by Sara Blaedel
All this was total bullshit on her part, yet she’d worked herself up into an indignant rage. “I don’t know if you can imagine how he feels, being put through your cancellations, threatening to send him home. We’re not going to take this lying down, our lawyers will step in if this continues, these irresponsible and unethical decisions.”
“Really, I’m very sorry about all this,” the woman said. “I didn’t know you were a recent immigrant. My husband is from Greece, we’ve been through all this green card business, all the waiting. But as I said earlier, our database automatically registers if treatments can be carried out.”
“I must insist that all communication concerning his further treatment go through me,” Ilka said. “So he won’t have to worry unnecessarily and can focus on his recovery.”
She pulled the money out of her bag and asked the woman to reschedule Artie’s canceled scan. “I understand why intensive care was so expensive, when so much was done to save his life. But I’m assuming this will be enough to cover the next several days, so he doesn’t have to fear being thrown out.”
Thirty-one thousand dollars. Suddenly she remembered how much she’d promised Jeff for finding Lydia. She tried to appear as casual as possible as she peeled ten thousand off the pile, then she told the woman to keep her up to date with the expenses so she would know when the money was about to run out. “We don’t want to run into this situation again, do we.”
The woman nodded and seemed reassured, now that there was a substantial sum of money in Artie’s account again. “I’ll make a note of this in his journal, that cash has been deposited.” She sat down in front of her computer.
Ilka thanked her and reminded her about scheduling a new scan. “Will he have to wait?”
She watched impatiently as the woman’s fingers flew over the keys, then finally she leaned forward and mumbled something about rearranging the schedule. She turned to Ilka. “We can get him in this evening.”
Ilka felt like hugging her.
“We just have to have this approved by the doctor,” the woman added.
“Is there a problem?”
She shook her head. “I’ll use the authorization we already have, and I’ll note that there’s been a delay in the system.”
Ilka smiled at her; they were on the same team now. The team that doesn’t shy away from bending a few rules when necessary. “Thanks.”
She suspected the woman had seen through her, but cash spoke its own language. Now it was simply a matter of coming up with more of it to keep feeding the hungry hospital monster.
She headed down to Artie’s room. It had been hard to understand him on the phone. He’d had good reason to be afraid; the mere idea of being discharged from the hospital in his condition was absurd. Whatever the case, she was sure he was still nervous about what would happen, because he’d figured out she was lying when she told him things were going smoothly.
She peeked at him through the narrow glass window in the door. His black stocking cap was gone, and he lay on his back, though she couldn’t tell if he was asleep.
She stepped aside. Suddenly she realized she couldn’t go in there, not until she could look him straight in the eye and promise him everything would be fine.
She turned and walked back to the elevator.
19
Ilka slowed down when she drove past the funeral home and noticed the front door standing wide open. A ladder blocked the doorway, but her mother and Jette stood just inside, busy doing something. Ilka parked, and when she got out, the hearse rounded the corner. It startled her to see Leslie behind the wheel, with her father in the passenger seat. Leslie jumped out of the car and ran to the house, sobbing all the way. Ilka reached the hearse just as her father stepped out. He looked like he was about to cry too.
“What happened?” she asked.
He explained that they’d just visited Mary Ann at the jail. His lower lip was quivering as they walked to the back door. His steps were short and slow, as if he lacked the energy to move his feet.
“Wasn’t she happy to see you and Leslie?”
He nodded as they reached the door. He leaned up against the doorframe and finally looked her in the eye. “It’s horrible. They don’t have the resources to take care of a prisoner with her handicap.”
Ilka stepped over to help him with his coat, but he shook his head.
“I have to get back. They don’t have the right kind of ostomy bags. Mary Ann uses a single bag, it’s easier for her to change and takes up less space. The jail’s infirmary says all they have is two-piece bags, and now she has an infection around the opening. Mary Ann empties the bags herself, but she needs to be washed off—she needs proper care, and they can’t provide it.”
His voice broke. Ilka could tell that he blamed himself, that he was thinking that none of this would have happened had it not been for his disappearing act. Then Leslie would still be taking care of her mother. Ilka wanted to tell him he was wrong, that the real reason was the clash between Mary Ann and Fletcher, her father. A result of secrets resurrected after so many years of lies.
Instead she said, “Can’t we get hold of the right bags and have them delivered to her?”
Her father nodded. “I have a whole box of them, it’s in the trunk. Along with bandages and everything she uses to wash herself with. We always kept extra supplies in the car, in case something came up and she needed to change.”
He shook his head; all their routines had been wiped out. “Even changing to a different kind of bag, with a different adhesive, is enough to irritate the skin.”
Ilka nodded. She hadn’t even thought that Mary Ann might have had a colostomy after her accident. “Is there anything I can do?”
Her father stared into space for a moment. “If you don’t have any other plans, you could deliver the bags for us.” He added that it had been very difficult for Leslie to see her mother in jail. “She broke down after we left. But I think it was good for them to see each other, even though they didn’t talk much.”
