T Is for Trespass

by Sue Grafton

  “Tell you what: I’d be happy to call his doctor and pass along your concerns. I know this guy socially and I think he’d listen to me.”

  “Let’s hold off on that. His caregiver lives on the premises and she’s already hypersensitive. I don’t want to step on her toes unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Understood,” he said.

  I left the office at noon that day, thinking to make myself a quick lunch at home. When I rounded the studio and reached the back patio, I saw Solana knocking frantically on Henry’s kitchen door. She’d thrown a coat over her shoulders like a shawl and she was clearly upset.

  I paused on my doorstep. “Is something wrong?”

  “Do you know when Mr. Pitts is getting home? I’ve knocked and knocked, but he must be out.”

  “I don’t know where he is. Can I help you?”

  I could see the conflict in her face. I was probably the last person on earth she’d be appealing to, but her problem must have been pressing because she clutched the edges of her coat with one hand and crossed the patio. “I need a hand with Mr. Vronsky. I put him in the shower and I can’t get him out. Yesterday he fell and hurt himself again so he’s afraid of slipping on the tile.”

  “Can we manage him between us?”

  “I hope so. Please.”

  We walked double-time to Gus’s front door, which she’d left ajar. I followed her into the house, dropping my bag on the couch in the living room as we passed. She was talking over her shoulder, saying, “I didn’t know what else to do. I was getting him cleaned up before supper. He’s had trouble with his balance, but I thought I could handle him. He’s in here.”

  She led me through Gus’s bedroom and into the bathroom, which smelled of soap and steam. The bathroom floor had a slippery cast to it and I could see how difficult it would be to maneuver. Gus was huddled on a plastic stool in one corner of the shower. The water had been turned off and it looked like Solana had done what she could to dry him off before she left. He was shivering despite the robe she’d thrown around him to keep him warm. His hair was wet and water was still dripping down his cheek. I’d never seen him without clothes and I was shocked at how thin he was. His shoulder sockets looked enormous while his arms were all bone. His left hip was badly bruised and he was weeping, making a whimpering sound that spoke of his helplessness.

  Solana bent over him. “You’re fine. You’re okay now. I found someone to help. Don’t you worry.”

  She dried him off and then she took his right arm while I took his left, offering support as we hoisted him to his feet. He was shaky and clearly off-kilter, only able to take baby steps. She moved to a position in front of him and held him by the hands, walking backward to stabilize him as he tottered after her. I kept one hand under his elbow as he shuffled into the bedroom. As frail as he was, it was a trick to keep him upright and on the move.

  When we reached the bed, Solana stood him close by, leaning him against the mattress for support. He clung to me with both hands while she slipped first his one arm and then the other into his flannel pajama top. Below, the skin sagged from his thighs and his pelvic bones looked sharp. We sat him on the edge of the bed and she slipped his feet through his pajama bottoms. Together we lifted him briefly so she could pull the bottoms up over his flanks. Again, she eased him onto the edge of the bed. When she lifted his feet and rotated his legs to slide them under the covers, he cried out in pain. She had a stack of old quilts nearby and she laid three over him to offset his chill. His trembling seemed uncontrollable and I could hear his teeth chattering.

  “Why don’t I make him a cup of tea?”

  She nodded, doing what she could to make him comfortable.

  I moved down the hallway to the kitchen. The teakettle was on the stove. I ran the tap until the water was hot, filled the kettle, then set it on the burner. Hastily I went through the well-stocked cupboards, looking for tea bags. New bottle of vodka? No. Cereal, pasta, and rice? Nix. I discovered the box of Lipton’s on my third pass. I found a cup and saucer and set them on the counter. I went to the door and peered around the corner. I could hear Solana in the bedroom, murmuring to Gus. I didn’t dare stop to think about the risk I was taking.

