Imperfect Defense

by Gregg E. Brickman

  When Putt sidled away, as if preparing to take off, Agar blocked him. Agar said, "We got to talk to Five-O. They been looking for us. You know that, bro."

  Putt scowled at his friend, but didn't try to continue. He said something, which only Agar seemed to hear.

  Agar nodded to Putt while shoving his hands into the pockets of his low-slung pants, then turned his attention to Ray. "What you want?"

  Ray leaned into the window of the Toyota at the curb and spoke to the young woman behind the wheel. "We'll be talking to the guys for a while. Why don't you take off?"

  She did.

  Ray directed Agar in one direction and Deg, who had eased out from behind the wheel, did the same with Putt, moving him the other way.

  Ray said, "First tell me your whole name and address."

  "Ricky Agar. I live there." He motioned. "Apartment One-F."

  "Age?" Ray said.

  "Seventeen."

  "Who do you live with?"

  "My mom."

  "You work?"

  "At the counter in the McDonald's on the corner."

  "Do you know about the lady who was murdered last week?" Ray watched the young man's eyes as he spoke.

  "Everybody does. Miss Millie was a good person. Sometimes we'd carry in her groceries. She'd offer us money, but we didn't take it. She'd give us Cokes instead. We'd take them."

  "Who are you including in the we?"

  "Me, sometimes Leon. Him, over there." Agar pointed. "Our other friends." Agar closed his eyes and recited names, then provided vague addresses in response to Ray's questions.

  "Where were you between ten and two last Wednesday?"

  "I was in school, man. Taking a physics final. Everyone else was there, too, excepting Leon."

  "Why wasn't Leon in school?"

  "He graduated this year. The seniors got special treatment and didn't have to go the last few days. That's all." A worried expression crossed Agar's face. "Leon didn't hurt Miss Millie. He liked her."

  "Some residents said that of all the kids in your group, Leon was the one who acted threatening."

  Agar shrugged. "You know how it is. He likes to act tough, but he don't mean nothing by it."

  Ray took a minute to verify the high school, the physics teacher's name, and the time of the class, then excused Agar. He walked down the block to where Deg had backed Putt up against the red-flowered ixora hedge.

  "As I was saying, Mr. Putt, either you talk to us here and now, or I'll give you a ride to the station." Deg growled the words.

  Putt muttered a curse but looked resigned. "I didn't have school. I was a fricking senior. We didn't have to go."

  "What were you doing on the day Mrs. Peers was killed?" Deg got closer, bending forward and extending his arms to close him in on all sides.

  "Back off. I'm talking." Putt scowled, his face ugly with the effort. "I was home. We had a senior party the night before. I was sleepin' it off."

  "Anyone who can verify?" Deg looked skeptical.

  "No." Putt's shoulders slumped. "Listen, man. I live with my sister. She's a nurse, and she was workin'. If she finds out you were hassling me, she'll be all mad. I promised to stay clean so I can go to college."

  "Where does your sister work?"

  "At the hospital." He pointed in the general direction of the medical center.

  "What's your sister's name?"

  "Cheryl."

  "Cheryl what?"

  "Putt."

  "What do you do with your time?"

  "I'm taking computer sciences at Broward College, one of those early admission programs where you get both high school and college credit. I work there, too. Part-time. My sister supports me."

  Ray said, "Where are your parents?"

  "The old man's in jail. The old lady's a ho. She gives us money sometimes, but she doesn't come around. My sister made her leave 'cause she was bringing her johns home."

  "Mr. Putt, if you're such a fine, upstanding citizen, why do you crowd the people in the neighborhood?" Deg said.

  "Man, just trying to be a big man, you know. That's all. I don't mean nothing by it."

  "When was the last time you talked to Mrs. Peers?" Ray said. The answers rang true.

  Putt bit his bottom lip and looked up. "Hm, a couple days before she died. Ricky and I carried in her groceries, then took her trash can to the street."