He explained that prisoners were permitted only one weekly twenty-minute visit. Leslie and her mother had sat across from each other, separated by a glass wall, and spoke by telephone. Most of the time had been spent talking about the problem with the ostomy bags.
“Didn’t you talk to her?”
He shook his head and said that he’d waited outside, because an ID was required to get in, and he didn’t have one.
“Your mother and Leslie went with me to get an ID and license. But they won’t come for several days, even though the mistake was corrected in their database. And anyway, the important thing was for Leslie and Mary Ann to speak together.”
“But she knows you’re back?”
He smiled a bit wearily and nodded. “Amber called her and explained.”
“I’ll drive over and deliver the bags,” Ilka said. “If they’ll let me in!”
He looked at her, obviously grateful for the offer. “They said that family and friends can deliver medicine in the lobby of the jail, twenty-four hours a day. Prescription medicine has to be approved by the jail’s doctor, but that’s not necessary with the bags.”
“How do I find it?”
Her father wasn’t sure what she meant.
“The jail. Where is it, is it far away?”
He smiled. “It’s right downtown, across from the library. On the same side of the street as Oh Dennis! The Racine County Jail takes up half the block, you can’t miss it.”
Ilka was surprised. What a place, she thought. Jails and crematoria, right in the middle of town. Not something you’d see on the Kongens Nytorv, in the center of Copenhagen.
She heard her mother and Jette chattering out in the foyer. They were picking up and rearranging things, she saw when she stuck her head in the room. They’d pushed the large glass cases up against a wall. Ilka asked if they needed anything from town, or if they wanted to go along.
“We have a meeting with Gregg,” her mother said. “He’s s
topping by for a cup of coffee.”
Ilka nodded and said she’d be back soon. The door to the arrangement room was closed. She thought about checking on Leslie, but she decided her half sister probably needed time alone after the trip to the jail. She pulled on her coat and followed her father to the car. He opened the trunk, grabbed a brown cardboard box, and handed it to her.
“It’s all in here,” he said. “Just go in and say it’s to be delivered to the prisoner Mary Ann Fletcher Jensen, so they get it registered in their database.”
Ilka stood out on the sidewalk holding the box as she looked over the enormous red-brick building. Should she just stroll on in, or was there a place to check in first? She walked over to a double door that slid open when she approached. Straight ahead sat two uniformed men behind the front desk. One of them tilted his head up and looked at her expectantly.
“Mary Ann Fletcher Jensen.” Her palms felt sweaty. “I’m here to deliver her ostomy bags, they’re waiting for them.”
The officer didn’t seem to be listening, but he leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him, and apparently typed in her name.
“The prisoner was transferred this afternoon to health services.” His voice sounded mechanical over the speakers in front of her.
She explained about the ostomy bags and bandages that needed to be changed, which was why it was important to deliver the box to Mary Ann. She still wasn’t sure the officer was listening, but she stood at the front desk and waited. Nearly five minutes later a door to the left of the desk opened noisily, and an older man in a white coat stepped into the foyer.
Before he reached Ilka, he said, “Is your mother allergic to penicillin?”
“My mother?” Her mind raced; her father and Leslie had probably said they would be coming back with the supplies, and she ran the risk of being thrown out if she set them straight. “Sorry, I don’t know.”
The doctor turned and headed for the door. Ilka followed him, not sure if she was breaking the rules. Holding on to the box bolstered her confidence. But just inside the door, she was blocked by a counter and a long enclosed glass booth with more officers in uniform. Farther on she saw a brightly lit hallway that was mostly a row of white doors. All of them closed. Cells, obviously, she thought.
She was told to sign a form, stating she was the one who had delivered the box.
“And we’ll need an ID,” the officer said. He opened a small door to the right of the booth and motioned for her to place the box in the shallow chute.
Ilka fumbled around in her bag to find her billfold and her Danish driver’s license. She hoped they wouldn’t refuse to take the box when they discovered she wasn’t Leslie. The chute door closed, and the officer studied her license closely. She took a step back and waited; no doubt she was being checked up on, but there was precious little they would find on her.
The doctor had vanished, but one of the white doors opened and a nurse walked out. At once she closed the door behind her and checked to make sure it was locked. Ilka tried to imagine the lives being led behind those doors.
Another door farther down opened, a broader door, with indentations around it. At first, she didn’t recognize the person coming out, but—although the officer frowned at her—she stepped close to the glass wall when she noticed the wheelchair.
Mary Ann’s long blond hair hung down over her body. It was thin and parted in the middle. She wore an orange prison jumpsuit and sat crumpled in the chair, staring straight ahead as a uniformed woman pushed her down the hallway. Even at a distance it was obvious she was in pain. Her skin was pale, translucent even, and the elegance Ilka had once seen in her father’s wife had disappeared. Her eyes were empty, and when the woman behind spoke to her, she didn’t react.
“All right, thank you, ma’am!” The officer handed Ilka’s license back to her. The door behind her opened.
Mary Ann was wheeled into a room right behind the glass booth, and the woman shut the door. Ilka stared at it.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the officer repeated. Slowly, she turned and walked out.
