The Advocate - 02 - The Advocate's Betrayal (12 page)

“Right now she’s in recovery, but they’ll move her to the cardiac intensive care unit in an hour or so. You’ll be able to see her then. She probably won’t be awake, however.”

“That’s okay. I just want to see her. Thanks, Doc.”

The dawn was breaking by the time Sabre learned she could visit Betty. She walked into the room to find her with her hands strapped to the bed, an IV in her arm, and a tube in her mouth. Equipment monitored her heart rate and oxygen level. “Hi there, Betty Smith Taylor,” Sabre said, as she took Betty’s hand in hers. “You trying to keep me from doing my job?” Betty lay there unable to respond. Her gray roots showed through her bright red, dyed hair. Her pale skin looked ashen, her sunken eyes embraced dark circles, and her lips were cracked and slightly bleeding.

Sabre stepped back when a nurse came in and took Betty’s temperature and scribbled on her chart. Then Sabre took Betty’s hand in hers. “You sure gave us a scare. I’m not willing to lose you, so you better hold on. I need you around to keep me in line. You hear me? You have a lot of living left to do.” Sabre rubbed Betty’s hands. They felt dry and cold. Sabre reached into the stand by Betty’s bed and removed the lotion. She gently applied it to Betty’s hands. “I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but if you can, you just rest. I’ll sit with you and bore you with my day. You don’t need to talk.” Another nurse came in and checked Betty’s EKG. The hospital room didn’t feel as quiet or cozy as other hospital rooms she had been in. She assumed that was the nature of a cardiac unit. As nurses hustled around from one room to another, machines beeped for their attention.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all this. It just isn’t fair. And I know how much you miss John. I miss him, too.” A third nurse came into the room, asked Sabre to step aside for a moment, took Betty’s blood pressure, and checked her pulse and her breathing. Then she added something to the IV. “What’s in the IV?” Sabre asked the nurse.

“She’s receiving medications to regulate her circulation and her blood pressure.”

“What’s with the tube in her mouth?”

“The endotracheal tube allows her to breathe. She’ll have that until the doctor is confident she can breathe on her own.”

“Any idea how long that’ll be?”

“No, sorry, but I do know she’ll need to be awake before it’ll be removed.”

“Thanks.” Sabre turned to Betty when the nurse left. “They just won’t let you rest, will they? It’ll be better when they move you to a regular room. They said that should be in a day or two.” Sabre sat for a while longer, dozing on and off. She remembered Luke waiting in the lobby and she kissed Betty on the forehead. “You rest. I’ll be back tomorrow.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “Well, later today, actually.”

13

Sabre returned home just in time to shower and leave for court, her eyes red and puffy. Bob met her at the door. “Geez, you look terrible. Sleep much?”

“I dozed once in a while between intercom announcements and hysterical people entering the emergency room.”

“Yeah, I got your message. How’s Betty doing?”

“She’s relatively stable, but as of thirty minutes ago, she was still not awake.”

Bob put his hand on her shoulder. “Bypass surgery is very common now, and most people do very well. She seems to be pretty healthy otherwise, right?”

“Yeah, at least she never complained about anything.” Sabre paused. “Come to think of it, she never said much of anything about herself. I thought about that this morning while I sat with her…how little I actually know about her. But she’s a good person. Maybe that’s all one really needs to know.”

“You’re quite the philosopher when you’re tired. Listen, why don’t we get the Breton case done and then I’ll finish your calendar and you go get some sleep.”

“I don’t think I can sleep, but I’ll take you up on your offer. I’d like to go check on Betty.”

“Okay, but if she’s not awake, you go home and get some rest. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Sabre saluted Bob.

Sabre finished her case and was driving to the hospital when her phone rang.

“Hi, it’s JP. Are you busy?”

“I’m on my way to see Betty at the hospital. Why? What’s up?”

“Is she awake yet?”

“She wasn’t when I called, but I’m going to stop in and see what I can find out.”

“Sabre, we need to talk. I went to Betty’s trailer this afternoon. I didn’t find much, except a death certificate for Jim Taylor. I’m hitting a lot of dead ends, and I mean really dead ends. It’s like their lives just stop about four years back. I need to know how far you want me to go with this.”

