Gin Jones - Helen Binney 01 - A Dose of Death (12 page)

“
Probably not a patient, then,” Helen said. “What about a patient’s relative? Someone who realized how harmful Melissa could be, and couldn’t find a more appropriate way to fix the situation, so he did what he had to do to protect his beloved, frail, old family member?”

“
Except, as far as I can tell, there’s no evidence that Melissa ever harmed anyone.” Tate threw the papers back on the workshop table and reached for his safety goggles. “You haven’t found a single person who disliked her as much as you did, and it doesn’t seem likely that you will. At least not before you get yourself arrested for some misdemeanor or another.”

Helen slumped back in the chair.
“Maybe the police were right about the burglar also being the killer, after all.”

“
Much as I hate to give up all these billable minutes we’ve been spending together,” Tate said, rising and pulling his safety goggles down over his eyes, “it sounds like you’ve hit a dead end. You’ll just have to resign yourself to being an innocent bystander in this murder investigation, blissfully free of any threat of prison sentence.”

“
I wonder if the detectives are making any progress in identifying the burglar.” They wouldn’t be able to ignore her if she solved the case for them. “If I can’t prove someone else did it, maybe I can help them find the burglar.”

“
You should stay out of it,” he said. “You didn’t even like Melissa.”

“
Judging from the people who attended her wake, I don’t think anyone liked her all that much. They may not have hated her, but no one seems to care that she’s dead. No one’s putting any pressure on the police to find her killer. The detective won’t listen to me, unless I do his job for him.”

“
Just leave me out of it. I’m retired.” Tate started to pull up his ear protection, and then paused. “You know, you might be able to get some information about the past burglaries by talking to the victim witness advocate over at the district court.”

“
Isn’t that Judge Nolan’s court?” Helen said. “I didn’t do too well the last time I was there.”

“
I didn’t say it would be easy,” he said. “I thought you’d appreciate the challenge.”

Helen reclaimed the copies of Melissa
‘s references. “Getting information out of a state employee is one thing I definitely know how to do.”

*  *  *

Helen detoured into the main building to check in with Adam. He hadn’t seen her cane, and he was still working on canceling the nursing agency’s contract, but promised he’d call if he had any news.

A few minutes later, when Jack pulled up in front of the courthouse, Helen remembered the steep exterior stairs. Maybe she should go back to the cottage to get her back-up cane. They hadn
‘t been gone an hour yet, and she wasn’t sure if that was long enough for Rebecca to give up and leave the cottage. One confrontation with the woman was enough for today. It wasn’t like Helen
enjoyed
making other people’s lives more difficult.

The railing on the courthouse stairs was sturdy enough to take the place of her cane. As long as she climbed the stairs carefully, she could handle them without additional support. She slid out of the car and left Jack to his video games.

Once inside, Helen followed the signs to the victim witness advocate’s cramped little office in the architecturally grand but dysfunctional building. The door, which was half-open, read
Ms. A. Jensen, Victim Witness Advocate
. Inside, behind a cheap metal desk covered with folders, legal pads, and loose papers, sat a tall blonde woman with skin so leathery it must have come from forty years of excessive sun exposure.

The woman continued tapping on her keyboard while she said,
“May I help you?”

“
I’m Helen Binney. I’m here about the Remote Control Burglar.”

“
Of course.” She put down her pen and watched Helen limp into the room. “You must have had difficulty getting up here. We’re still waiting for ADA-compliant improvements to be authorized.”

Helen shrugged.
“I’m here now.”

“
Other places in the state, closer to Boston, get all the luxuries, but we can’t even get the necessities like wheelchair ramps,” Ms. Jensen said. “None of the state politicians care about us out here. We might as well be part of New York or Connecticut for all they notice us. They come here for their vacations, to enjoy the simple life, and then they go back to the city and forget all about us.”

The advocate would be even more bitter if she knew the whole truth, Helen thought. The state politicians didn
‘t even think about the local residents when they were here on vacation. Helen had only realized recently how little she herself had mingled with the locals, and she’d been the life of the local social scene, compared to her ex-husband. He hadn’t needed to leave the cottage; he’d brought all the people who’d mattered with him, either in the flesh or virtually, through phone and internet connections. 

“
At least we do get some basic funding for victims’ reimbursement, based on the number of cases going through the courthouse. I can start a file for you and look into getting you some compensation.” The woman keyed something into her computer, and then looked at Helen expectantly. “What did the burglar take from you?”

“
My nurse.”

The woman started to type, and then looked back at Helen.
“Like a figurine? Or a doll?”

“
A human being,” Helen said. “The police tell me the burglar killed her.”

“
I read about that in the newspaper.” Ms. Jensen abandoned her keyboard and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry for your loss, but her family is going to have to file a claim for her death. I don’t think you qualify for compensation.”

