That Good Night (11 page)

“What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“Just come,” Bob said. “And if that investigator shows up, well, let's just say that he'll enjoy a special blend of Maine's hospitality. Call me when you get close,” he said and hung up.

Adapted from the digital recorder of Private Investigator, Justin Roberts. July 1, 1625 hrs
.

I've been assigned to a missing geezer case in Upstate New York. Finding an old geezer is not on my A-1 list of exciting investigations. Most of these cases are solved by hunters or bird watchers when they trip over a rotting corpse, not by a full-blown investigation. It's all about money. This guy Lambert has a ton of it, or at least had, and his kids aren't going to get their hands on it or a settlement from Sunset until he's either found dead or declared dead. That can take a few days or a few years. Things get messy real fast. Lawsuits, insurance claims, sibling rivalries, you name it. A missing rich guy's death stirs the money pot. Marqued Insurance is the nursing home's insurance carrier. They hired me to find Lambert, dead or alive
.

I've decided to record this crazy odyssey by using my BBDRD, (Belt Buckle Digital Recording Device) courtesy of my former employer, the FBI. As an agent, I had access to the most advanced gadgets imaginable. Take this BBDRD for example. It has a waterproof case sheathed in space-age carbon-fiber, a battery that can last for weeks under heavy use, and it is fashionable enough to wear with just about anything. Years back, gathering evidence was a piece of cake compared to today. What we reported was taken as fact. Today, an agent has to have airtight evidence to convict even the worst of the lot. Facts have replaced good old intuition. Things
like the BBDRD help us gather and retain the material needed to convict. I don't think that this old guy Lambert is a crook, but you never know
.

A search by locals found no trace of the guy. Either his corpse is hiding under some leaves somewhere or he's off having the time of his life. If it's the latter, we'll find him. Old guys on the lam cut a pretty wide swath. I started my investigation interviewing Dan Forteneau, head of security at Sunset Home. He was defensive. As well he should be
.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “This old guy who has a Subcutaneous Tracking Device sneaks out of your nursing home and you don't know it until you find the device wrapped in a dog turd in your backyard? You want to tell me about this again?”

“It ain't as bad as it sounds,” Forteneau responded. “Lambert was a pain in the ass since he came into the home. We put the ankle monitor on him after he attempted to escape two times before. He wasn't the only one that got fitted. When clients and their families started to complain about the monitors, the administration got the brilliant idea using these subcanus gadgets.”

“You mean subcutaneous, right?”

“Yeah, whatever. Anyways, there you have it.”

“And the turd?”

“Well, there you have an embarrassment. We think he took it out himself. We put it in only the day before so I guess he just popped it out.”

“And the turd?”

“We don't know how Kingdom, that's my dog, got a hold of it. Lambert probably fed it to him.”

“Look, Mr. Forteneau,” I said. “With all due respect, if security was on the monitors, then wouldn't the alarm go off the minute
Lambert left the building?”

“That's embarrassing, too. Scott Ramsden, he's my second in command, he was being charmed by this high school kid. A girl named Ashley. She flirts a lot and you know how that is.”

“No, I really don't. This is a nursing home, right? How can security be such a big deal?” Forteneau shuffled his feet like some kid caught with his hand up his cousin's skirt. I let him off the hook, “Forget it. Is this Ashley girl around?”

“Probably, she comes in around three-thirty every afternoon. Want me to get her?”

“Never mind, I'll track her down. And Forteneau, I'd like to talk to Ramsden.”

“I'll tell him. Come on back after you talk to Ashley and he'll be here.”

I left the security office. Maybe this Ashley girl had some answers, maybe not. Getting started with an investigation is the hardest and most important part. The tiniest lead is like a bloodhound getting the first scent. I found Ashley in the sunroom giving a light shoulder massage to an elderly, well-dressed woman
.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, young lady, but I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me?”

Ashley looked up. Blonde, blue eyes, jailbait. “If you're looking for a patient,” she said, “you'll have to go to reception. Did you sign in?”

