Fostering Death (13 page)

“I’m going to call her.”

Mrs. Williams answered on the second ring. Without giving my name, I explained I was a former foster child who had stopped by and how I’d found Mr. Coleman. She said she’d be right over.

Mr. Coleman was sitting up straighter, and his eyes were brighter. Maybe because he’d gotten something to eat. I wasn’t quite so worried about him now and wondered if I could just leave. Mrs. Williams would be over soon.

Before I could act on that thought, the back door opened and a sturdy middle-aged woman bustled in.

“Mrs. Williams?”

She adjusted her glasses. “Yes. What seems to be going on here?”

I shrugged. “I just came by to see how Mr. Coleman was doing. He was outside without a coat or anything. And he fell.”

She raised her eyebrows and looked me over. “And just how did he fall?”

My gut froze. Mrs. Coleman had died from a fall. “Looked like he’d dropped his cane and kind of tumbled over when he tried to pick it up.”

“And exactly who are you?”

“I was one of the foster children they took in. Years ago.”

“What’s your name?”

I didn’t want to give my real name, but I knew Montgomery would probably be talking to her. If he found out I’d lied, he’d be even more suspicious than ever. “Jerry,” I mumbled, hoping she wouldn’t ask for a last name. They must have had a Jerry or two sometime over the years, and it sounded enough like Jesse that I could claim she’d misheard if it ever came to that.

She smoothed the afghan over Mr. Coleman’s lap again. “It’s cold in here,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. The gas is off. I called the gas company and they said if I got a check in by three this afternoon, they’d get it turned on by five.”

“Where’re you going to get a check?”

“Mr. Coleman gave me one.” I pulled it out of my pocket and held it up.

“Let me see that,” she demanded.

I handed it over to her. She looked at it suspiciously, turning it over in her hands before she gave it back to me. “I’m going to be calling the gas company to make sure this gets to them,” she warned me.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Has he had any lunch?” she asked.

“I fixed some canned soup. And a cup of tea.”

Mr. Coleman stirred and peered up at me. “How long have you been here?”

“Just a little while. You fell out in the yard, remember? I helped you back inside.”

“I don’t like you young men coming around. You’re never up to any good.”

I was thirty-six, not exactly a young man. But maybe I looked that way to Mr. Coleman. “Have there been other young men around a lot, Mr. Coleman?” I asked, remembering Montgomery’s claim that I’d been seen in the neighborhood.

His lips formed a thin stubborn line. “I told Mildred not to have anything to do with any of you. We’re old. We get confused. We can’t take care of ourselves.”

It wasn’t the first time he seemed to be forgetting that Mrs. Coleman was dead. I wasn’t going to be the one who reminded him.

His eyes softened. Tears gathered. “But it didn’t help, did it? I told her not to give you any money. You’d just be back again.”

“Mr. Coleman, I haven’t been here in years.”

“But you’re here now. And rummaging around in the house.”

I guess he was right about me rummaging around, at least in the office.

Mrs. Williams took his thin wrist in her hand. Was she taking his pulse? “Why were you outside, Mr. Coleman?” she asked. “And without your coat.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You should stay in the house until someone else is here to help you.”

“I thought I heard someone out there. I went to check.”

“Have you been taking your meds?” she asked.

“Yes. Some of them. Sometimes.”

“When did you take them last, Mr. Coleman?” she asked.

His gaze shifted to the wall. “I don’t remember. They’re gone,” he said flatly.

“What do you mean, they’re gone?”

“The medicine cabinet’s empty,” he said. “I don’t remember moving everything. But I must have.”

Mrs. Williams persisted. “Did you call the doctor and tell him you couldn’t find them?”

He nodded. “The person who answered the phone said to look for them. She said they couldn’t give me any more until those were supposed to be gone. She said they have to be somewhere. I looked.”

“What meds did you have?” she asked.

“Blood pressure medicine. Cholesterol medicine. Thyroid medicine. Arthritis medicine. Pain medication.”

Mrs. Williams looked at the row of pill bottles on the counter. “Could you bring those over here?” she asked me.

I gathered them up and moved them to the table.

“Are these them, Mr. Coleman?” she asked.

He rubbed his eyes. “Why, I do believe they are. Where did you find them?”

“On the counter.” Mrs. Williams starting reading the labels and taking pills out of the containers. “You haven’t taken any at all today?”

He poked at one of the pills. “No. I couldn’t find them. I thought he took them.” He nodded toward me.

“Why would the young man have taken your pills?” she asked.

Mr. Coleman shrugged. “Mildred said he wanted some of her pills. When she told him it wasn’t good for you to take someone else’s medicine, he said he didn’t care.”

“Did she have pain medication?” I asked.

“Yes. Some of those oxycodone things. I have some too. But I don’t like to take them.”

“Why is that?” Mrs. Williams asked.

“They make me feel dizzy. Sometimes, if my back hurts, I take one before I go to bed.” Mr. Coleman picked up a pill bottle. “But the bottle seems to be empty now.”

Mrs. Williams was busy sorting out the pills. “Can you get him a big glass of water?” she asked me.

I let the water run for a minute until it got cold, then filled the glass and brought it over to the table.

Mr. Coleman looked up at me. His eyes darkened.

“Where are your friends?” he asked.

I started to say I had no friends, but that sounded pretty pathetic, even to me. Even if it was pretty much true. “I came by myself,” I said.

He started to get up. “I bet your friends are outside.”

Mrs. Williams looked at me suspiciously. She glanced at the empty oxycodone bottle. “What did you say your name was?”

