The Innocent (45 page)

“Well, thanks for your help.”

“Yeah,” Siegel said absently.

Robie left him there looking like he’d already received a death sentence.

T
HEY PULLED INTO
the parking lot of Central Hospice Care twenty minutes later. There were about fifteen cars in the parking lot. As they drove through the lot, Robie examined each one to see if they were occupied.

He pulled into a space and looked at Vance. “You want to do this one or should I?”

Julie said, “I want to go in.”

“Why?” asked Robie.

“She fought with him. Maybe she knew something about my dad.”

“She’s probably not in much condition to talk,” said Vance.

“Then why are we even here?” asked Julie.

Robie said, “I’ll take her in with me. You keep watch.”

“You sure?” asked Vance.

“No, but I’m doing it anyway.”

He and Julie walked into the hospice building, a two-story brick structure with lots of windows and a cheery atmosphere inside. It did not look like a place where people would come to see their lives end. Maybe that was the point.

The flash of Robie’s creds got them escorted back to Elizabeth Van Beuren’s room. It was as cheery as the rest of the place, with flowers grouped on tables and on the windowsill. Light streamed in from outside. A nurse was checking on Van Beuren. When she moved away, Robie’s hopes for any personal information from the critically ill woman sank.

She looked like a skeleton and was on a ventilator, the machine
inflating her lungs via a tube inserted down her throat, with another tube bleeding off that to carry away toxic carbon dioxide. There was also a feeding tube inserted into her abdomen, and multiple IV lines running to her. Bags of medication hung from an IV stand.

The nurse turned to them. “Can I help you?”

“We just came to ask Ms. Van Beuren some questions,” said Robie. “But it doesn’t look like that’s possible.”

“She was put on the ventilator six days ago,” said the nurse. “She comes in and out. She’s on heavy painkillers.” The nurse patted her patient’s hand. “She’s a real sweetheart. She was in the Army. It’s just awful it’s come to this.” She paused. “What sort of questions did you have?”

Robie pulled out his creds. “I’m with the DOD. We were just making some inquiries into a military matter and her name came up as a possible source of information.”

“I see. Well, I don’t think she’ll be of much help. She’s in the last stages of her disease.”

Robie studied the ventilator and the monitoring systems hooked up to the shriveled woman lying in the bed. “So the ventilator is helping to keep her alive?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Julie, who was staring at Van Beuren.

“But she’s in hospice,” said Robie.

The nurse looked uncomfortable. “There are many levels of hospice. It’s all in what the patient or their family want.” She looked down at the woman. “But it won’t be long, ventilator or not.”

“So the ventilator is what the family wanted?” asked Robie.

“I’m really not at liberty to say. Those matters are private. And I can’t see what this would have to do with any military inquiry,” she added with some annoyance.

Julie had wandered over to the windowsill and had picked up a photo. “Is this her family?”

The nurse looked curiously at Julie and then at Robie. “You said you were with DOD. But why is she with you?”

“I’m really not at liberty to say,” answered Robie, causing the nurse to purse her lips.

Julie brought the photo around to show Robie. She said to the nurse, “My dad was in the same Army squad as Mrs. Van Beuren. I was hoping to find out some things about his past from her.”

The nurse’s stiff expression vanished. “Oh, I see, sweetie. I didn’t realize. Yes, that’s her and her family. There used to be more pictures in the room. But her daughter and husband have been slowly taking them. They know the end is almost here.”

Robie took the photo. It showed Van Beuren in healthier days. She was in her dress greens, her chest awash in medals. A man was beside her, presumably her husband. And there was a girl about Julie’s age.

“So that’s her husband?” asked Robie.

“Yes. George Van Beuren. And that’s their daughter, Brooke Alexandra. She’s older now, of course. That photo was from a number of years ago. She’s in college now.”

“So you know her?”

“She’s been in to visit her mother quite often. That’s how I know her. Brooke’s a lovely girl. She’s very torn up about her mother.”

“And her husband?”

“He comes here regularly. I know he’s devastated too. They’re barely fifty and they have to face this? But who ever said life was fair.”

“Anybody else come to see her?”

“A few people. At least that I know. I’m not assigned to this wing all the time.”

“You have a guest log?”

“It’s out front by the receptionist. But not everyone signs in.”

“Why not?”

“This is not a high-security facility,” bristled the nurse. “People who come here to visit friends and family are usually very emotionally upset. Sometimes they forget to sign in. Or one person signs in for the group. As you can imagine, we’re a bit flexible on that. They come here to show love and respect and support. But it’s just not the sort of place anyone wants to
have
to visit.”

“Understood. How long has she been here?”

“Four months.”

“Isn’t that a long time to be in hospice?”

“We have people here for longer and shorter periods. It’s not a one-time-period-fits-all sort of place. And until a couple of weeks or so ago Ms. Van Beuren wasn’t like she is now. The drop-off came relatively quickly.”

“But the ventilator will keep her alive so long as it’s on, right? I mean, even if she can’t breathe on her own?”

“I really can’t talk to you about this. Federal and state law prohibits me from doing so.”

“I’m just trying to understand the situation.”