“I'm all set,” I answered. “Actually, I was hoping you could shed some light on Mr. Lambert's disappearance.”

“Me? I wish. He was such a nice man.”

“Was?”

“No, I don't mean it that way. It's just that I miss him. Mr. Lambert, we all called him Charlie. He knew, like, so much about things. He even helped me with my trig homework. He was awesome.”

“Did he ever talk about getting out of here?”

“All the time. He hated it here. He said he didn't belong. I think he was right, too. I mean, he was in good shape. But what do I know about those things? Maybe he was really sick, but his mind was really good.”

The elderly lady looked up and said quietly, “Damon was really good, too. He was a good sailor. We sailed to the Azores together. I was eighteen.”

Ashley said to the woman, “Emma, I bet that you had a good time.”

“We had sex, is what we had, dear.” Emma fell quiet
.

“Emma's always talking about that sailing trip. I guess I don't blame her but it gets a little embarrassing every once in a while. Like, I'm supposed to know these things.”

I was about to launch into a birds and bees story, but I held my tongue. “Did Mr. Lambert ever say where he'd go if he got out of here. Maybe to one of his kids' places?”

“He'd never go there. He didn't like his family and they never really visited.” Directing her attention to Emma, Ashley said, “You knew Charlie, didn't you, Emma? Did you like him?”

“He reminded me of Damon. He was a sailor, too. Did I tell you how when I was eighteen I sailed off with Damon? Oh, my.” Emma fell quiet again
.

I was getting nowhere. “Well, Ashley,” I said, handing her my card, “if you think of anything that might help us find Mr. Lambert would you give me a call?”

“Of course we will, won't we Emma?” Ashley said
.

”Thanks,” I said and went back to security to interview Ramsden
.

Ramsden was short, pudgy and arrogant. I didn't like the guy the minute I laid eyes on him. You can tell a lot by the way a person
looks. At the FBI, we had lots of training in how profiling saves time and money. Why waste resources. If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck, it's a duck. Ramsden's a duck. I couldn't imagine Ashley wasting a flirt on this guy
.

“Do you have any security videos of this place when Lambert disappeared?”

“Tapes? What do you think this is, Fort Knox or something? We don't do tapes.”

“I understand that you were talking with Ashley when Lambert disappeared.”

“Did you meet this girl? She's a looker. And yeah, we were talking.”

“What about?”

“Nothing, really. She was telling me about a pajama party that she was going to that night. So you can imagine what I was thinking.”

“I really don't care!” I said
.

“I'd have given my right arm to be at that party.”

I ignored his inane comment. I asked, “How long did you two talk?”

“Fifteen minutes maybe. Ashley kept checking her watch. I asked her about that and she said that she had an appointment with one of the patients, so it wasn't that long. Hey!” Ramsden exclaimed, “While you're at it talking to everybody around here, you ought to talk to Forteneau's nephew. He had goo-goo eyes after Ashley and I think she likes him, too. They hung out a lot together. That kid's what's wrong with kids today.”

“Hung out?”

“Yeah, he doesn't come in here much anymore. He'd hang out with Lambert; I think he used the old man to get to Ashley. When Lambert went missing, Cat stopped coming around much. Ashley probably wised up.”

“Cat?”

“That's what people call him. Catlin's his real name. His grandmother is a guest here.”

I was getting my first scent. “Where do I find this guy, Cat?”

“Why don't you ask his uncle?”

I walked around the place just sniffing here and there. Christ, if I ever wind up in a place like this, I'll cut my throat and consider myself lucky. It's hard to blame Lambert. Deep down, I wish him luck. But, wish as I might, I have a job to do. It's like finding an innocent escapee. I did that once when I worked for the FBI. This guy, actually more a kid, got nicked for a murder rap he didn't do. The investigation team knew it too, but we had no say. A conviction was way beyond our purview. Find the guy and let the courts deal with it. When we caught him, he cried. I almost did, too. He's in the slammer forever. That was the court's decision, not the FBI's. When I find Lambert, I'll let the insurance company deal with it. He'll live out his days right back where he was or not. My job is to find the guy and it ends with that
.

