Imperfect Defense

by Gregg E. Brickman

  "Have a seat, Detective. I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but one of our students picked the last day of school to start a fight. The mother and student couldn't get in to see me until today." Ms. Crouch had severe features, but warm eyes.

  "Boys will be boys."

  "True. This student in question is a girl."

  Ray smiled. "I suppose that's equality at work."

  "And poor parenting." She frowned. "How can I help you?"

  "You're aware Millie Peers died as a victim of murder last week?"

  "I am. The poor woman. She scheduled herself to be here the last day of the term to help with the activities. The teachers planned a rotation of the older grades through the library to preview the summer reading list. When Millie didn't show up, the teachers were concerned and called her home. No one answered. Ms. Ironmonger, our volunteer coordinator, saw the article in the paper Friday."

  "How often did Mrs. Peers come in?"

  "I can't say I know the specifics. I don't have much day-to-day interaction with our volunteers, other than the ones who help with student records. Ms. Ironmonger is here today. I expected you might want to talk to her, so I asked her to be available. You'll find her in the library, which is at the end of the main corridor, next to the gym."

  Ray thought the principal had a hands-off approach and wondered why. Every principal he'd dealt with before had been in control of the school and the activities. "Can you tell me a little about her first?"

  "Of course. She coordinates the volunteers and does a variety of other duties for the school in addition to running our student resource area. She is a librarian by profession, but we can't afford full-time support staff, so she wears many hats. We're lucky to have her. One of the high schools tried to snap her up, but she chose to stay here."

  "Does she do fundraising for the school, too?"

  "No, not really," Crouch said. "Soliciting for donations is done by some of the clubs and the PTA. We do have the annual candy sale to pay for extra library materials that Ms. Ironmonger is in charge of. We use the proceeds to buy multiple copies of the books on the teachers' course lists."

  "Anything else you can think of?"

  "I'm puzzled by your interest in Ms. Ironmonger's history." Crouch raised her eyebrows, creating furrows across her bony forehead.

  "Just routine to the investigation, ma'am. Filling in the background on Mrs. Peers." Ray stood. "Thank you for your time. If you think of anything that might be useful to us, please call." He laid a card on her desk and left to find Ironmonger. The walk took thirty seconds.

  Tracey Ironmonger, a solid-looking black woman in her late thirties, sat behind a desk near the door of the library. Books lined the walls framing an array of elementary-student-sized tables. A wall of north-facing windows made the room bright without producing glare. He approached the woman and introduced himself.

  "I'll help in any way I can." Ironmonger put down her emery board and motioned to a chair. She tapped her long red, white, and blue-patterned nails against the desktop as if impatient or annoyed.

  "This will only take a few minutes. I need some background on Millie Peers." He took a notepad from his shirt pocket.

  "The principal told me you might stop by. What specifically do you want to know?" She used her fingernails to rake through her shoulder-length hair, stopping to scratch her scalp for a second. Ray couldn't help studying it, then decided the woman wore a wig.

  "When did Mrs. Peers start coming to the school?"

  "She stopped in last fall to offer her services."

  "What did she volunteer for specifically?"

  "She wanted to do anything she could to help the school, but preferred assignments in the library or with special projects." Ironmonger shook her head. "I can't say I liked Millie, but she worked hard, showed up on schedule, and knew a lot about schools and students."

  "Why didn't you like her?"

  Ironmonger's expression pinched. "She harped constantly about some injustice or another—always had a cause."

  "For example?"

  "She bugged the district about increasing the selections for the free breakfasts. Then, she decided our book collection needed improvement. Things like that."

  "I thought the principal told me that the candy sale proceeds went primarily to books."

  "The point?" Ironmonger snapped.

  "Shouldn't that money have been used to improve the collection?"

  "It was, sir."

  "Okay." Ray made a note about Ironmonger's attitude in reference to the candy money. "Did Millie act troubled or concerned about anything the last few times she worked with you?"

