Angel of Mercy (18 page)

“Rosina and Derek are on that car wash stakeout.

There was a violent marital dispute in that trailer park off South Canyon and a burglary last night at Pizza Hut.”

“Pizza Hut? What they take?”

Billy shrugged.

“Dough.”

“Very funny.”

Frankie crossed to Nolan’s office. The door was open and Nolan was on the phone. He waved Frankie in.

“Yeah, I’m going to bring that up with the city fathers tonight,” he said into the receiver. “In the meantime, see what you can do for us.

We’re cutting it too close.” He hung up without saying goodbye and sat back. “How’s that loose end coming?”

“I found out there was a maid in the Murray apartment the night before he allegedly committed suicide.”

Nolan looked surprised.

“Yeah? And?”

“I haven’t been able to locate her yet. No cleaning agency employed her.”

“You got a name?”

“Just a first name, but enough of a physical description to ID her.”

“Try the neighbors.”

“That’s how I got what I got. I was going back to sniff around some more this morning.”

“Good. But before you do that,” Nolan said, his lips quivering as if he were fighting an urge to break into laughter, “I got another loose end for you.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“There’s another apparent suicide… man’s name is Thomas Livingston.

Here’s the address. The paramedics are still at the scene.”

Frankie took the slip of paper from Nolan.

“You’re kidding?”

“Sure you’re up to all this work?” Nolan asked him.

“I’ll manage.”

“When is your pacemaker being installed?”

“I’m supposed to hear from the doctor any day,” Frankie said.

“Okay. Let me know what this is all about,” Nolan said, starting to punch out a number on his phone.

The ambulance was still in the driveway and the front door of the house was wide open when Frankie pulled up. He found Jack Martin in the hallway.

“Look who’s back in the saddle,” Martin quipped.

“What do we have, wise-assT’ Frankie asked.

“Well, I’m no detective,” Jack said, smiling, “but it looks like he overdosed on his wife’s sleeping pills.”

“Touch anything?”

“Just the corpse.” Jack lowered his voice and leaned toward Frankie.

“The victim’s sons are in the living room,” he said shifting his eyes toward it.

Frankie nodded and entered Tommy Livingston’s bedroom first. Jack’s assistant was just putting away their gear.

“Couldn’t do much. He’s been dead awhile,” he said. Frankie nodded toward the pill bottle on the night table.

“That what did it’?”

“If he took all that was supposedly in there… no problem. That’s chloral hydrate. The label says there were fifty capsules. His wife’s name’s on it.”

“Anything else?”

“No marks t)n his body, if that’s what you mean,” Jack said. “We called the coroner already.”

“Thanks. I better go talk to the sons.”

He it)und Perry and Todd sitting on the sofa, both looking pale and stunned, both with bloodshot eyes.

“I’m Detective Samuels,” Frankie said, showing his ID.

“I’m Todd Livingston. This is my brother, Perry. We found my father in his bed and called the ambulance/’

“Is your mother here or…”

“Our mother died two days ago,” Perry said. “That’s why he did it.”

Frankie stared down at them a moment. A second case of suicide with the same motivation within two weeks?

“When did either of you see or speak to him last’?”

?“‘He was at my house for dinner last night,” Todd said.

“Did he give you any indication he was going to do this?”

“What do you think?” Todd said angrily. “If he had, do you think I’d have let him go home and be alone?”

“I’m just trying to do this as fast as I can so you guys aren’t bothered at what has to be a terrible time of grief for you,” Frankie explained softly. “Any unattended death has to be investigated.”

Perry looked down.

“Neither of us expected it,” Todd said. “My father was made of iron.

He was devastated by my mother’s death, just like we all were, but he was the sort of man who always came back.”

Perry straightened up in his seat. “It’s the Livingston backbone,” he added. “We come from a long line of independent, strong people who go back to the forefathers of this country, men who overcame extraordinary obstacles to make a name and a place for themselves,” he said proudly.

“Did either of you know he was taking your mother’s pills or give him the pills to take?”

“No,” Perry snapped. Then he looked at Todd.

“Right?”