20
It’s about Raymond Fletcher,” Ilka said, after entering the police station. “I’m here to make a witness statement.”
She chose to call it a family tragedy, not a murder, when she asked to talk to Stan Thomas. He’d been the first one to enter Fletcher’s office after the dramatic shooting. Mary Ann had immediately confessed to killing her father, adding that no one else had been in the room. Leslie had sat motionless and stared straight ahead, while Ilka had stood in the doorway. Twenty minutes earlier Ilka had seen Mary Ann calmly remove the rifle from her daughter’s hands.
Officer Thomas told her to take a seat.
“It’s not true that Mary Ann was alone when she shot Raymond Fletcher,” she began. “Leslie and I were both there when it happened. Of course, I should have given a statement right then, but I assumed Mary Ann would tell you what happened before the shooting. And I’ve been out of town for several days. Maybe you’ve heard about my father?”
He nodded without commenting on the undertaker’s surprising return.
“That’s why I just found out that Mary Ann didn’t tell you that her father threatened Leslie.”
Thomas leaned back in his seat and listened.
“Fletcher was crazy mad. He’d just returned from the police station after his release, and he accused Leslie of riling her mother up and getting her to report him for fraud and false accusations. He claimed that Leslie had made everything up, that she was out for revenge after discovering the truth about her real father. Fletcher threatened to kill all three of us! And you know he wasn’t the type who made empty threats. He kept a gun in his desk drawer—but surely you found it.”
Ilka had noticed the gun when she opened the drawer and took out the envelope containing twenty thousand dollars. From the look on Thomas’s face, she could see they hadn’t searched the office. Mary Ann’s confession had been enough for them.
“Mary Ann shot her father in self-defense. She saved our lives, all three of us.”
Thomas scooted his chair in to his desk, and for a moment they sat in silence. Then he looked her straight in the eye. “And Leslie will confirm this?”
“Yes, of course. She was there.”
The officer leaned forward and typed something in on his computer, Ilka couldn’t see what.
“I’m absolutely sure Mary Ann is trying to protect her daughter, so all this private family stuff doesn’t come out. That’s why she didn’t tell you about her father threatening Leslie.”
Even though she didn’t particularly like her father’s wife, the image of her in jail kept coming back to Ilka. And she couldn’t imagine how humiliating it must be for Mary Ann to have her personal hygiene become a problem. Ilka felt that Mary Ann had already been punished enough by having to live most of her life under the thumb of her father.
Thomas rubbed his nose and turned back to Ilka. “What you’re saying is, we should reopen this case?”
“What I’m saying is, Mary Ann shouldn’t be in jail. She acted in self-defense, and she saved two lives, besides her own.”
Ilka nearly added that Mary Ann had been moved to the jail’s infirmary, and it was vital that she be released as soon as possible, but she held back. She didn’t want to make Thomas suspicious. She did say, however, that if Mary Ann didn’t have a lawyer, she would contact one immediately.
Thomas checked on his computer and shook his head. “No, no lawyer. The case is being treated as a voluntary confession. But from what you tell me, we need to bring her back in for questioning.”
Ilka couldn’t stop herself. “How soon could she be released?”
“That depends on how soon you can get her a lawyer. And then it’s up to the lawyer to find out if she really wants to change her statement. If she doesn’t want to tell us what really happened, we can’t make her do it.”
“Leslie will confirm it,” Ilka said. “And I’m sure she can
convince her mother to tell the truth, even though there’s so much private family stuff involved.”
Ilka could see how annoyed Thomas was that all this hadn’t come out when they arrested Mary Ann, but she also caught a glimpse of understanding and goodwill on his face.
She thought it was possible Thomas had been at the police station when Raymond Fletcher was brought in, after Mary Ann had reported him for fraud, corruption, and making false accusations against one of his employees. But they’d only been able to hold him for less than an hour. Ilka imagined it had been hard for Thomas to see Fletcher wriggle out of the charges made against him—and who knew what threats Fletcher had made to get the police to release him.
In addition to being a powerful man, Raymond Fletcher had been generous to the town of Racine, in a manner that many would describe as blatant graft: an indoor swimming center, new mosaics in a church, a marina. He’d been a man who expected—and demanded—something in return, so the police looked the other way when he and his men were involved in certain corrupt activities. And now that he was dead, it wouldn’t be difficult to find people willing to turn against him. Mary Ann hadn’t been the only one living under his thumb.
Fletcher had been over eighty when he died. The lives of so many people would have been different had someone killed him much earlier, Ilka thought. She had absolutely no scruples about lying to get her father’s wife out of prison. She stood up when Thomas called in an officer to take her statement and enter it into their records. She already knew which lawyer to contact: the one who had defended her father’s friend, Frank Conaway, against Fletcher’s false accusations.
“So, let’s see if we can’t help her,” Thomas said.
It only took an hour. By signing her witness statement, Ilka officially swore she was telling the truth. The officer made a copy. Outside in the police station parking lot, she called the lawyer and told him exactly the same thing she’d said to Stan Thomas. It was self-defense. Mary Ann had saved their lives.