  "Not really. I told you she was a crusader, and she always had something going on."

  "Tell me about her most recent issue."

  "Collecting clothing and supplies for Women in Distress." Ironmonger picked up her emery board and ran it over a fingernail.

  "Did you have issues with that?"

  "She mentioned it to everyone. Passed out cards to contact her. She'd stop by the homes and pick up the goods."

  "Sounds like she was a very giving person." Ray recalled a bag of clothing labeled Women in Distress sitting next to Sophia's front door a couple of weeks earlier. He hadn't asked about it, but thought she had contributed to Millie's campaign.

  "If she favored the cause." Ironmonger frowned.

  "Moving on. Did she talk about her son much?"

  "Wayne? On occasion."

  "What did she say?" It felt like he was pulling each and every answer from the woman.

  "Nothing much. Just Wayne said this or that. Normal stuff." She looked at her watch.

  "Am I keeping you?"

  "Uh, no."

  "We found an email on Millie's computer expressing concern you were asking for a donation again. Can you explain that?"

  "No. It was her note. She would need to explain." Ironmonger smiled, but it looked more like a smirk.

  "Do you routinely ask for donations from the volunteers?"

  "No."

  "Do you have any idea why Millie would make the comment in an email then?"

  "No." She tightened her face muscles as if concentrating. "We asked for donations for a cake sale or something from time to time. Normal stuff. That could be what she mentioned."

  Ray scribbled a few words in his notepad. Ironmonger's comments didn't ring true.

  "Where were you last Wednesday between the hours of ten and two?"

  "You think I'm a suspect?" Ironmonger sat straighter in her chair and glared at Ray. "I've never been so insulted in my life."

  "Just answer the question."

  "I was here. Working."

  "Who can verify that?"

  She shrugged. "The other teachers. A couple of students. Maybe Ms. Crouch."

  Ray thought her alibi was loose, but perhaps truthful. He knew the last days of school were busy for faculty members. Perhaps some of them would remember. "Are any of the volunteers Millie worked with here today? I'd like to speak with them."

  "No one is scheduled until summer school starts next week."

  "Then can you provide me with the names so I can contact them?"

  "I don't see any point in that. She worked mostly with me."

  "The list, please?"

  "I'd rather not have you bother my volunteers. If you annoy them, maybe they won't work here anymore. We need to protect them in that way."

  Rather than deal with the woman's resistance, Ray left a card and excused himself. Five minutes later, he left the building with volunteer and faculty rosters provided with a cordial smile by the principal's secretary.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sophia

  Sophia thought about Dr. Bhaduri's comments as her Monday morning continued. Making an abuse report to the state would create a political mess. It would be a personal mess for Sophia as well, and she could end up unemployed, maybe unemployable in the geographic area.

  The reports to the state were confidential, but she suspected, like all things, gettin
g the information involved whom you knew. Franco Silebi had connections—both in town and in Tallahassee. The solution was to make the call anonymously and keep her name out of the state records. She needed to alert Ralph's physicians, at least. They would be part of the investigation and would deduce Sophia started it. Telling them herself would encourage their keeping her role quiet.

  Dr. Nathan tracked her down later. She sat charting on a patient in the middle of one of those mysterious mid-crisis lulls and had a minute to speak with him.

  He pulled his smart phone from his lab coat pocket, tapped the screen, and held up a picture. "There's evidence of retinal hemorrhages in the back of the eye." He touched the screen and made the image larger, holding it closer for her to see. His finger pointed to several areas in the fundus.

  "Cool. I didn't know you could download the pictures from fundal photography." She knew, of course, the physicians could retrieve all manner of reports electronically. Why would this be different?

  "I had to save it to the hospital system, then download it."

  "What's the time frame?"

  "Recent. Minor hemorrhages will reabsorb over time. However, the patient is legally blind. There wasn't much reason to examine his eyes once blindness was permanent and not reversible. Even the bigger bleeds," he pointed, "might have been here awhile. You wouldn't find these without dilating the eye and doing a full exam. The last time that happened was a year ago." He tapped the screen and pointed. "This is the file from my office. There was no bleeding."

