Angel of Mercy (21 page)

“What?”

“Apparently their father committed suicide after their mother died.”

“She told her that?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I will look into it. What about the other suicide?”

“Couldn’t find anyone to tell me whether the maid Susie tended to him or not. He was a loner.”

“How did he go?”

“Something called physostigmine. Cause of death was pulmonary edema.

Sounds very unpleasant.”

“And physostigmine or whatever, that was the wife’s medication?”

“Yep. She had some kind of heart irregularity. I didn’t dig too deeply into the medical wells here, so that’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

“That’s fine. You did great.”

“Gotta tell you, this nurse gets rave reviews. One doctor claims she saved one of his patients with her quick thinking.”

“So displeasure with her work, or lack of it, wasn’t any motive for the move to Palm Springs?” Frankie asked.

“Hell, no. She could get work here tonight, if she returned.”

“Thanks,” Frankie said. He thought a moment and then called Jimmy McDermott, an old friend of his in the LAPD.

“Jimmy, Frankie. I need you to tap into your famous computer again for me, buddy,” Frankie said.

“Frankie? I was just talkin’ about you with Jack Sussman. He said he heard from his brother-in-law in Palm Springs that you were retired.”

“Minutes away. I’ll tell you about it all when I come into L.A. next.

In the meantime, I need to know about a suicide that occurred in Pacific Palisades. Name’s Sullivan.” He looked at his notepad and the information he had copied from the hospital records on Faye.

“Edward R.”

“When?”

“Well…” He checked his dates to determine when Faye and her sister had left the L.A. area and started on their various trips and jobs.

“Looks like about six and a half, maybe seven years ago.”

“Give me twenty minutes, or will you be retired by then?” Jimmy kidded.

“It’s close,” Frankie said, and Jimmy laughed.

Frankie sat at his desk organizing his information.

He lost track of time, so when the phone rang, it seemed like only a few minutes had gone by since he had spoken with Jimmy.

“Got it for you. Edward R. Sullivan. Overdosed on sleeping pills.

I’ll fax you the whole story if you like.”

“Yeah, thanks, Jimmy.”

“Don’t forget to invite me to your retirement party.”

“You’ll be the first.”

After Frankie hung up, he brought the information in to Nolan who slowly digested everything.

“Looks like you have your patterns, all right,” he concluded. “I’ll call the coroner and tell him about our suspicions and ask him to take another look at Livingston. In the meantime, I guess you better call the Sullivan sisters in for questioning.”

“Let me visit them first and speak to them in their own surroundings.

I have better luck that way. This isn’t your typical deranged serial killer, if what we suspect is true. This is a sophisticated and intelligent psychotic. I mean, are they both guilty or is it just the nurse or just the maid? Is one aware of what the other does? I’d like to have something more, that old smoking gun, before I read them their rights and clamp the handcuffs on one or the other or both.”

Nolan thought a moment and then nodded.

“Okay. Play it the way you think best,” he said. His acquiescence made Frankie feel proud of himself, but he recognized that the man wasn’t motivated by his respect for Frankie’s abilities as much as by his fear of being held accountable for missing something very dramatic and very big.

Frankie was on his way out when the dispatcher signaled to him.

“It’s your wife. She doesn’t sound too happy,” he whispered loudly.

“Tell her I just left,” Frankie said.

He hurried away feeling very guilty but also full of that special excitement that came whenever he was on the verge of breaking a case or making a major crime discovery. Surely the gods would permit him just one more, and Jennie would forgive him.

The door buzzer took Faye by surprise. Her first thoughts went to Tillie, but she also feared that it might be Corpsy Ratner. He had sounded so anxious on the telephone. People as mentally unstable as he was were capable of doing anything impulsively, she thought. Susie, who had been preparing herself for visiting Corpsy, popped her head out of her doorway.

“Faye? Was that the door buzzer?”

“Yes. Just stay in there. It’s probably Tillie, but it might be that idiot. If it’s him, I’ll tell him you’re not here. Don’t make any noise.”