“No, we didn’t know. He didn’t say anything about them when he was at my house for dinner, and when he left… I just thought he was going home to go to sleep. He was tired and he didn’t have much appetite.

Other than that… there was no warning.”

“Anyone touch that pill bottle?” Frankie asked.

“I’m afraid I did,” Todd said.

“I’ll need a copy of your prints,” Frankie said.

“Why?”

“Just to eliminate any we find and see if there are any we can’t ID.”

“What about the nurse?” Todd asked Perry.

“Nurse?” Frankie inquired.

“My mother’s private-duty nurse. She was here after the funeral,”

Perry said.

“What’s her name?”

“Sullivan. Susie Sullivan.”

“No, that’s her sister’s name,” Todd said. “Her name was Faye.”

“Sister?”

“She has a sister who came by to help Dad… clean, cook.”

“A maid?” Frankie asked quickly. “Named Susie?”

“Yeah,” Todd said. “But she wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. Dad didn’t mention she was when he was at dinner.”

Frankie thought a moment.

“How about after he came home?”

“I don’t know,” Todd said. He looked at Perry, who shook his head.

“Can you describe this maid?”

“I never saw her. I just spoke to her on the phone,” Todd said.

Frankie looked at Perry. “I never saw her, either.”

“But you’re positive her name is Susie?”

“Yeah. Why is that so important?” Todd asked.

“I just have to have accurate information,” Frankie said as he scribbled in his notepad.

“I’ve got to call my wife,” Todd said.

“Me too,” Perry said.

Jack Martin poked his head in.

“Coroner’s here, Frankie,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“What happens now?” Perry asked.

“Your father’s body will be taken to autopsy. The coroner has to hold an inquest and determine the cause of death.”

They all looked toward the door as the attendants rolled the gurney past the living room.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be making funeral arrangements again,”

Todd said shaking his head.

Perry buried his face in his hands.

“My family, my children… another nightmare.”

Todd finally gave in and started to sob. He turned away.

Frankie closed his notepad.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Then he went back to the bedroom to bag the empty pill bottle and peruse the room one more time before hurrying out and heading toward the Desert Hospital.

He had gotten to know most of the hospital clerical staff. Some were very cooperative and pleasant, some were bitchy, complaining about being overworked as it was and resenting him for doing the slightest thing to make their workload any bigger. Henrietta Scheinwald was on duty when he arrived, and the fifty-fouryear-old woman liked him. But Henrietta was in the middle of training a new employee, Cindy Kizer. The contrast between the flighty twenty-four-yearold strawberry blonde and her tutor was striking. Cindy listened with half an ear on what Henrietta was explaining and with half on what was going on around her in the hallways and outer offices. She had the attention span of a preteen, but she was skilled enough with the word processor and attractive enough for the hospital administrator to hire her. Now Henrietta was left with the burden.

Frankie watched them for a few moments from the doorway before tapping on the jamb. Cindy looked grateful for the interruption.

“Hello, Frankie. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thanks, Henrietta.”

“You’re not working, are you?” she asked grimacing.

“Serra.”

“Frankie,” she chastised.

“Just passing the time until I gotta have my implant,” he said. “Don’t be like my wife.”

“Men.” She looked at Cindy, who smiled with amusement at the way Henrietta chastised this man.

“I need a favor,” he said. “I’ve got to look at someone’s file quickly.”

“Uh huh.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“This is Detective Samuels, Cindy. Occasionally, more often than ever these days, unfortunately, he or one of his fellow officers stops by to get information.”

“Really?” Cindy said, wide-eyed.

“What is it you need, Frankie?” Henrietta asked.

“I’d like to look at a nurse’s file… a Faye Sullivan.”

“Oh yes. Well, she’s primarily a special-duty nurse here. She works for the agency, but, of course, we have her background.”

Henrietta went to her computer terminal and tapped out the commands.

What Frankie liked the most about Henrietta Scheinwald was her respect for confidentiality. Unlike most of the others, she did not widen her eyes with interest and try to find out why he wanted the information.

“You want a hard copy or do you want to simply read it off the screen?” she asked.

“I’ll just read it,” he said. He took out his notepad.