The nurse once more seemed uncomfortable. “Look, normally the use of a ventilator would decertify a person for hospice care. Hospice is to allow a patient to pass with dignity. We’re not a place where someone goes to be cured of her disease, or to artificially sustain life.”

“So the use of the ventilator in a situation like this is unusual?”

“It could be grounds for decertification and the transfer of the patient back to a hospital or other care facility.”

“So why the ventilator?” asked Robie. “Does she have a chance of pulling through?”

“Again, even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you. What I can tell you is that sometimes families reach a point where they have false hope. Or where they made a decision to come to hospice and then reconsider that decision.”

“I see,” said Robie.

Julie added, “It’s hard watching someone you love die.”

The nurse said, “Yes, it is. Very hard. Now, unless you have any other questions I have some things to do for my patient.”

“You said her husband visits regularly?”

“Yes. But at odd hours. Brooke goes to college out of state so she doesn’t get in as often.”

“Do you have any idea where her husband works?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I can probably find that out easily enough.”

The nurse looked at Julie, who was staring at Van Beuren. “I’m sorry that she couldn’t tell you anything about your father.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Julie reached over and touched Van Beuren’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said to the dying woman.

Then she turned and left. Robie handed his card to the nurse. “If her husband comes in can you have him give me a call?”

Robie glanced once more at the terminally ill former soldier, turned, and followed Julie out.

R
OBIE HELD THE
door open for Julie and then climbed into the car after her. He buckled up and looked at Vance.

“Don’t see anything with Elizabeth Van Beuren being helpful. She can’t talk. And she won’t be alive much longer.”

“And what about Siegel? You didn’t say much after you left the bank.”

“He said he spoke to Leo Broome, but over a decade ago. Said he didn’t know Curtis Getty or Jerome Cassidy were in the area. He seems to just be waiting to see if he’ll get cancer too, or lose his job. Unless he’s hiding something really well, I’m not sure how he figures into this either.”

“So that leaves Jerome Cassidy,” said Vance.

“He’s in Arlington, right?”

“What the paper says.”

“Note anything suspicious out here?”

“Not a thing.”

“Let’s go.”

It took over an hour to get to Arlington because traffic was bad, or, in other words, traffic was normal heading toward D.C. It was nearly lunchtime when Robie found a parking space and pulled into it. He turned to Vance. “You sure this is the space?”

She held up the page and he read off it.

All three of them turned to look at the building.

“It’s a bar and grill,” said Julie.

Robie looked upward. “But there seem to be rooms above it. Maybe Cassidy lives in one of them.”

Vance undid her seat belt. “My turn.”

Robie looked across the street and then back at her. The area they were in was congested, like much of Arlington. There were too many homes and businesses with not enough land to put them on. That resulted in tight streets with not much parking, and lots of hidden spots from which they could be watched.

“Let’s all go in on this one,” said Robie.

Vance shook her head. “What about the car? We can’t leave it unattended. I’m not looking to get back in here with a bomb under the chassis.”

“I got this car from a special source. Which means it has special defensive devices.”

“Like what?”

“Like if someone tries to break into it or booby-trap it, it will not be a fun time for them and we will most certainly know about it.”

They all climbed out of the car. Robie’s gaze was shifting in every direction.

“What is it?” asked Vance nervously. “You see something?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”

“You didn’t seem this tense at the other places.”

“That’s because this is the
last
place.”

Vance took a quick breath and nodded. “Right. I see your point.”

The name of the bar was the Texas Hold ’Em Saloon. At ten minutes to noon it already had about twenty people inside. It was decorated in a western theme, heavy on saddles, bridles, cowboy hats and boots, and with murals of horsemen, cattle, and the flat Texas plains. At the far end of the space was an enormous bar that spanned the entire width of the interior. Barstools with faux bull’s horns as seatbacks lined the space in front. Behind the bar a large Texas flag hung on the wall. All around the flag were stacked hundreds of libations designed to wet the whistle, lighten the wallet, and dull the senses.

“Somebody spent a lot of cash on this place,” commented Robie.

A young woman dressed all in black except for her white cowboy hat and white boots and holding a menu approached them.

“Party of three?” she asked.

“Maybe,” said Robie. “We were given this address for a friend of ours. Jerome Cassidy. You know him?”

“Mr. Cassidy is the owner.”

Robie and Vance exchanged a quick glance.

“Is he here?”

“Can I tell him who’s asking?’ said the woman politely.

Vance held out her cred pack. “FBI. Could you take us back to where he is?”

The woman looked uncertain. “Can you let me just check to make sure he’s here?”

“So long as you check while we can see and hear you,” said Robie.

The woman’s polite features vanished. She looked at them nervously. “Is Mr. Cassidy in some sort of trouble? He’s a great boss.”

“We just want to talk to him,” said Robie. “So he
is
here?”

“Back in his office.”

“Lead the way,” said Robie.

She turned and started off hesitantly. She walked past the bar and down a short hallway and turned right. Passing through a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only,” she continued on. There was another short corridor down here with two doors on either side. She stopped at one marked “Office” and timidly knocked.