  I slipped across the hall to the living room and moved to the desk. The pigeonholes were much as they’d been before. No bills or receipts in evidence, but I could see his bank statements, his checkbook, and the two savings account passbooks, held together by a single rubber band. I slipped off the band and took a quick look at the balances in his passbooks. The account that had originally held fifteen thousand dollars appeared to be untouched. The second passbook showed a number of withdrawals, so I shoved that in my bag. I opened his checkbook and removed the register, then put the checkbook cover and the one savings passbook back in the cubbyhole.

  I moved to the couch and pushed the items to the bottom of my shoulder bag. Four long strides later I was back in the kitchen, pouring boiling water over a Lipton’s tea bag. My heart was banging so hard that when I carried the china cup and saucer down the hall to Gus’s bedroom, the two rattled together like castanets. Before I went into the bedroom I had to pour the tea I’d slopped from the saucer back into the cup.

  I found Solana sitting on the edge of the bed, patting Gus’s hand. I set the cup and saucer on the bed table. The two of us arranged pillows behind his back and secured him in an upright position. “We’ll let this cool and then you can have a nice sip of tea,” she said to him.

  His eyes sought mine and I could see what I swore was a mute appeal.

  I glanced at the clock. “Didn’t you say he had a doctor’s appointment later today?”

  “With his internist, yes. Mr. Vronsky’s been so shaky on his feet that I’m concerned.”

  “Is he strong enough to go?”

  “He’ll be fine. Once he’s warm again, I can get him dressed.”

  “What time is his appointment?”

  “In an hour. The doctor’s office is only ten minutes from here.”

  “One thirty?”

  “Two.”

  “I hope everything’s okay. I can wait and help you get him in the car, if you like.”

  “No, no. I can manage now. I’m grateful for your help.”

  “I’m glad I was there. For now, unless you need me for something else, I’ll be on my way,” I said. I was torn between wanting to hover and needing to escape. I could feel a trickle of flop sweat in the small of my back. I didn’t wait for a word of thanks, which I knew would be in short supply in any event.

  I moved through the living room, grabbed my shoulder bag, and went out to my car. With a glance at my watch, I fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb. If I played my cards right, I could make copies of Gus’s financial data and get the checkbook and savings account book back in the desk while Solana was taking him to his appointment.

  When I reached my office I unlocked the door, slung my bag on the desk, and turned on the copy machine. During the laborious warm-up process, I shifted from foot to foot, groaning at the delay. As soon as the readout announced the machine was ready, I began making copies of the pages in the check register, plus the deposits and withdrawals recorded in the passbook. I’d study the figures later. Meanwhile, if I timed it right, I could head back to my place and hover in the wings. Once I saw Solana drive off with Gus for his doctor’s appointment, I could slip in the back door and return the items, leaving her none the wiser. A capital plan. While it depended on proper timing, I was in the perfect position to pull it off—assuming the goon wasn’t there.

  My copy machine seemed agonizingly slow. The carriage line of white-hot light ticked back and forth across the plate. I’d lift the lid, open the book to the next two pages, lower the lid, and press the button. The copy paper slid out of the machine, still hot to the touch. When I was finished I turned off the machine and reached for my bag. That’s when my gaze strayed to my desk calendar. The notation for Friday, January 15, read “Millard Fredrickson, 2:00 P.M.�
�� I went around the desk and looked at the entry right-side up. “Shit!”

  It took me half a minute to find the Fredricksons’ telephone number. In hopes of rescheduling, I snatched up the handset and punched in the numbers. The line was busy. I checked the clock. It was 1:15. Solana’d told me the doctor’s office was ten minutes away, which meant she’d leave at 1:30 or so to give herself time to park and ferry Gus into the building. He’d proceed at a creeping pace, especially in light of his recent fall, which must have left him in pain. She’d probably drop him at the entrance, park, and go back, guiding him through the automated glass doors and up the elevator. If I went to the Fredricksons’ early, I could conduct a quick interview and beat it back to my place before she returned. Anything I missed, I could ask Millard later in a follow-up call.

  The Fredricksons didn’t live that far from me, and he’d probably be delighted to have me in and out of his place in the paltry fifteen minutes I had to spare. I picked up my clipboard with the notes I’d taken during my chat with his wife. My anxiety level was way up, but I had to focus on the task at hand.