  "Okay, the damage occurred within the last year. Helpful, perhaps. What else might cause the hemorrhages, besides trauma, I mean?"

  "Diabetes, high blood pressure, retinal vein occlusion. All of which means the findings are suggestive, not diagnostic. The fall itself, if he struck his head, could have caused the hemorrhages without his receiving a forceful blow."

  "In truth, you can't say if someone struck Ralph in the head or not."

  "That's the situation. However, in combination with his bruises, I find it suspicious. Also, the man is not diabetic, doesn't have hypertension, and has no sign of retinal vein occlusion."

  "If I decide to report my suspicion of abuse, can I mention your name?"

  "Certainly. I took a copy of the exam photos for that purpose."

  She watched Dr. Nathan leave the ED, then glanced around, taking in the moving array of colorful uniforms and white lab coats. No patients or visitors were close. Sophia wanted to make the report from a hospital telephone in hopes of preserving anonymity. She'd lived in Florida long enough to distrust most government departments, and given the slow buzz of activity, it seemed like an ideal time to call and avoid attracting attention.

  Sophia stepped into the physicians' dictation room, pulled the door shut, and went to the farthest booth. After positioning herself to watch the door, she made some notes, brought up Ralph's chart on the computer, and turned the screen away from the entrance, then picked up the phone and called the Florida Abuse Hotline.

  As she answered the last question from the Adult Protective Services representative, the door burst open, and Melinda Silebi, dressed for work in a lab coat and street clothes, stomped into the room. "Hi, Sophia." She smiled.

  The representative disconnected, but Sophia kept the phone in her hand. "Okay, Mom, I'll do what I can and call you tonight." She put a confused look on her face. "What can I help you with, Melinda?" She ran the cursor to the bottom left of the computer screen to hide Ralph's demographic information.

  "Nothing, really. I thought you'd want to know my dad is having surgery today."

  "Thanks for telling me."

  "You haven't visited him again, have you?"

  "No. You asked me to stay away, which is your prerogative."

  "Okay." Melinda smiled and left the room.

  ***

  Sophia reasoned there were several odd things about the encounter with Melinda. She had stormed into the room as if expecting to find Sophia there. Had a coworker friend of Melinda sent her? She didn't act like she'd heard Sophia's conversation. Melinda had greeted Sophia pleasantly, gave a report on her dad—which Sophia found odd—confirmed she hadn't violated Melinda's order forbidding visits, then departed with a smile.

  Sophia pondered Melinda's behavior while caring for patients. Finally, she set it aside, deciding to discuss it with Ray later.

  It seemed like a good plan until Connie, Sophia's friend and mentor, texted. What did you do to tick off Melinda?

  Sophia replied, I don't think I did anything.

  Ten seconds later, her personal cell rang and displayed Connie's smiling face surrounded by disorganized curls. "Connie," Sophia said in lieu of hello. "What's going on?"

  "What happened with you and Melinda? Explain."

  Sophia summarized the encounter, then told Connie about the call to the state abuse line. "She may be making assumptions. If she connects me to the report, the shit will hit the fan for sure."

  "The fan is spinning. The splatter will be huge."

  "What exactly do you mean?"

  "I have Melinda as a Facebook friend. She has about eight hundred friends by the way, and you happen to be one of them."

  "Who knew?" Sophia didn't remember friending Melinda, but then she generally friended everyone who asked, and avoided posting anything private. "What exactly did she say?"

  "You'll need to look at it. But she said, in essence, you poked in where you don't belong, and now your butting-in behavior will cost you."

  "Anything specific?"

  "No. She didn't mention an abuse report."

  "I suppose she wouldn't. It would be announcing that I suspected Ralph was abused." Sophia swallowed. "Maybe that will be the end of it."