“
I’m not looking for money,” Helen said. “I just need a few questions answered.”

“
Good idea.” Ms. Jensen brightened. “I can refer you for some counseling. The experience of losing a skilled caretaker must have traumatized you.”

“
Not particularly.” The only trauma had come from the police, and the way they’d assumed she was incapable of doing anything whatsoever. “At least not in the way you mean. I’m fine.”

The woman
‘s sun-etched frown lines deepened in apparent disappointment that Helen wasn’t traumatized. “Are you sure? Sometimes the reaction is delayed a few days. Or weeks.”

“I’m sure,” Helen said. “I’m fine, but Melissa isn’t. And there’s a killer on the loose, who might come back for me or my family.” 

“
That’s not my department. I only deal with property crimes. Most of the compensation for serious personal injuries and deaths gets handled through a civil case, rather than the token assessment that goes to victims here in the criminal court. It’s usually all worked out before the paperwork comes to me. The family gets their own lawyer, and I don’t get directly involved.”

“
As far as I know, Melissa didn’t have any family,” Helen said. “Just her work.”

“
I can’t do anything about that. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help you?”

“
There is one thing,” Helen said. “You can tell me more about the burglar and what’s being done to catch him. I’d feel better if I knew he was locked up.”

“
Everyone feels that way.” Ms. Jensen said, seeming more confident, as if this was a conversation she’d had countless times before. “It’s important to acknowledge that capturing the burglar is not within your control, so you can move on.”

Helen tamped down her irritation. She didn
‘t need a verbal pat on the head or assurances that everything always turned out fine in the end. Some things didn’t turn out fine. She herself was living, limping proof of that fact. She didn’t need false comfort; she needed answers. “I can’t move on. Not until I understand why the burglar targeted my house.”

“
I don’t know much about this particular series of crimes,” Ms. Jensen said. “The police and the D.A. only tell me the information I need to steer the victims in the right direction for obtaining services. Not about the investigations themselves.”

“
You must know something,” Helen said. “Haven’t any of the burglar’s other victims been in to see you?”

“
All I know is that it’s been happening for about five years, and there seems to be a pattern to the timing. Most of the incidents have been clustered in May, June and December, nothing the rest of the year. But they don’t know why. At least, that’s what I was told the last time I saw the detective in charge of the case. He didn’t seem to understand how upset people were that their homes had been broken into, even if nothing valuable had been taken.”

“
So it’s true, that the burglar only steals remote controls?”

Ms. Jensen nodded.
“From what the victims tell me, he hasn’t even damaged anything while he was breaking in. No broken windows, no forced locks. Nothing.”

“
And he’s never been violent before?”

“
Never,” she said. “No one’s seen him, so there haven’t been any confrontations at all.”

“
Anything else you can tell me?”

“
I’m afraid not. I wish there was something more I could do to make you feel safer.”

“
The only useful thing you could do is to convince everyone to leave me alone,” Helen said. “I’d be perfectly fine if everyone would just stop bugging me.”

“
Sorry,” Ms. Jensen said, reaching for her keyboard to erase the information she’d started to key in. “Security is too expensive. If I had a bigger budget, I might be able to help, but as it is, I can barely cover the cost of the stolen remote controls and new locks.”

As Helen stood to leave she said,
“I’ll mention your budget limitations to the governor the next time I talk to him.”

Ms. Jensen laughed.
“You do that.”

It was natural for a victim advocate to assume that everyone she met was weak and powerless, and Helen might have let it slide if she weren
‘t already so irritated by the constant condescension. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m going to talk to the governor, and I’m going to find Melissa’s killer.”

“Did you get any useful information?” Jack said as he waited for Helen to climb into the back seat of the Town Car.

“
Not really.”

“
Shall I take you home then?”

Her new visiting nurse was probably still there, waiting out the two hours she
‘d been scheduled, too nervous to go tell her boss that their patient had escaped. “Not yet.”

Jack closed the door behind her and buckled himself into his seat.
“So where are we going?”

“
I’m thinking.” There had to be something Helen could do, something that might be helpful to the investigation into Melissa’s murder, since no one else seemed to care about it. Tate had been right about the futility of speaking to the people who’d written references for Melissa, but maybe she could learn something from Melissa’s colleagues. Starting with an explanation for why very few of them had come to her wake.

“
Do you know where the Wharton Nursing Home is?”

Jack turned around to peer at her over the back of his seat.
“What did that victim’s advocate tell you? You don’t need nursing home care. It’s not a bad place, from what I’ve heard, but you’d hate it there.”

It would probably be better if Jack didn
‘t know exactly what she was planning. That way, he couldn’t get into trouble if the police decided she was interfering with their investigation. “I don’t need that kind of medical care now, but lupus is unpredictable. I need to be prepared for possible severe flare-ups in the future.”