  The drive from my office to the Fredricksons’ naturally entailed being caught by any number of red lights. At the intersections controlled by stop signs, I’d do a quick visual survey, making sure there were no cop cars in evidence, and then I’d roll on through without bothering to stop. I turned onto the Fredricksons’ street, parked across from the house, and made my way to the front door. I nearly lost my footing on the algae-slick wooden wheelchair ramp, but I caught myself before I went down on my butt. I was pretty sure I’d wrenched my back in a way I’d have to pay for later.

  I rang the bell and waited, expecting Gladys to come to the door as she had on my earlier visit. Instead, Mr. Fredrickson opened the door in his wheelchair with a paper napkin tucked in his shirt collar.

  “Hello, Mr. Fredrickson. I thought I’d pop in a few minutes early, but if I interrupted your lunch, I can always come back in an hour or so. Is that better for you?” I was thinking please, please, please, but I didn’t actually clasp my hands in prayer.

  He glanced down at the napkin and removed it with a tug. “No, no. I just finished. We might as well get started as long as you’re here.” He rolled himself back, made a two-point turn, and pushed himself as far as the coffee table. “Grab a chair. Gladys is off at rehab so I’ve got a couple hours to spare.”

  The notion of spending two hours with the man made the panic rise anew. “It won’t take me that long. A few quick questions and I’ll get out of your hair. Is this seat okay?”

  I was busy stacking magazines and mail that I moved to one side so I could sit on the couch where I’d sat before. I heard a muffled barking from a back room, but there was no sign of the bird so maybe the dog had had a nice lunch as well. I took out my tape recorder, which I hoped still had juice. “I’ll be recording this interview the same way I did with your wife. I hope you’re agreeable.” I was already punching buttons, getting properly set.

  “Yes. Fine. Anything you want.”

  I recited my name, his, date, time, subject matter, and other particulars talking so fast it sounded like the tape recorder was operating at twice its normal speed.

  He folded his hands in his lap. “I might as well start at the beginning. I know how you people are…”

  I flipped through the pages on my yellow legal pad. “I have most of the information here so all I need is to fill in a few blanks. I’ll be out of here shortly.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account. We have nothing to hide. Her and me had a long talk about this and we intend to cooperate. Seems only fair.”

  I dropped my gaze to the reel turning in the machine and felt my body grow still. “We appreciate that,” I said.

  The phrase “we have nothing to hide” echoed through my frame. What came immediately to mind was the old saying “The louder he proclaims his honesty, the faster we count the silver.” His aside was the equivalent of someone beginning a sentence with the phrase “to be perfectly honest.” You can just about bet whatever comes next will be straddling the line between falsehood and an outright lie.

  “Any time you’re ready,” I said, without looking at him.

  He related his rendition of the accident in tedious detail. His tone was rehearsed and his account so clearly mimicked what I’d heard from her that I knew they’d conferred at length. Weather conditions, seat belt, Lisa Ray’s abruptly pulling into his lane, the slamming on of brakes, which he accomplished with his hand control. Gladys couldn’t possibly remember everything she’d told me, but I knew if I spoke to her again, her story would be amended until it was a duplicate of her husband’s. I scribbled as he spoke, making sure I was covering the same ground. There’s nothing worse than running into an inaudible response when a tape is transcribed.

  At the back of my mind I was fretting about Gus. I had no idea how I’d get the financial data back where it belonged, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I nodded as Mr. Fredrickson went on and on. I made sympathetic noises and kept my expression a near parody of interest and concern. He warmed to the subject as he proceeded with his narrative. Thirty-two minutes later, when he started repeating himself, I said, “Well, thanks. I think this about covers it. Is there anything else you’d like to add for the record?”

  “I believe that’s it,” he said. “Just a mention of where we were going when that Lisa Ray woman ran into us. I believe you asked my wife and it’d slipped her mind.”