Henrietta rose and went back to Cindy, and Frankie took her seat in front of the monitor.

“All right, Cindy. Let’s get back to what I was showing you. Whenever we have to process a claim through Blue Cross…”

Frankie focused on the information before him and copied down what he wanted as quickly as he could.

Then he thanked Henrietta and left for the police station, anxious to a wipe that smug, condescending smile off Nolan’s ugly face.

Faye stood beside Saul Weinstein in the corridor outside his wife’s hospital room as Dr. Stanley continued to explain Lilly Weinstein’s diagnosis. Dr. Stanley was rapidly becoming one of her favorite physicians. Despite his age she considered him a prime example of the new breed: doctors who practiced what they preached: sensible diet and exercise, no smoking. He certainly didn’t look fifty-one. He stood six feet two with dark brown hair and youthful, vibrant hazel-green eyes.

She especially admired the cardiologist for his tolerance of elderly people, whether they were his patients or the close relatives of his patients. He spoke slowly, but never condescendingly, and always struggled to be certain that his patient or the patient’s spouse fully understood what was happening, why, and what would be prescribed. He had a talent for simplifying the most complicated problems without diminishing their significance. This was only the third time she had been on special duty for one of his patients, but she sensed a mutual respect. Early this morning he had specifically requested her from the service.

“If you have any further questions about your wife’s condition, you can certainly ask Miss Sullivan. Whatever she can’t answer for you, she’ll relay to me and I’ll get back to you,” he said. Saul looked at Faye and nodded, but not without a glint of dark worry in his eyes. He turned back to the doctor.

“It wasn’t tot) soon to take her out of CCU?” he asked.

“As I said, she no longer has any pain or discomfort, and it looks like she’s had a characteristic bout of angina.”

Saul grimaced and shook his head.

“You’re sure it was her heart? Not just gas?”

Dr. Stanley nodded, but saw that the elderly man was not fully convinced.

“Listen Saul, angina pectoris, as it is called, is essentially a symptom. We’ve ruled out hiatus hernia, gastritis, gallbladder disease.

What happened was her heart didn’t get enough blood.”

“I saw her pressing her hand to her chest often, but whenever I asked, she’d say. “It’s just gas.””

“It’s not gas,” Dr. Stanley repeated patiently.

“Why is her heart not getting enough blood? She eats well. She’s not overweight…”

“One of the major coronary arteries is arteriosclerotic… It gets hard as we get older and loses its elasticity.” Dr. Stanley made a small circle with his left forefinger and thumb and held it up. He pressed the thumb against the forefinger, moving them both in and out to make the opening smaller and larger.

“Imagine this is the artery. It has to move like this to push the blood through, see?” He gazed at Faye, who smiled, her eyes dancing with amusement. Weinstein nodded, his gaze fixed on the doctor’s fingers.

“But when it gets too hard, it doesn’t move the blood to the heart fast enough, and blood carries much-needed oxygen.”

“Then she had a heart attack?” Saul concluded fatalistically.

“No, not in the sense you mean. Her heart muscle remains relatively undamaged. What we’re going to do is treat this artery. I’ve prescribed a vasodilator. It’s not blocked enough to warrant any surgical procedure.

We’re just determining the right dosages, watching her carefully.

Afterward, she’s got to watch her diet, get plenty of rest, avoid emotional strain…”

Faye smiled at the doctor who continued to rattle off the therapy and prognosis, but something drew her back to the doorway of Lilly Weinstein’s room and she gazed almost absentmindedly at the heart monitor.

The R wave was on the T.

“Stat!” she screamed, and she rushed into the room to begin CPR. Dr.

Stanley and Saul Weinstein came in right behind her. Weinstein gazed at the screen of the heart monitor in terror as the doctor and the nurse continued to work on his wife. In moments, the waves returned to a normal pattern and they both stepped back from the patient.

“Nice going,” Dr. Stanley said. Faye beamed.

“What happened?” Saul asked, his eyes wide and his face bone-white.

The head floor nurse and an aide stood beside him and two other nurses had rushed up the corridor and stood in the doorway.

“She’s all right now. Take it easy, Mr. Weinstein.”

“But…”