“Can we meet after I check on Betty?”

“Sure, just give me a call when you’re done. I’ll be in my office working.”

Sabre shut off her phone as she reached the cardiac unit, confused about Betty’s lack of cooperation and concerned about her health. The noise level was louder than the night before, and there was so much activity. Nurses bustled in and out of rooms with medications, doctors huddled over charts, new patients moved in, and aides performed their tasks. Sabre walked directly to Betty’s room. Betty didn’t look much different than when she had left there a few hours before. Her hands were still tied down, the machines still connected, and the tube in her throat remained. A nurse was taking her blood pressure.

“Has she woken up yet?” Sabre asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.” The nurse turned toward Sabre. “Her vital signs are good, though. Her blood pressure is good, and her breathing is steadier.”

“Thanks.” Sabre stroked Betty’s hair. “Hi, Betty. I’m here. We all miss you.” Sabre squeezed her hand. “You’ve slept long enough now. You need to wake up. You hear me?”

Sabre thought how silly she must sound and she wondered if Betty could hear her. She was always told to speak to people in situations like this, that your voice might help. “You know…” Sabre yawned. “…John would want you to beat this thing. He’d tell you the same thing I am: you need to get better.”

Sabre sat down and held Betty’s hand, rubbing it to warm it. After a few minutes, she rose and walked to the closet. Opening the door, she took out a blanket, placed it over her friend’s legs, and pulled it up to cover her hands.

When Sabre left the hospital, she called JP and made arrangements to meet him at The Coffee Bean on Balboa. She stopped at a red light at the corner of Balboa and Genesee, and after a few seconds she heard a horn honk. She jumped, startled by the noise, realizing she had dozed off. She pulled into the parking lot and spotted JP’s car parked in front.

JP sat in the front of the coffee shop in an overstuffed chair, alone in the room except for a man and a woman at a far end table. He stood up as she walked in. She saw his face light up when he saw her, but his smile turned serious as she approached. “You really look beat. Have you had any sleep?”

“Not really, unless you count dozing at the stoplights.”

“You need some rest. Want to do this another time?”

“No, I’m here now, and I’m fine.”

“Let me get you some coffee.”

“Thanks. I’ll have a medium decaf Café Mocha with less coffee, more milk, and an extra scoop of chocolate. There’s enough caffeine in the chocolate to keep me awake.”

Four young men with briefcases walked in and took their place in line before JP reached the counter. A woman pushing a baby carriage and a grandfatherly looking man walked through the door. They all seemed to be talking at once, but Sabre found the noise lulled her. By the time JP returned with her drink, Sabre had laid her head on the back of the soft chair and closed her eyes.

“Sabre?”

She jolted awake and sat up straight. “Sorry, I guess I’m sleepier than I thought.” She took a sip of her coffee. “That’s perfect. Thanks. So you said you were having trouble finding information. What does that mean?”

“Everything seems to just stop about the time Betty and John came to California. There’s no record of social security activity. I can’t find anything about their past work, education, insurance coverage, driver’s licenses, or anything else. It’s like their life just started here.”

“So, what are you saying? Betty Taylor and John Smith didn’t exist before then?”

“Maybe.” JP stared at Sabre, head tilted, eyebrow raised.

“That’s crazy. You must have something wrong, social security numbers or something.”

“That wouldn’t explain the lack of DMV records.”

“Well, there must be an explanation.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is.” JP looked over his coffee cup as he sipped it. “Sabre, don’t you think it’s funny there are no photographs of John? I bet there are none of Betty either.”

“Betty explained that.”

“And you’re satisfied with her explanation?” He paused, but Sabre didn’t respond. “There’s something very wrong here. Something Betty isn’t telling you.”

“She didn’t kill him, JP. I know she didn’t,” Sabre said, raising her voice.

JP spoke softly. “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but either way she’s lying to you because what she’s telling you doesn’t add up.”

Sabre’s leg started to shake. She held her coffee in one hand and rubbed her forehead with the other. “She didn’t kill him,” her voice louder.

“I know you want to believe her, but you have to wake up. She’s hiding something.” JP raised his voice to the same level as Sabre’s.

“She didn’t do it. I’m telling you she didn’t do it,” her voice rose.