“All right.” Susie left the door open a crack.

“Close it,” Faye insisted. After Susie did so, Faye went to the front door.

“Faye Sullivan?” Frankie asked. Faye sensed immediately that he was a policeman. It was revealed to her in the way he carried himself and the way he scrutinized her quickly, his eyes sweeping over her and then moving off to look behind her.

“Yes?”

He produced his identification.

“My name is Frank Samuels. I’m with the Palm Springs police. May I come in?”

She didn’t accede to his request instantly, as most people would, even most guilty people who were anxious to put up a facade of innocence immediately. She hesitated, her shoulders stiffening. After all, she was someone who usually carried authority, someone who bore responsibilities and had self-confidence. She wasn’t easily intimidated.

“Why? What is it you want?” she demanded.

Frankie started to smile but stopped and became firm himself instead.

“I’m investigating an alleged suicide,” he replied.

“You were one of the last to see this person alive.”

“Who is it, or was it, I should say,” she asked, still unflinching.

“Thomas Livingston.”

Her eyes softened, the tiny lines around them deepening as her lips curled inward. If she were pretending this shock and sadness, Frankie thought, she was real good at it. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. But she sucked in some air and pulled herself out of it.

“I’m really sorry to hear that. He was a very nice man.”

“There are just a few questions remaining,” Frankie said. “I don’t mean to take up much of your time.,”

“I do have to go some place soon… to meet my sister,” she said.

“Oh, she’s not here?” he asked with disappointment.

“Not at the moment. Why?”

“From what I understand, she was with Mr. Livingston the day before he died. I’d like to talk to her.” When do you expect her to return?”

“I don’t. I mean, not right away. We’re meeting an old friend for dinner. She’s already gone to be with him.”

“I see. Well, maybe I’ll be able to talk to her tomorrow. In the meantime…”

“Yes,” Faye said finally stepping back to permit him to enter. “Come in.”

He gazed around quickly. The apartment, from what he could see of it, had that transient feel to him. Nothing very personal was in view, no family heirlooms” no pictures, except for what looked like an album on the coffee table. All the living room furniture looked like the inexpensive rental package that included lamps. It reminded him of motel rooms.

“Please, sit down,” she said and moved forward quickly to take a copy of People magazine off the small sofa.

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything? A cool drink?”

“No thanks. From what I understand,” he said, wanting to get right to business, “after the funeral, you remained behind at Mr. Livingston’s house to be with him after all the mourners, including his family, had left.” He read from the notes he had gotten from a telephone call to Todd Livingston.

“That’s correct. He was obviously overwrought, but he was the sort of man who hated to be a burden to anyone, especially his family.”

“Yet he was willing to rely on you?” Frankie asked quickly.

“I’m a nurse, Detective Samuels. It’s my work, helping sick people.

Mr.

Livingston was sick with grief.”

“What did-you ‘do for him?”

“I got him to relax and then to sleep.”

“Did you give him any pills?”

“He didn’t have anything, but I found his wife’s prescription. It was fine.”

“You gave him the pills yourself?. Brought them to him?”

“Yes,” she said and smiled. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve given someone pills.”

“What I meant was, you went into the medicine cabinet, found the pill bottle, opened it and took out… what, two?”

“That’s correct. Two was enough.”

“Do you remember how many pills remained?”

“I didn’t count them, no.”

“Were there a great many left?”

“Most of the prescription, I’d say,” she replied and finally sat down across from him. “So you handled the bottle?”

“Yes.” Now she knew what he was driving toward.

“I left it out on the night table by his bed in case he needed some the next night,” she added quickly.

Frankie nodded, looked at his notepad and then without looking up, asked, “When did your sister come to work for him?”

“Susie relieved me that evening. I had promised the family I would look after him, but I had to go and I had already discussed his hiring my sister to do some work in his house. She does that sort of thing on a part-time basis.”

“She’s your twin?”

“That’s right.”