  “That’s right,” I said. He fidgeted slightly and his voice had changed so I knew a whopper was about to escape his lips. I leaned forward attentively, pen poised over the page.

  “The market.”

  “Ah, the market. Well, that makes sense. Which one?”

  “That one on the corner at the bottom of the hill.”

  I nodded, taking notes. “And the trip was to buy what?”

  “Lottery ticket for Saturday’s draw. I’m sorry to say we didn’t win.”

  “Too bad.”

  I turned off the tape recorder and anchored my pen in the top of my clipboard. “This has been a big help. I’ll stop by with the transcript as soon as I have it done.”

  I drove back to my place without much hope. It was 2:45 and Solana and Gus would probably be back from the doctor’s office. If Solana went into the living room and spotted the empty cubbyhole, she’d know what I’d done. I pulled up in front of my place, parked the car, and scanned the cars on both sides of the street. No sign of Solana’s. I could feel my heart rate accelerate. Was it possible I still had time? All I needed was to nip inside, shove everything back in the desk, and make a hasty getaway.

  I put my car keys in my bag and crossed Gus’s grass, following the walkway to the back door. The checkbook register and the savings passbook were in the bowels of my bag. I had my hand on the documents as I climbed the back steps. I could see the note for the Meals on Wheels volunteer still taped to the glass. I peered in the window. The kitchen was dark.

  Ten or fifteen seconds was all I required, assuming the goon wasn’t waiting for me in the living room. I took out the key, inserted it in the lock, and turned it. No deal. I held the knob and wiggled the key, by way of coaxing. I looked down in puzzlement, thinking Henry’d given me the wrong key. Not so.

  The locks had been changed.

  I moaned to myself as I headed down the stairs double-time, worried I’d be caught when I hadn’t actually accomplished anything. I cut through the hedge between Gus’s backyard and Henry’s, and let myself into the studio. I locked my door and sat down at my desk, panic rising in my throat like bile. If Solana realized the check register and passbook were missing, she’d know I’d taken them. Who else? I was the only one who’d been in the house except for the fellow in the bed. Henry’d been there a couple of days before so he’d come under suspicion as well. The dread in my gut felt like a bomb about to go off, but there was nothing to be done. I sat quietly for a moment until I’d caught my breath. What difference did it mak
e now? What was done was done and as long as I was screwed, I might as well see what my thievery had netted me.

  I spent the next ten minutes looking at the figures in Gus’s bank accounts. It didn’t take an accountant to see what was going on. The account that had originally held twenty-two thousand dollars had been reduced by half, all of this in the space of a month. I flipped back through the earlier pages of the passbook. It looked like Gus, in his pre-Solana days, was making deposits of two to three thousand dollars at regular intervals. His check register showed that since January 4, money had been transferred from the one savings account into his checking account with a number of checks then written to Cash. None of the canceled checks were available for inspection, but I’d have bet money his signatures were forged. At the back of the passbook, I came across the pink slip to his car that must have migrated from its proper file. To date, she hadn’t transferred ownership from his name to hers. I reviewed the numbers with a shake of my head. It was time to quit cocking around.

  I pulled out the phone book and turned to the listings for county offices. I found the number for the Domestic/Elder Abuse Telephone Hotline, which I couldn’t help but notice spelled the word “DEATH.” It had finally dawned on me that I didn’t have to prove Solana was doing anything abusive or illegal. It was up to her to prove she wasn’t.

  22

  The woman who answered the phone at the Tri-Counties Agency for the Prevention of Elder Abuse listened to my brief explanation of the reason for my call. I was transferred to a social worker named Nancy Sullivan and I ended up having a fifteen-minute conversation with her while she took the report. She sounded young and her phone manner suggested she was asking questions from a form she had in front of her. I gave her the relevant information: Gus’s name, age, address, Solana Rojas’s name and description.

  “Does he have any known medical problems?”

  “Lots. This whole situation started with a fall that dislocated his shoulder. Aside from the injury, it’s my understanding that he suffers from hypertension, osteoporosis, probably osteoarthritis, and maybe some digestive problems.”