out or that she was wrong, hormonal, or interfering. Ray has been known to say all those things and mean them. He's even been right on a rare occasion.

  While the dog had her dinner, Sophia's shower beckoned. Ray and his seventeen-year-old look-alike son, Branden, were bringing pizza. All she needed to provide was a salad, beverages, and dishes on the table.

  Three years ago, Ray's ex-wife, Elaine, was murdered in Virginia right outside the town where Ray grew up. Elaine had a long history of reckless behavior and got in the way of the wrong man. Smoth
ered in grief, their two children came to Florida to be with Ray.

  Ray and Sophia lived together from time to time. They were off-again at the time of Elaine's death, so he lived in his condo about three miles east of Sophia's house. After reuniting, they decided he'd keep the condo until they got married or the kids were on their own.

  Both Kerri Lynn, his exotically beautiful twenty-year-old daughter, and Branden, his right out of high school son, had cheered the reconciliation and wanted to move in with Sophia. But, hey, the small, conservative North Dakota town where she was born and raised had left its mark. While she no longer abided by the political conservatism, some elements stuck.

  Kerri Lynn returned to Tennessee to attend college after the horrible summer when her mother died. Branden spent winters in Florida with his dad and summers in Knoxville, Tennessee with his grandparents, who moved there to avoid the ongoing scandal following Elaine's death.

  The doorbell chimed, and Ray's key jiggled in the lock. Sophia's mouth watered at the mere thought of pizza. She held up two Cokes when the guys entered. "All ready."

  Ray crossed the room and handed her the pies. She put them on the kitchen counter, gave him a warm welcome kiss, then pecked Branden on the cheek. He was used to it and bent a bit at the waist to accommodate her.

  The Queen of Sicily pizza from the brick oven joint was her favorite. The second one would be anchovy—a Branden special—with onions, olives, and peppers. Yuk. Ray, for his part, would eat whichever one was closest—a fact to be considered in the table arrangement. Sophia wanted to be sure to get her share.

  They sat in the dining room and served themselves big slices to start.

  "How was your day?" She looked at Branden and grinned, putting a healthy-sized pile of salad into his bowl.

  "Awesome," Branden mumbled around a mouth full of pizza.

  "Fill in some details. What did you do?"

  "We picked up the girls and headed to the beach with our boards. There's a tropical depression, so the waves were fantastic. Sucks that the lifeguards tried to run us off, but we moved down the beach some and ignored them." Branden's Tennessee accent was stronger than his dad's, but his tonal qualities were the same, though his voice wasn't as deep.

  "You ignored the life guards and the undertow? You could have been killed." Sophia said, then remembered her role in their little family. She shut her mouth.

  Branden blushed. "Ah. Didn't think like that."

  Ray glared at him. "We'll talk about this later."

  Sophia poured dressing on her salad.

  "He's going to fly to Tennessee tomorrow," Ray said, nodding toward his son.

  She frowned. "Thought you guys were taking a road trip. Crank out the S2000. All that guy stuff."

  "Yeah, Dad. You were going to let me drive the Honda. I even remember the speed limit speech you made when you told me."

  "We talked about this, son. You know I caught a new case."

  "It's always like that with you. First the job. Then us." Branden scowled, his expression looking like his father's, sans the five o-clock shadow.

  A few moments of strained silence passed, then Ray reached out and touched Sophia's hand. "When you're walking with the dog, have you run into a pack of thugs?"

  "There is a group of boys—young men. They're not thugs. Dressed pretty much like Branden." She motioned to his baggy pants, open sneakers, and big shirt.

  "They bother you?"

  "Never. They're friendly." She took a nibble and chewed. "The kid with a head full of dreds is aggressive, but he backs off when I tell him to cool it. One is overweight and shaved bald. He's quiet and polite and always pets the dog. Roxy likes him."

  "Describe aggressive." Ray was in cop mode. No expression.

  "He stands too close. Throws his shoulders forward. Talks ghetto, but it sounds like a put on, not real."

  "Okay. Any more?"

  "Those two are the steady ones. There are a couple younger white ones who walk with them sometimes, then, maybe a girl or two, on and off." She took some salad while picturing the group. "Two big boys who look Hispanic. They're friendly enough."

  "Any idea where they live?"

  "The girls. No clue. The Hispanics. Don't know. The guy with dreds, the chubby one, and the younger white kids live in the apartment building down past Millie's." She paused. "What's this about? Do you think they are connected to Millie?"

  "Don't know. Just checking the possibilities." He emptied his soda. "Got beer?"