“
You had me worried for a minute, there,” Jack said as he turned toward the front again. He started the engine. “I’d forgotten about the waiting list to get into any decent nursing home, and this one’s pretty small, so the wait is probably even longer than average. I don’t even know if they’ll let you tour the place without an appointment. It’s just around the corner, though, so it won’t take long to find out.”

The nursing home was an old, three-story stone building rising out of acres of manicured lawns. It was set back at least a thousand feet from the road, and the tree-shaded driveway divided to form a circle in front of the entrance. A discreet sign next to the over-sized front doors announced that it was the Wharton Nursing Home. Otherwise, Helen would have thought it was a private residence belonging to a millionaire, like one of the Newport
“cottages.” Probably had been a residence in the early 1900s, before it was converted to a nursing home. 

Inside, the entry area was equally impressive, with extra-high ceilings, marble floors and dark wood paneling. Only the smells gave away the building
‘s real use; instead of wood polish, the place reeked of antiseptic, illness, and incontinence.

A reception desk had been built to match the wood paneling. The young woman behind the counter was a sharp contrast with the early 1900s style of the room. She was in her late teens, and the epitome of contemporary style, from her short spiky hair to her mini-skirt and designer shoes. 

The receptionist welcomed Helen to the nursing home and pointed to a visitors’ log. Helen dutifully signed her name and made a note of the time.

“
You didn’t indicate who you’re visiting.” The young receptionist pointed to the blank spot. “We need to know, for security reasons.”

“
I’m not here to see anyone in particular.”

“
So you’re here to see the facilities themselves? Let me get someone to guide you around the facilities and answer any questions you may have about our services.”

“
That’s not necessary,” Helen said. “I’d really like to know more about the staff than the premises. It’s the people who make or break a place.”

“
Oh, we have the best people here. I’ve seen their certificates.”

“
I’m sure they’re all well qualified,” Helen said, “but it’s a matter of personalities. I’d like to meet a few of them for myself. See how we’d mesh. I knew one woman who used to work here. You might have known her. Melissa Shores.”

The receptionist nodded.
“I remember her. Sort of. She left a few weeks after I started working here.”

“
Perhaps I could talk to someone who knew her better.”

“
I don’t know if anyone did,” the receptionist said. “She kept to herself. Worked all the time. Stayed here, even when her shift was over, so she could spend more time with the patients.”

“
That sounds like Melissa.” She wondered if the other patients had appreciated the dedication more than Helen had. “Are any of those patients still living here?”

The receptionist stared at the ornate tin ceiling for a moment.
“Betty and Josie are still here. Melissa came to visit them a few weeks ago, in fact.”

“
Then let’s say I’m here to visit Betty and Josie,” Helen said, reaching for the log book. “Where will I find them?”

The receptionist typed something into her computer.
“They don’t have anything scheduled right now. They’re ambulatory, so they’re probably in the activity area. They usually sit together in front of the fireplace. There’s no fire in it, of course—smoke is far too irritating for our patients—but they like to pretend it’s working. They sit next to it and make hats. Betty knits and Josie crochets.”

Helen followed the receptionist
‘s directions down assorted corridors to a space that might once have been a ballroom, but was now filled with card tables and mismatched sofas. Staff members circulated among the residents, encouraging the solitary ones to engage in activities, and just generally interfering with what the patients actually wanted to do. If, as Helen had once read, there was an infinite variety of hells, each one designed to maximize the soul’s misery, this place was her own hell. Before she agreed to live in a place like this, she’d move in with Laura and Howie and a hundred grand-nieces and grand-nephews.

Just as the receptionist had predicted, two women were seated in wingback chairs in front of the cold fireplace. Judging by the piles of yarn in their laps, they had to be Betty and Josie. One woman was in her late seventies, still sturdy-looking, wearing an ankle-length black skirt topped by a black sweater sprinkled with brightly colored snips of yarn. Leaning against the feet of her chair was a tapestry bag, presumably filled with supplies, and in each lap was a pile of yarn. Her bag was made out of a tapestry fabric. The other woman was thinner and wore a pastel tunic over baggy jeans. She was a few years older, physically, but the neon green highlights in her blonde hair and the hot-pink Hello Kitty backpack holding her supplies suggested she was younger in spirit.

Helen ignored the staff members converging on her, and went over to the fireplace, trying to look like the women there were long-time acquaintances.

“
What are you making?”

“
Chemo caps,” the woman to the left of the fireplace said, holding up a multi-colored band hanging from a circular needle. She had to be Betty, the knitter. “They’re for people who’ve lost their hair or the ability to keep warm, due to chemo treatments.”

“
Want to join us?” the other woman, Josie, said. “We’ve got extra yarn and needles.”