  "You can go now. Don't leave town." Deg handed Putt a business card. "Let me know if you have anything to add."

  ***

  Ray watched Putt cross the parking lot toward the apartment building, then reached into the inside pocket of his sports coat, extracted a two-page spreadsheet showing the school volunteers, and handed one sheet to Deg. "Interesting that Ironmonger wouldn't give me the names, but the principal's secretary did."

  "We should be able to knock off most of these by six." Deg pointed to a name on the page. "Some are listed as working in the library."

  "I figure we start with those, then proceed to the others if our questions aren't answered." Ray handed over a printout of the faculty members. "We need to know if any of these remember seeing Ironmonger last Wednesday."

  "It'll only be a matter of time before the phones are ringing and everyone on both lists knows we're asking questions."

  "Right. Let's get on it." Ray nodded to Deg, slid into his vehicle, and headed to the closest address.

  The first two people on Ray's list weren't involved at the elementary school any longer. Their children had progressed to middle school, which is where the mothers did their volunteer hours.

  One refused to answer questions. "I'm just happy to be done with that school."

  The second had no opinion.

  Ray muttered a curse and wondered if he was chasing bumblebees.

  The third mother, Cindy Jones, was home. Ray introduced himself and told her he was investigating Millie Peers' death.

  "It was such a shock when we heard Millie was dead. I'll miss her. She'd call once in a while, just to chat." Jones' eyes filled with tears. She brushed them away. "How can I help?"

  "Did you work in the library at the school last Wednesday."

  "I helped with the end of year party in my son's classroom," Jones said.

  "Do you recall seeing Ms. Ironmonger that day?"

  She looked thoughtful. "No, I don't remember, but I didn't go to the library either."

  "Tell me about your volunteering experience with Ms. Ironmonger."

  The short, round dark-skinned woman looked thoughtful. "Tracey thinks her time is more important than anyone else's, and she has no manners. She is organized, but she's a bitch—sorry to say."

  He flashed on Ironmonger doing her manicure during their interview. He didn't feel the need to pursue the comment about manners. "How do you mean she's a bitch?"

  "I should apologize for using that word, but it's perfect. Pitting the volunteers against one another, that sort of thing. It's like she didn't want us being friends. She was very successful at it, too. Every other place I've volunteered, we were all friends. Some of the relationships outlasted the projects we worked on."

  "Any idea why she acts like that?"

  "Yes—and no. Tracey is big into fundraising. She seems to think that as volunteers we are obligated to donate more than our time."

  "People do that?"

  "Sure. They don't want to risk retribution against their children." Jones paused as if considering whether to continue. "Everyone I know caved in to her demands. Me included. Except for Millie, that is."

  "How do you know that?" Ray said.

  "Millie didn't care what Ironmonger thought. She was old and didn't have relatives in the school, so she talked to everyone, all the time."

  "What did she talk about?"

  "Millie is—was—a very caring person. She was all for the students and what they needed. But she was involved in other things, too. She had a list of charities she collected for—not money, but clothes, old books, whatever. She came around in her car and loaded
her trunk."

  "Go on." Jones was on a roll, and Ray wanted to keep her tumbling along. "What was her conversation about Ironmonger?"

  "What is this about anyway? I don't understand how Tracey is related to your investigation."

  "We're covering all the details, looking into Mrs. Peers' life, habits, associations. Okay?"

  "I suppose. I . . . Millie believed that Tracey used the money she collected for herself, not the library. Millie helped receive new materials, put the library coding on the spines, that kind of stuff. She shelved the new books and kept a list of the invoices. The total is nowhere near what Tracey says she needs to buy books."

  Ray nodded and made a note to follow up.

  "The candy sale money all goes to the library as well. Tracey runs it."

  "How about new books from that money?"

  "Some. Not many. Millie planned to take all her information to the principal and if Crouch wouldn't listen—Crouch thinks Tracey can do no wrong—Millie was going to the police."

  "Have any of the mothers tried to talk to Crouch?"

