Last Licks (8 page)

“Some of the heavy metals, perhaps,” Dr. Collier replied. “Mercury, lead, cadmium, they all have toxic and neurological effects. But they’re usually eaten or breathed in. You can get cadmium from cigarette smoke—the lungs absorb it better than the stomach. Arsenic, though, that’s been a favorite since before the Renaissance. Its symptoms mimicked cholera, which was widespread up to the 1800s, when arsenic got the nickname ‘inheritance powder.’ And it’s still used today—an old reliable.” He got a little more serious. “It would require special tests—tests that a medical examiner might not perform if he thought the cause of death was a stroke.”

“Just for the sake of argument, let’s say the patient we described was being cared for by you and your partner. Given the situation, would you be asking the medical examiner to do those extra tests?”

Dr. Collier silently regarded him for a long moment, and then finally said, “No.”

Will gave him a glum nod. “That’s pretty much what I was thinking, too.”

Sunny and Will
thanked the doctor for his help and left the office. “So, natural causes or foul play?” she said. “It looks as if we’re coming right down the middle.”

“It would have been nice if he’d gotten something clear-cut,” Will admitted. They walked into the parking lot for the medical building and stood between their two trucks. “Guess we might as well head back to Bridgewater Hall and talk to the people who cleaned out Room 114.”

When they got back to the facility, they found Rafe Warner working the security desk. He was uncharacteristically silent as Sunny signed in. But as she turned away, words seemed to tumble out of him. “Is it true that you’re investigating how Mr. Scatterwell died?”

There goes our chance of keeping this quiet,
Sunny thought.

“Where’d you hear that?” Will demanded.

“People say things.” Rafe’s eyes roved the area, checking for anyone who might overhear. “Folks in the office say Dr. Reese has them working on a big document for you to sign.”

The damned confidentiality agreement! Sunny had forgotten all about it.

“I can’t say anything about that.” She kept her voice low, too. “But we’ll want a look at the log to see who came in and went out last night.”

“That’ll be up to Dr. Reese,” Rafe said nervously.

“And he’ll agree.” Will gave him a wolf’s smile. “That’s in the big document, too.”

Then he asked for directions to Housekeeping, which Rafe was willing enough to give, but talking to the crew that cleaned Gardner’s room got them nowhere. The maintenance people weren’t withholding—they just didn’t know anything.

“We go in whenever anybody passes away,” a guy in janitorial greens explained. “We don’t do anything while the other person is in the room. That upsets them. But once they’re away, we clean and clear out as soon as possible.”

He leaned forward. “This time around, the patient had puked. So we cleaned up after that, and did a specially careful job.” He allowed himself a small smile. “They don’t like germs around here.”

Sunny and Will left the office. “Well,” he said, “should we go give Ollie a lack-of-progress report?”

“Hey, we found out a couple of things,” Sunny replied. “Can we help it that they’re things he won’t want to hear?”

When they arrived at Room 114, though, Sunny was surprised to see Luke Daconto just leaving.

“Thought I’d stop by,” he said. “Mr. Barnstable was pretty bummed to lose his friend.”

“Not just Ollie,” Sunny told him. “I’m sure you’ll miss Gardner, too.”

Luke lowered his eyes. “Yeah. It’s kinda rough. He was a great guy.”

It seemed as though Luke wasn’t as plugged in to the rehab center grapevine as Rafe Warner. He obliviously shook hands with Will. Obviously, here was another person that Ollie hadn’t let in on the investigation.
Is Ollie being cagey, or did he just get hit with Reese’s confidentiality agreement?
Sunny thought. She introduced Will, not mentioning that he was a constable.
If that’s the way Ollie wants to play this, I’ll go along.

They chatted for a moment, and then Luke moved on.

If Ollie had been bummed out before, hearing their report didn’t cheer him up much. He sat up in bed, listening with a frown on his face. But when they finished, Ollie said, “I’ve got a suspect for you.”

“Someone here? Someone who knew Scatterwell?” Will asked.

Ollie shook his head. “Stan Orton.”

“The man you did the real estate deal with?” Sunny stared at her boss.

“The guy who threatened me—and then I beat him on that contract,” Ollie told her. “I think he got Gardner by mistake.”

“You think Orton snuck in last night?”

“Of course not.” Ollie gave her a withering look. “He sent somebody, somebody who works here. At first, he probably just hired them to spy on me. That’s when whoever it was must have overheard me talking with Gardner about brandy.”

Will looked doubtful. “So it’s someone who knew who was talking while they were eavesdropping, but couldn’t recognize who was who in the dark?”