“
I don’t know how to knit,” Helen said. “Or crochet.”

“
We could teach you,” Betty said.

That wasn
‘t a bad idea, actually. If Helen was going to stay in Wharton for the rest of her life, she ought to know more people than her driver and a retired lawyer. These two women would be a good start. If the residents in the nursing home were as connected to the local political scene as Tate had suggested, then Betty and Josie could probably introduce Helen to everyone else in town.

For all Helen knew, making hats might even turn out to be a hobby she could enjoy as much as Tate enjoyed his woodworking.
“Maybe I can come back for a lesson some other time. I can’t stay long today.”

Josie nudged Betty.
“He’s here again.”

Betty glanced toward the doorway, and Helen turned to see Geoff Loring standing there.

Helen turned a nearby wingback chair so it would hide her, unless he looked too closely, and dropped into the faded upholstery. “Does he have family staying here?”

“
A cousin with MS. But today he’s here for work,” Josie said. “Comes out here every Wednesday, like clockwork. Does some fluff piece on one of the residents.”

Betty laughed.
“If he only knew…”

“
Knew what?”

“
Hello, ladies.” Geoff stopped behind Helen. “Mind if I join you?”

“
Have you figured out that we’re the cool kids yet?” Josie said. “Are you going to interview us finally?”

“
Not this week,” Geoff said. “I’m saving you for a slow news cycle.”

“
Then you’re here about Melissa’s murder?” Helen said.

He shook his head.
“That’s old news. I’m on the trail of something bigger than that.”

“
Something bigger than murder?” Helen said. “Something to do with the nursing home?”

“
I can’t say,” he said, although the smug look on his face did all the talking for him.

“
I know,” Josie said excitedly. “You solved the mystery of the missing teddy bear.”

“
What missing teddy bear?” he asked.

Betty and Josie shared another glance that suggested Geoff didn
‘t have a clue about anything that went on at the nursing home.

“
Never mind,” Betty said. “We were just telling Helen about the nice little stories you do on the residents here. She’s going to join our knitting circle.”

“
Maybe you’ll convince her to let me interview her next.”

“
I’m not a nursing home resident,” Helen said. “Just wanted to meet some of the people who knew Melissa. She used to work here, you know.”

“
Most of her career, I think,” Geoff said. “I’d been meaning to interview her, but I waited too long. A lot of the city leaders and their family members have ended up here, and Melissa probably worked with most of them. She must have had some great experiences with them, and they’d have made great stories.”

“
Melissa wouldn’t have told you anything,” Josie said, jerking a length of yarn from its skein. “She wasn’t a gossip.”

That was true enough, Helen thought. Melissa had talked non-stop, but it hadn
‘t been gossip. She’d never mentioned anyone by name, except for the day they’d been sorting pictures from the governor’s mansion, and Melissa had been able to identify most of the politicians in them, some of whom Helen couldn’t even remember. Until now, she hadn’t stopped to think that Melissa could have known even more than just the names and job descriptions when it came to local public figures.

“
Melissa would have talked to me.” Geoff smiled at Helen. “Everyone does, eventually.”

It sounded a bit like a threat, Helen thought, not that there was anything he could do to her if she refused to talk to him, on or off the record. He wasn
‘t really interested in her life, anyway. He was after bigger fish, just as he’d been hoping to pump Melissa for information about her better-known patients. Melissa wouldn’t have told him anything, but her patients might not have known that. One of them might have had a reason to take drastic measures to keep her quiet. 

Helen asked,
“Did anyone know you were planning to interview Melissa?”

“
I don’t share my story leads with anyone,” he said. “When are you going to sit down with me for an interview?”

Never.
But he wouldn’t accept that. Better to give him an excuse he had to accept. “It’s too soon after Melissa’s death.”

“
I understand.” Geoff patted her on the shoulder. “What happened to Melissa would have upset even a seasoned reporter like me. When you’re up to it, though, call me, and we’ll talk.”

Not without my lawyer present
. Helen shrugged his hand off her shoulder. When had everyone decided they could touch her without her permission? She’d have to ask Tate later about the definition of assault. Not that she could do much about Geoff’s and Pierce’s annoying little familiarities. The local judge wouldn’t be any more sympathetic to criminal charges against them than she’d been to the request for a restraining order against Melissa.

Anxious to leave, now that it was obvious Geoff
‘s presence would keep the women from saying anything useful, Helen stood. She nodded at Betty and Josie. “I’m sorry I can’t stay and learn to make hats. I’ve got someone waiting for me outside.”

“
Stop by any time,” Josie said. “We’ve always got spare supplies for anyone who wants to join in.”

“
I’ll do that.” It would have to be a time when Geoff wasn’t around, so Helen could find out what the women knew that the reporter had missed. It might not have anything to do with Melissa, but she didn’t have any better leads.