  "My friend Gail went to her. Crouch acted like she didn't believe her. Told Gail if she had a problem with Tracey collecting for charity, then she should refuse to give a donation. So, Gail placed her son in private school for the rest of the year."

  "She felt threatened?"

  "She did after Tracey told her, 'Thanks for talking to the principal. Better hope Joey is a strong boy, because he's so small. He could be the target of bullying.' Gail refused to go back to Crouch and wouldn't talk to the police. She just made other arrangements."

  Ray was shocked. Perhaps Ironmonger was deep enough into illegal activity to want to cover it up. "So what you're telling me is that Ironmonger uses children to get back at mothers who don't play by her rules."

  "Precisely."

  CHAPTER 15

  Sophia

  The first thing on Sophia's agenda after receiving her patient assignment on Tuesday morning was to call ICU and check Ralph's status. When she and Ray spoke about it the previous evening, he suggested Melinda Silebi's vehemence was directly proportional to her father's condition and the likelihood he'd be able to talk to investigators. Sophia couldn't disagree, but would have called to check on Ralph anyway.

  Kathy, the charge nurse, had been in Sophia's nursing school graduating class, then, by coincidence, started at Coral Bay Medical Center in the same orientation group. They weren't social friends, but watched each other's backs at work—Sophia would delay moving a patient until Kathy was ready, or Kathy would take a patient faster if needed. Sophia hoped the relationship would smooth the way for more information.

  "He is still on the ventilator," Kathy said. "We've lightened his sedation, and he's trying to breathe on his own."

  "How about his blood pressure?"

  "He's on drugs to maintain. The infarct was massive. But he's holding his own, in my opinion."

  "How is his daughter reacting?"

  "Wouldn't know. She hasn't checked in since right after surgery yesterday. Neither has the son-in-law or the grandson."

  "She could be keeping updated through Dr. Bhaduri," Sophia said.

  "That's possible. Usually, when employees have family members in the hospital, they hang around a lot, looking for extra information. That sort of thing."

  "It's the same in the ED." Sophia put a finger on the disconnect button. "Thanks."

  "No problem. By the way, when Melinda was here yesterday, she went on and on about you, saying you insulted her and held her up to public ridicule."

  "I did not. She give any details?"

  "No, just talked about how she is a professional and you have no right to poke into her business," Kathy said.

  "Crap. Keep an eye out when she does come in," Sophia said.

  "Will do."

  They disconnected, and Sophia trotted down the hall to her first room. The gentleman was waiting for the physician to suture a large gash on his right forearm. She inspected the wound and recorded his vital signs. "Let me check when the doctor will be in. Okay?"

  "That helps." His face was set in a frown. He checked his watch three times in the five minutes she spent with him.

  While on her mission to find Dr. Kalet, Nancy Mitchell, the ED supervisor, flagged Sophia into the office.

  "What's up?"

  Nancy pointed to a chair and exhaled sharply, sure signs something was wrong. "I thought we'd settled it, and you would not make a report to the state on the Hoffman abuse issue."

  "No. You said you didn't want to fight the politics of making a report. However, living in the Silebi home is not healthy for Ralph. His eye exam is suggestive of abuse. His fracture history is suggestive of abuse. His behavior is suggestive of abuse. And, his wife fell down the same steps and died. At the very least, they should have gated the staircase to protect a blind man from falling. Dr. Bhaduri admitted she didn't dig into Lorraine's accident and signed off on the death certificate as a routine thing. Dr. Nathan agreed with me about making the call and told me to use his name."

  "So, you made the report and ignored my advice?" Nancy's face was stony.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Melinda Silebi was in to see me early this morning. She went to great lengths to tell me how much she loved her father, how pleased Franco and she were when Ralph and Lorraine moved into their home, and how well they all got along. She even offered to bring me references from her neighbors attesting to her interaction with her father. She said she has a file of letters from her parish about Franco's and her dedication and service, especially to the elderly support groups. Then, she said, in addition to you poking into Franco's and her business, she thinks you reported her for abusing her father, and you humiliated her by discussing it in the nursing station in front of others."