“Sabre, listen to yourself. You can’t even consider the possibility. So, do you want me to continue the investigation?”

“Of course, we have to, but read my lips.” Sabre stood up, leaned in towards JP, and yelled out one word at a time. “Betty…didn’t…kill…John.” The chatter in the coffee shop stopped. Sabre looked around; all eyes focused on her. She moved toward the door. JP stood up, walked over to her, put his arm around her shoulder, and led her back to her chair.

“Okay, I’m listening, but you can’t tell how deep a well is by measuring the length of the pump handle.”

“Huh?” Sabre made a face of confusion. JP’s Texas sayings always made her smile.

“I have to look at it from all sides when I investigate, or I’m going to miss something important.”

“You’re right.” Sabre sighed. “So now what?”

“Now I need to go to Texas…Austin, Texas.”

“Why Austin? I thought Betty told me they lived in Amarillo before they came here.”

“Well, the address Betty gave me of their last residence was in Austin, and I found something in Betty’s things indicating her last husband, Jim Taylor, died in Austin.”

“Geez, what the hell is going on? Don’t I know this woman at all?”

“I don’t know, kid.” He stroked her arm. “You go home and rest. I know it’s only a few blocks, but no more falling asleep at stoplights. If you get sleepy, call me on my cell. I’ll keep you awake.” He squeezed her shoulder. “And I’m going to Texas.”

14

JP stepped off the plane, his first time in Austin. He had been to Texas before. In fact, he was born there, but he’d never been to Austin. He picked up his suitcase from baggage and walked over to the Alamo counter to obtain the rental he had reserved the night before, his cowboy boots sounding like taps on the hard surface.

“Will an SUV be okay, or would you rather have a pickup?” the gray-haired, male clerk asked.

“Does the pickup come with a shotgun or rifle strapped along the back?”

The clerk laughed. “No, sir, but don’t think it hasn’t been suggested in one of those local Texas board meetings.”

“You know, the pickup might be better. Maybe I’ll blend in.”

“Well, sir, you certainly look the part, with your boots and that mighty fine cowboy hat you’re sportin’. It doesn’t look like a costume, either; seems to have some wear. But if you’re trying to blend in, your accent will give you away right off.”

“I’ll have to see what I can do ‘bout that,” JP said in his best Texas drawl. Having spent the first ten years of his life in Texas, the accent came back naturally.

“Not bad for a city slicker from California.”

JP signed the papers, picked up his keys, tipped his hat, and strutted off cowboy style.

JP checked into the Embassy Suites on Highway Thirty-Five. He wanted to work out, but he needed to get to the government offices before they closed. He drove west on East Koenig Lane, just as the GPS instructed him to do. After several turns he reached the Texas Vital Statistics Office. He took the copy of the death certificate for Jim Taylor he had found in Betty’s trailer and approached the desk.

“Howdy, ma’am,” JP said to the attractive, fortyish, slightly overweight clerk.

“Howdy.” She smiled. “What may I do for you?”

“I just need a little information, Stella,” he said, reading her name tag. “My, that’s one beautiful necklace you’re wearing. Is it turquoise?”

“Thank you. Yes, it is turquoise. It’s made locally.”

“My name is JP Torn. I’m an investigator doing a little work for this lawyer out of California who’s trying to see that a rather large inheritance gets delivered. But I need to verify the death, and so I’m here to do just that. The name is Jim or James Taylor. Here’s the information,” he said handing her a piece of paper. “Date of birth, social security number, date he died. Do you need anything else?”

“Actually,” she hesitated, “I need a letter from the closest relative or a court order. Since you aren’t immediate family I can’t make you a copy of the death certificate.”

“Dang.” He raised his hat and scratched his head. “You see, here’s my problem. We’re pretty certain he died in Austin, but if that’s not correct, then I need to go back to the drawing board and figure out where to start looking. If we’re right, then the lawyer can get the court order.”

“I’m sorry, JP.”

He started to gather up his papers and then stopped. “Look, could you do this much for me? Just check to see if you have anything on file for him. Then at least I’ll know where to start.” He smiled at her. “I don’t need any information about him; just let me know if I’m in the right place…please.”

“I guess I can do that much.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you.”