Ollie made an impatient gesture. “Okay, maybe two people—one from the day shift, one for the night.”

“And they’d be willing to poison you?” Sunny couldn’t keep the doubt out of her own voice.

“No, no, Orton wanted to punish me, not kill me. It was probably something to make me sick as a dog. But if Gardner got it instead, well, he was in pretty bad shape. Maybe what would have just made me sick was enough to kill him.”

Sounds like the kind of story you’d find on the lamer cop shows,
Sunny thought, but she kept her mouth shut.

Will, who had more professional pride, looked ready to argue. “Ollie—”

“We’ll take it under advisement,” Sunny said. The last thing they needed was to provoke a fight with her boss.

“It’s not like you’ve got a theory of your own,” Ollie griped. “So get out there and dig into Orton. Maybe he’s pulled a dirty trick or two before. And don’t sign anything with these people. I’ve got my lawyer going over their so-called agreement.”

“Okay,” both Will and Sunny promised. They said good-bye to Ollie and got out of there before he opened another can of craziness on them. As they walked down the hall, Will lowered his voice, looking up and down the hallway. “Do you know where the john is around here? I know Ollie’s room had one, but I didn’t want to stay in there.”

Sunny spotted Camille the aide walking toward them, and directed Will’s question to her. “Four doors down on the other side.” The girl pointed.

Will thanked her and hurriedly headed away.

“There was quite a lot of excitement here early this morning,” Sunny said when they were alone.

Camille nodded. “Poor Mr. Scatterwell.”

Sunny decided to do some gentle information gathering. “Do you lose a lot of patients from this ward?”

Camille shook her head. “It happens more in the resident wards, where people are older and sometimes frail. But here? This is the first I know of. But then, I’ve only been here a couple of months. Bridgewater Hall took me on right after I finished my training.”

“Do you like the job?”

An embarrassed smile appeared on Camille’s plain face. “I wanted to help people—and make a living. Everywhere I looked, they kept saying that health care was one of the only growing career fields. So I went for a training course, and at least I got a job.”

“Is it all it was cracked up to be?” Sunny asked.

Camille gave her a shrug. “It’s kind of a look into a different world. Most of the people here, I’d say they have money. Not like where I grew up.”

“So are the rich really different?” Sunny grinned. “That’s what one writer said.”

“They’re used to having people take care of them, I’d say.” Camille looked a little put on the spot. “Some of them are nice. Your friend Mr. Barnstable isn’t that bad, once you get past the grumpiness.”

“He’s my boss,” Sunny said. “And if you say he’s being nice, I’ve got to find out what kind of pills you’re giving him.”

“He’s . . . honest,” Camille said. “That usually happens when people are sick or in pain.” Her smile slipped a little. “Not with Mr. Scatterwell, though. He liked people to think he was a nice guy, but he wasn’t.”

Sunny nodded. “I saw a little of that.”

“He was really sick, but he wouldn’t do the work to get better.” Camille seemed upset at the waste. “But even though he was badly off, he still liked to chase women. Not that he’d be able to do anything if he caught them.” Scorn turned into something else on her face. “If you weren’t pretty or rich—”

Like Camille, for instance,
Sunny thought.

“You might as well be a piece of furniture,” Camille finished.

“That doesn’t sound very nice at all,” Sunny said.

Camille shook her head. “It could be worse if he noticed you. Ms. Hogue found that out.”

“The occupational therapist?”

“She kept trying to get him to do more, and he didn’t want to.” Camille lowered her voice. “He got really mean, calling her names, telling her she wouldn’t have a job, that his big buddy Dr. Reese would fire her—I even caught him feeling her up when he thought no one was looking.”

Camille looked a little wistful. “Ms. Hogue used to look really pretty, but the longer she worked with him, she stopped wearing makeup, or nice clothes, she just sort of hunkered down.”

“Couldn’t she have gotten Mr. Scatterwell assigned to someone else?”

“She tried, but he went over everybody’s head.” Camille’s tone got more guarded. “Things haven’t been the same around here since Dr. Reese took over. With Dr. Faulkner, you felt as if the boss cared. But with Reese, well, he and Rafe Warner have been at each other’s throats.”

Why would it matter what the security guard thought?
Sunny wondered.

When Camille saw the baffled expression on Sunny’s face, she explained. “Rafe is the shop steward for the union, and Reese wants to tear up the whole contract.”

I’m beginning to wonder what kind of an
investigator I am,
Sunny thought
. All this intrigue going on in front of me, and I don’t catch any of it. I guess if Rafe is at war with Dr. Reese, no wonder he’s getting news of what goes on in the administrator’s office.