  "Nancy, that's a bald-faced lie. I went into the furthest acoustical booth in the dictation room and closed the door. She burst into the room, and I pretended I was talking to my mother. She was friendly when I walked past her, even told me her dad was having surgery." Sophia pondered the situation. "What did you tell her?"

  "That if you made a report, and I didn't know that you did, you had a professional responsibility to take action if you had a reasonable suspicion of abuse. The state would ask questions, and if they found no confirmation, the problem would go away. I suggested she be patient and not discuss it around the hospital."

  "She's been talking. Not about the report, but accusing me of defaming her and her husband. She blasted me on her Facebook page as well."

  "One of the staff sent me a link to her post."

  Sophia shrugged. "What happens next?"

  "Well, I'll support you publicly, but privately I'm more than angry that you disregarded me. You need to be a team player."

  "Yes, ma'am." Sophia said it, even though she didn't feel or believe it. She believed her role was to advocate for her patients, even if it didn't make her popular. Nancy's response pissed her off.

  "Also, I don't understand why, if you had to make the report, you didn't do it from home."

  "I wanted to call during the day and speak to a person, not a machine. Also, there is anonymity to using the hospital phone. Besides, there was the rightful expectation of privacy—acoustical booth in a room with a closed door seems private to me. An area, by the way, that Melinda had no cause to use. Dieticians don't use the dictation room in the ED. I think she saw me go in and followed. Also, she was not in the nursing station when I went in. That tells me she was skulking around."

  "And you didn't discuss your call in the station?"

  "No. Ask anyone who worked yesterday."

  "I will. You can be assured of it."

  "The only discussion I had on the subject, other than with the physicians, was with my friend when she called to tell me about the Facebook post. What else did Melinda say?"

  "She said she didn't expect me to take any action. She wanted me to know about your bad judgment, that's all, so I could keep an eye on you. Which, b
y the way, I will. She went on to repeat how humiliated and embarrassed she is and how enraged Franco and her son are." Anger swept her face. "Hear me clearly. Do not antagonize her. Do not respond on Facebook. Do not publicly discuss the situation. Stay out of Melinda's way if you can. If not, be polite and move on."

  "Yes, ma'am." This time Sophia meant it.

  She left the office, intent on walking off her mad and finding Dr. Kalet in the process. She was in the gash patient's room, chatting and suturing. Sophia stayed to assist, dressed the wound, and discharged the patient after giving him his directions and papers. When she returned to her area, Melinda stood in the middle of the hall, blocking the way.

  "Hello, Sophia. How are you today?" Melinda smiled.

  "Fine, thank you." Sophia ducked into a room, wondering what that was about.

  ***

  Sitting alone for a late lunch break, Sophia surveyed the almost empty cafeteria. The table, with its view of the blue sky and sunlight failed to cheer her. She poked at a less-than-crisp salad and let her mind drift.

  Ray was making progress with Millie's investigation, but he wasn't saying much. His evasiveness was aimed, in Sophia's opinion, at keeping her from getting involved. Over the years, they clashed many times when she poked into his cases. She understood his point of view, but . . . would probably interfere again.

  Millie's death and finding her killer haunted Sophia's thoughts during private moments. They'd had a bit of a kinship in their tendency to crusade for the benefit of others. Sophia's sense of loss was keen.

  The whole business with Ralph was unsettling, too. She wondered if her distress over Millie clouded her judgment and hoped she didn't err with the report to the state. No doubt, a shit-storm of controversy would result.

  She texted Ray, asking if he had time to talk. Her cell phone rang fifteen seconds later.

  "What's up?" His deep voice was settling.

  Speaking in a hushed tone, Sophia told him about the meeting with Nancy. "At least Melinda isn't demanding my head, and Nancy isn't going to formally reprimand me for ignoring her advice."