I found Forteneau chatting with the receptionist. I interrupted and asked, “Who's Cat?

“Catlin, you mean. He's my nephew. Weird kid.”

“Why weird?”

“If you met him, you'd know. Embarrassment to the family is what he is.”

“Why?”

“Looks like something out of a freak show. If you see him, you'll know what I mean.”

“So, when do I meet him?”

“He comes in here sometimes to visit my mom. Wait around and
you can probably catch him.”

“Look, Forteneau, I'm not here to wait around. Give the kid a call and tell him to get over here.”

“Good luck. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can tell that kid anything. If you want Catlin, you'll have to go find him. My guess is that he's at his house messing around with his computer. He lives on the damn thing.”

“Tell me, does Catlin have a thing for Ashley?”

“A thing! Who doesn't? Yeah, he has a thing for her. He used to hang around here like a buck in the spring.”

“Used to?”

“Since Lambert left, Catlin has been kind of scarce.”

“Jesus, Forteneau, give me the story will ya?”

“Okay, here's what I know. Lambert and the kid used to hang out all the time with the exception when Ashley was here. He'd leave Lambert and sneak off with his dream girl.”

“Back to Lambert, if you don't mind. When did Lambert and this kid start
hanging out,
as you say?”

“
A week or two maybe before Lambert took off.”

“And you don't find that curious?”

“No, not really. What am I a spy or something? They'd go to Lambert's room and close the door and whatever they did, they did.”

“Before I go looking for the kid, was there anybody else that visited Lambert?”

Forteneau turned to the receptionist. “Mary, honey, check the sign-in for anybody that visited Lambert before he took out of here?”

“I already did that for the police and there were no sign-ins for Charlie. Why don't you guys let the old man alone? Have you ever thought that he might be dead? I pray for him every day.”

Forteneau looked back at me. “Nope. Nobody.”

“Yeah, I heard her. I'm standing right here! Okay, where do I find the kid? Directions would help.”

Catlin was different. Dressed in black. Spiked hair, chains, and studs. The whole rebellious package. I was direct
.

“Where's Charlie Lambert?”

“Like, if I knew, I wouldn't tell
you
.”

There it is. The kid knows. “When's the last time you saw him?”

“Before he left.”

“How much before?”

Catlin scratched his forehead. “Like a day before, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Charlie was here, then he was gone. Life's like that, isn't it? Here today, gone tomorrow.”

“Gone where?”

“Somewhere, I guess.”

“So Charlie's somewhere. Where do you think?”

“Out into the world. On the deep blue sea. On a mountain top. Like at the Salvation Army. How am I supposed to know?”

Emma mentioned sailing. “Why the deep blue sea?”

“Why not? Charlie could do it if he wanted to. He was in good shape. He shouldn't have been in the home anyway.”

“Did you help Charlie escape?”

Catlin looked away, then said, “No, I didn't!”

“Did Ashley?”

“Like, ask her.”

“I will.”

I left Catlin absolutely certain that he and Ashley were involved in Lambert's disappearance. But I didn't have a subpoena. Finagling is different from extracting testimony. Catlin was
not going to submit to interrogation. I went back to the motel and called Charles Jr., Lambert's oldest son. I asked about Charlie's old haunts. Old friends. What he enjoyed doing. Anything that might help. Charles Jr. was helpful once he got past lecturing me on how to do a proper investigation. This is a guy who thinks he knows everything. Comes with being a college professor, I guess. He told me that his father was a workaholic. That he had few friends, he was anti-social, that he liked to do crossword puzzles, enjoyed listening to Bach, and went sailing alone. Bingo. Emma, Catlin, now son Charles Jr. Common thread, sailing. It was a weak link. But it was a link nonetheless. Charles Jr. told me that his father sold his boat about a decade ago and hasn't been to sea since. That his sailing buddy was some guy named Bob. Lived in Maine. The two of them used to go off together for weeks at a time. Big question: How many Bobs live in Maine?