“How long did she stay with him that evening?”

“She remained through the evening, made him breakfast the next day, cleaned up, and came home,” Faye said. Her lips trembled. “She’s not going to take this well. Susie gets so involved with people. She’s very shy, but when she gets to know someone, she… devotes herself to him or to her.”

“Really?” Frankie said.

She looked up at him.

“Yes, really. It’s painful to just get to know someone, to commiserate with him, and think you’re making progress, you’re doing something good: you’re helping him deal with his great sorrow and then, what amounts to only hours later, to discover you were no influence at all.”

“Well, people with a great deal more training and experience than your sister do no better. I take it then he was talking about suicide, either with you or your sister?

“Yes, but from what I’ve seen working with other lonely people, especially elderly people, that’s not unusual. What’s usual is it’s just talk. They feel sorry for themselves and they say things like that so we’ll feel sorry for them, too.”

“Susie didn’t mention his taking any more pills that night?”

“No. He slept through the night, and he ate well when he got up.”

“How much longer did your sister remain?”

“Just to clean up the bedroom and the kitchen. She was tired herself.

She didn’t sleep well, worrying about not hearing him call or something.

She’s like that.”

“I see.” ‘

“Is there anything else, because I do have to go,” Faye said.

“I have just a few questions about another suicide that occurred in Palm Springs recently, Sam Murray.”

“Oh yes,” she said.

“Your sister worked for him too?”

“That’s correct.”

“Did you give her a pill called Dilantin to give him to help him sleep?” he asked quickly. She stared a moment and then smiled, but so coldly it made his spine feel like it had turned into an icicle.

“Hardly, Detective. If anyone should know not to give someone Dilantin without his doctor’s knowledge, you’d think it would be me, wouldn’t you?” she asked disdainfully. “There can be some serious side effects.

You should know the patient’s medical history and condition.”

“Dilantin was found in his body, and there wasn’t any in the apartment, nor was any prescribed for him or his wife,” Frankie said. “It’s a prescription drug.”

“My experience with older people is that they often lend each other their medications. Some of them have been dealing with the medical community for so long, they see themselves as doctors and nurses. Have you asked any of his neighbors?”

“Some. What did you think about his injecting himself with insulin?”

“I wasn’t surprised. He used to administer it to his wife, so he was comfortable with the hypodermic,” she said.

“And how long did your sister stay with him?”

“Not long. She left the night before he died.”

“And she thought he was all right, too?”

“She was worried about him. He had no immediate family nearby. I was going to check on him in the morning, but by the time I got around to it, I found out it was too late.”

Frankie studied her a moment. She looked so confident or else… she really didn’t know what her sister was up to. He couldn’t decide.

“Why all these questions, Detective?”

“Why? Well, sometimes we take note of patterns.

Believe it or not, most everything fits into a normal average …. your normal average homicides, burglaries, car thefts—based upon the population, of course.”

She nodded.

“When something breaks out of the average and forms an unusual pattern, we look twice., Most of the time, it’s nothing,” he added forcing a smile. “But sometimes the pattern is our first clue.”

“It’s the same in medicine. If a man of your age and weight started to behave differently from other men of your age and weight, we’d think it justified an investigation. Only we call that a physical.” Frankie laughed.

“You don’t know how close to the truth you are,” he said.

“Oh? You have a physical problem?”

“Hypertrophic…”

“Cardiomyopathy?” she said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said. He couldn’t help but be impressed. She was really a very good nurse.

“Sometimes it can be treated with medication, but most often a pacemaker is recommended,” she recited.

“Did you have a pacemaker implanted?”

“I’m about to.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “But if you need a private-duty nurse…”

“Thanks,” he said, nearly laughing. Wouldn’t that be a twist?

“Anyway, getting back to what I said about patterns. I noted from your work history that you were working in Phoenix recently.”

Faye finally shifted nervously in her seat. He noted that she also gazed quickly toward the rear of the apartment.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“A bit of checking revealed that there were a couple of similar situations there.”