  "Yup." Sophia cleared the bones of the pizza and the dishes from the table. "I'll bring your Sam Adams to the patio. I'm getting another glass of wine. Earned it. Deserve it. Drinking it. Branden, you want more soda?"

  Branden stood, heading to the Florida room. "Please. Gonna find the pre-game show." He referred to the basketball playoffs. "You going to watch the game?" He looked at his father.

  "You're off tomorrow, Sophie?"

  "Right."

  "Good. We'll watch the game here, if that's okay."

  "Fine with me."

  Branden looked their way, grinned, then picked up the remote.

  ***

  Sophia poured a glass of Pinot Grigio, grabbed the lager for Ray, and headed outside to the patio.

  Roxy tagged along, but went on through the doggie door to the yard. She was an avid hunter of anoles and other little lizards and small living things, considering it her duty to keep as many terrorized as possible. Unfortunately for the critters, she was also adept at catching them.

  "Nice night." Ray's bass voice rumbled just above a whisper. "The storm Branden mentioned is responsible for the breeze. Too damned hot today." He sat at the patio table, motioning for Sophia to do likewise.

  "Wouldn't know. Left here in the morning cool and came home after the heat simmered down."

  "How was your day?" Ray said.

  "Now that you ask. Lousy." She sipped her wine. "It must be the season for abusing the old folks."

  He raised a questioning brow and took a pull on his beer.

  "An old man came into the ED early this morning by ambulance." She went on to give him the details. "Connie, Nancy, and Dr. Kalet all think I'm overreacting. Actually, Dr. Kalet, not so much. She won't make the abuse report, however."

  "Are you overreacting?"

  "Maybe. But the wife fell down those very same steps and died as a result. Then they leave a blind man upstairs, and he falls as well. They could have put up a gate to ensure his safety. It's neglect at a minimum."

  "Sounds as if it could be." Ray emptied his beer and went for another. When he returned, he stood near the screen.

  She joined him, snuggling close as he put his arm around her shoulder. "The problem is the son-in-law is a powerful man, the daughter is a hospital employee, and there is no definite proof of abuse."

  "What are you going to do? If you have reasonable suspicion, you are legally obligated to make the call to the state. No one, in truth, will know if you were suspicious or not, unless you wrote it in the record." He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

  "No, but I described his bruises in detail. Says a bunch."

  "In this case, it isn't without a downside you need to consider. True, the report is confidential. However, people can and do talk."

  "I'll have considerable professional risk in any event."

  "Sophie, I understand about patient privacy, but you need to tell me who you're dealing with. I can't give good advice without good information."

  "The old guy is Ralph Hoffman. His son-in-law is Franco Silebi."

  "Shit. Met the man a few times. Likes to strut his power. He's involved in several local businesses and sits on some boards as well."

  "The hospital's, for example." Sophia shrugged.

  "I don't believe I'm saying this, but perhaps you could poke around and see if your theory stands," Ray said.

  She giggled. They had an ongoing battle about her interfering in cases, doing her own little investigations. The real problem was she'd managed to discover
the identity of killers and put herself in jeopardy at the same time.

  "Ralph isn't at risk at the moment. As a patient, he is well protected, and he'll need to go to long-term care before he returns to the home—if he returns. There's some time to check things out." She pointed to Roxy, who'd managed—again—to run up the bottlebrush tree to the first bifurcation. "Be back in a minute."

  Sophia returned from rescuing the dog—she was better at running up the slanted main trunk of the tree after her prey than getting down.

  Ray sat at the table with a thoughtful expression on his face.

  "What's happening with Millie's case?" Sophia said.

  "Not a whole lot yet. The medical examiner thinks she might have had a history of abuse. Lots of healed fractures."

  "Interesting. It would explain her seeming happy about being a widow."

  He frowned. "Could have been the son who beat her."

  Sophia gave it some thought, then shook her head. "Don't think so. She said Wayne lived in Florida for years and rarely went to New Jersey. Wayne and his father were estranged. Millie said he liked to blame his drinking and drug use on his old man. She wouldn't have allowed him to move in with her if he hit her. Also, she relocated to try and reconnect with him."

  "It's possible the son beat her, and she couldn't stop him from moving in."

  She puzzled over his statement. "Could be, I suppose. It doesn't set right with me. Millie acted like a strong, confident woman."

  "Remember when you commented to me that Millie was like a grandma with ink?" Ray raised a questioning brow. "Why did you say that?"

  "She is—was—edgy in a nineteen-sixties way. She told me she had smoked pot and dropped a little acid. Acid's an odd term, if you ask me." Sophia paused a moment. "Anyway, she straightened up when she got pregnant with Wayne. Then went to college when he was in the lower grades and started her teaching career."