This conversation was headed nowhere good. “I’d better get going if I’m going to get to the gas company office in time.”

As I closed the door, I looked back through the window at them. He was fingering the checkbook where I had ripped out the checks. Mrs. Williams was fussing by the stove.

The walk to the gas company office took close to forty-five minutes, but I made it with time to spare. I handed in the check and made sure they would send someone out to turn the gas on that afternoon. I pocketed the receipt. It should go back to Mr. Coleman, but it didn’t seem like a good idea for me to go back there again. Maybe I could mail it to him. Without a return address.

Chapter 9

S
UNDAY
M
ORNING
W
AS
C
OLD
but sunny. Light even made its way through the ground level window off the alley into my basement apartment. I fixed myself some instant coffee, fed the cat, and headed out. The center of town boasted a cluster of churches, and as I walked by, I would be able to hear some of the choirs singing. And the church bells.

There was a good chance I would be back on home detention by next Sunday morning, so I decided to take advantage of my freedom while I had it.

In the early afternoon, after the church crowds had scattered, I returned to my apartment.

Montgomery’s commanding and cultured voice reached me. “Stop, Jesse. Now.”

The hair on the back of my neck tingled. I halted, pulling my hands out of my jacket pockets and letting them hang loose by my sides.

He and Belkins got out of a parked car and stood in front of me.

“Why don’t we step into the alley, Jesse?” Montgomery said. “Make less of a spectacle for the neighbors that way.”

Not much I could do but walk down the alley until he told me to stop.

Belkins coughed and spit on the ground. “Assume the position, Damon.” His voice was hoarse and nasal.

I turned to the wall and leaned onto it, bracing my weight on my hands.

“Spread your feet,” Montgomery said.

Belkins kicked the toe of my boot, knocking my unresisting foot back. He grunted.

I tried to keep a smile off my face. My boots were steel-toed work boots. Belkins was wearing worn loafers. I bet he’d hurt his foot.

Expert hands skimmed under my jacket, between my legs and over my pockets. I felt my wallet and keychain being whisked out of my pocket.

One of my hands was pulled back behind me, followed by the other. Cold steel cuffs snapped in place. I struggled not to fall.

“Turn around.”

I brought my feet closer together, which let me regain my balance, and turned to face them. I took a step back so the rough brick wall was at my back.

Montgomery leaned back, his guarded dark eyes glittering in his dark face. He slipped his manicured hands into the pockets of his immaculate overcoat.

Belkins bounced my wallet and keychain in his palm. I hoped he didn’t drop them into the dirty slush. Or that he would pick them up if he did. Finally he put them in the pocket of his wrinkled trench coat. He spit on the sidewalk again.

Leaning on his hand against brick wall, he put his face close to mine and grinned. We were much the same height, although he outweighed me by maybe a hundred pounds. His boozy breath was hot on my face.

“So,” he said. “Wanna tell us about your visit to Dennis Coleman?”

They’d found out about that. No real surprise. I knew I was taking a chance when I went there.

“I just went to check on him,” I said lamely.

Montgomery raised his finely chiseled eyebrows. “I thought I made it clear you should stay away from Mr. Coleman.”

He had. I kept my mouth shut.

“The poor man has had enough to deal with without having you show up and harass him,” Montgomery said.

“I hadn’t planned on actually talking to him. I was just going to see how he was and leave.”

“So why did you change your mind?”

I shifted uneasily on my feet. “He was outside in the cold without a coat. His cane was on the ground. And he fell when he tried to pick it up. I couldn’t leave him there.”

“So you went to the house, planning on not talking to him, but ended up going inside? And messing with his checkbook? Makes no sense to me.” Montgomery pulled his cashmere scarf a bit tighter around his neck.

“No. He’d fallen outside. I helped him get inside.”

“Where outside had he fallen?”

“On the back path that goes to the garage.”

“What were you doing around back? That’s trespassing. In this case, criminal trespassing.”

Montgomery was undoubtedly right. I didn’t answer.

Belkins leaned closer, his head tilted back and his eyes narrowed. I could see wiry hairs in his nose. “And if you were so concerned about his welfare, how did you find him?”

“Not well.”

“So what did you do?”

“After we got into the kitchen, I fixed him some tea and some soup.”

“Then what?”

“Then I called a neighbor to check up on him. She came. So I left.”

“You just left?”

“Yeah. He seemed better.”

“And you didn’t mess with his meds?”

“No.”

“So if I told you we’d found your fingerprints on the bottles, you’d say it had to be a mistake?”

“I guess not really. They were on the kitchen counter. The neighbor lady asked me to bring them over to her. Then she took care of them. I think she’s a nurse.”

“How many of his meds did you take for yourself? Especially the pain medication?”

Of course they’d think I took some oxys if I could get hold of them. “None.” I didn’t expect them to believe me. I was right.

“You seriously expect me to believe that? He was supposed to have pain meds. They were gone. What did you do with them?”

“I didn’t take them. You can run a piss test if you want.” As long as I didn’t have to pay for it. Which I would have to do if they asked Mr. Ramirez to get the sample.

“We may.” Belkins narrowed his eyes. “But maybe you sold them. To your buddy Aaron. Then it wouldn’t show up, would it?”

Montgomery stepped forward. Now his face too was inches from mine. His breath smelled of minty mouthwash. He inhaled deeply. Then his gaze jerked to the side, focusing on Belkins, not me. He sniffed. He must have caught the sour scent of whiskey on Belkins’ breath.