“And it’s getting worse.” Camille’s voice sank to a whisper. “When Rafe’s cat Patrick got sick, Dr. Faulkner said that because he’s a therapy cat, Bridgewater Hall would cover his treatment. But Dr. Reese said it wasn’t in writing, and he’s not paying for vet bills.”

A light over one of the doors down the hallway began blinking.

“That’s one of my patients needing help.” Camille excused herself and hurried to respond.

Sunny turned back to find Will standing beside her. “Uncover any clues?” he asked with a smile.

“No, but we dug up a lot of dirt—I’ll tell you once we’re outside.”

They headed around the nurses’ station and down the long corridor to the front door. When they got to the security desk, Sunny asked Rafe, “Where’s Portia?”

“Patrick wasn’t feeling all that well, so Portia is keeping him company.” He pointed in the corner behind him. Sunny leaned over the chest-high security desk to see a cat bed in the tiny space. Patrick sat up, his head hanging and his fur out at all angles while Portia carefully and gently groomed him with her tongue.

“Does he often have bad days?” Sunny asked.

“It comes and goes,” Rafe replied. “The vet says that with chemo, the cure can feel as bad as the disease. But Patrick’s hung in there, and so have I.”

Sunny noticed that Rafe wasn’t in a uniform shirt today, but a plain, short-sleeved number starting to fray at the collar.
Hanging in there, but looks to me like you might be having trouble making ends meet,
Sunny thought. She and Will signed out but got a surprise when they opened the door. Mike was about a step away, reaching for the handle.

“Thought I’d stop by and see how Ollie was doing,” he said.

Sunny smiled.
The Kittery Harbor Way strikes again.

“Luke Daconto was in to see him, too,” she said. “I’ll see you at home for dinner, Dad.” Sunny gave her dad a quick kiss on the cheek, and then she and Will went to their trucks.

“I’m dying for a cup of coffee. Do you know some place in the area that won’t cost us an arm and a leg?” Will asked.

“Another mistake,” Sunny sighed. “I should have held Ollie up for an expense account.” She got out her cell phone and called the MAX office. Nancy answered, sounding reasonably cool and calm.

“Hi,” she said when Sunny identified herself. “Everything went pretty well. Quitting time is coming up soon.”

“Remember to lock up the office,” Sunny told her. “But first, I want you to check our restaurant database for any places near Bridgewater or Levett.”

Nancy quickly gave her the names of a couple of places. One struck a bell.

“Thanks,” Sunny said, and then turned to Will. “There’s a sandwich place that opened this summer. They’re supposed to make a mean panini, and the coffee’s good.”

She gave Will the address, and soon afterward they pulled up in front of a small strip mall. The shop was small but clean, and the staff was enthusiastic. Sunny and Will both came out with paper cups of coffee.

Will sipped his and let out a sigh. “Ah, the four cop blood types: A, B, O, and Morning Mud.” While he got his caffeine infusion, Sunny passed along what Camille had told her.

“Sounds as though this therapist was having a real problem with Scatterwell. If what the aide says is true, he’d actually progressed to physical harassment.” Will frowned.

“But I guess she wouldn’t get very far making a complaint if Gardner had a friend at the top of the pile.” Sunny silently contemplated her cup of joe for a moment. “A person could get mighty desperate in a situation like that.”

“Then there’s Reese himself,” Will suggested. “Apparently he was brought in as a new broom, expected to cut operating costs. How do you think the staff has reacted?”

“Camille said it’s not the same,” Sunny said.

Will nodded. “And maybe the care isn’t as good. That would explain the spike in the mortality rate.” He frowned down into his cup.

“Nothing wiggling in there, I hope?” Sunny peered over.

“Just a nasty little thought niggling at my brain,” Will told her. “Your friendly aide essentially said that there’s labor strife going on at Bridgewater Hall. What if some of the union people are taking it too far?”

“You think they’re killing patients?” Coffee slopped out of Sunny’s cup, landing on the hood of Will’s truck. She dabbed at the splotch with her napkin, trying to hide how upset she was. “From what I see, most of the people in that place are like Camille. They want to help people.”

“But if they get stepped on often enough, maybe they don’t go the extra mile anymore.” Will gave Sunny his napkin, too. “There’s something else. You say that Scatterwell wasn’t very backward about telling people how tight he was with Reese. What if someone picked up on that and decided to make a public example out of old Gardner?”

“Striking at Reese through Gardner? Sounds kind of extreme.”

“It would rub Reese’s nose in the problems going on in the facility,” Will argued. “And maybe there’s a personal side to it, too.”