  "Don't count on it. She said, for starters, she planned to refer your unprofessional behavior to your manager. She said she felt insulted, and you held her up to public ridicule. She went on to say she was a professional person, respected by peers and physicians alike."

  "I did not ridicule her in public or otherwise."

  "Doesn't matter. To her, it is what you did. Maybe it's the fact she knows you talked to her dad's doctors."

  Sophia heard Connie take a deep, motherly breath and knew she hadn't finished saying her piece.

  "It sounds to me like she has an ally in the ED who saw you talking to the physicians involved with her father's care, someone who knows you're concerned about abuse."

  "Makes sense."

  "Do you have any idea who?" Connie said.

  "Damn, I don't know. I'll need to pay closer attention. I talked to Bhaduri a couple of times and to Nathan. Anyone could have watched me. But I talk to them every now and again anyway. It isn't unusual. We've always had good relationships, and Nathan is my eye doctor."

  "Today, it was noteworthy, I suspect. Call if you need anything. You'd best watch your butt, girl. Do you know Ralph is out of surgery? He's in ICU."

  "ICU? Why?"

  "He had a myocardial infarct on the table. Kathy, the charge nurse, told me he's in rough shape—on a ventilator with IV drips for his blood pressure. The heart attack may kill him."

  CHAPTER 14

  Ray

  At a few minutes before two, Ray left the elementary school and called Deg. "I'm hungry. Let's meet at the deli next to Publix, then head to the apartment building where the boys live."

  "Lakeview?"

  "Yeah. That one." He disconnected, then turned south. He didn't have far to go, so he beat Deg by about five minutes. Long enough to grab a booth in the back where they could discuss the case in relative privacy. The savory aromas of chicken soup and corned beef surrounded him. He thought there was an advantage to sitting near the kitchen.

  While he waited, he tapped a text to Sophia into his cell. What's happening?

  She responded, I think there will be a blowout. MS has already badmouthed me on fb.

  And?

  Later, baby. Gotta go.

  Okay. Talk tonight.

  Deg's huge frame f
illed the deli's door. He headed in Ray's direction. "A booth. I hate booths." Deg grunted as he squeezed onto the bench.

  "Only way to talk here." Ray pointed to the partially filled tables crammed in the front of the deli.

  "What did you get at the school?"

  Ray took a few minutes to review his notes with Deg, pausing so they could place their orders. "Ironmonger is unusually protective of the volunteers. I got a list from the school office. I'd like to divide it and see what they can tell us about Ironmonger's fundraising."

  "You think there's a connection to the homicide?" Deg said.

  "Not likely, but maybe Ironmonger has some scam working, and the victim threatened to disrupt it."

  "It's a line worth tugging. South Florida is the scam capital of the country."

  "What did you learn from Dyer?"

  The waitress approached.

  Deg retracted an arm to allow her to serve the water. When she finished, he said, "Dyer is gone until Tuesday or Wednesday. He's on a gambling junket. Which, by the way, sounds like a frequent thing for him."

  "Was he in town last Wednesday?"

  "The woman didn't know, but Dyer wasn't in the office. His planned vacation started on Thursday, and he doesn't work Wednesdays, so she had no reason to talk to him."

  "Get any information about Millie's accounts?"

  "Both the secretary and the office manager are demanding a warrant. I'll get it going when we return to the station."

  After finishing their meals, the detectives headed in separate cars to the apartment building down the street from Sophia's. It seemed a good time to find the kids in the neighborhood. Though school was over for the summer, it was possible they hadn't adjusted their work schedules and would be hanging around at their usual times.

  Young men fitting Poser's description of Ricky—big, heavyset— and Leon Putt—tall, skinny, dreds—leaned against an old Toyota parked on the street in front of the building. Agar elbowed Putt and pointed to the two unmarked cars when the detectives pulled to the curb, one at each end of the old Toyota.

  Ray slipped out of his vehicle and approached the young men. He kept his hands at his sides and forced a slight smile. "Gentlemen, we've been looking for you."