Nowhere to Hide (18 page)

At a quarter to six, Graham stood in the middle of his closet, wearing socks and underwear. He’d slept like a dead man and awakened before the alarm this morning, eager to report to work—dressed like a detective. He reached for his one good suit and stopped. Suits were usually reserved for court appearances and more formal interviews. He had a hunch he’d be tied to his desk all day making phone calls and searching databases.

He stepped into a pair of black slacks, buttoned up a red and white pinstripe shirt and fingered his meager selection of ties, selecting a plain red one. His charcoal sport coat hung on the back of his dining room chair, with the shoes he’d worn last night on the floor beside it. He felt half naked without the weight of the uniform’s heavy utility belt, but he could get used to it. Real fast.

Too nervous to eat, he poured a second cup of coffee into his travel mug and went out to his cruiser.

By the time Schaeffer arrived at the station, Graham had been at his desk checking databases for almost half an hour. He had fifty phone numbers matched to the invitation list Erica had given him and planned to start making the calls at eight.

“
Well, well, well. Look at the early bird. Any worms?” Schaeffer said. He set a Starbucks cup on Graham’s desk and perched on the corner, sipping from a cup of his own. “It’s a latte. Hope it’s all right.”

Graham pried off the lid and took a sip. “Perfect. Thanks.” He would have accepted a decaf skinny with soymilk from Schaeffer.

“
My office.” Schaeffer’s tone was neutral, but Graham fought an onslaught of butterflies. He remembered to log out before he followed the lieutenant down the hall. One lesson learned.

Schaeffer sat behind his desk. “I read your report on Mrs. Simon’s interview. Thorough.”

Some of Graham’s nerves dissipated. “She was cooperative, although there were times I was pretty sure she was holding back. But she needs Jeffrey for his money. I think she wants to find him.”

“
And if he’s dead?”

“
I need to see if I can dig up a copy of his will.” He automatically thought of Colleen and the key to Jeffrey’s filing cabinet. “You think we could get a warrant to search his files?”

“
I still can’t figure a judge seeing probable cause. The man’s not home, but he’s not supposed to be home. Not calling someone’s not a crime.”

Graham paused, sipping coffee while collecting his thoughts. He’d decided he could tell Schaeffer about the files Colleen had shown him, but now it seemed hard to get the words out. If she hadn’t been a former cop, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Instead, he told him about the BOLO on Townsend’s truck and an earlier phone call to the Holiday Inn. “It turns out Jeffrey made that Holiday Inn reservation in mid-September. When he didn’t show up, they charged his card against his guarantee.”

“
So maybe he isn’t in Alabama after all.”

“
Meanwhile, I got a lead. Remember Doris was freaking out about going to a home? It might be a place called Vista Gardens. I thought I should interview someone there. Find out if Jeffrey made any arrangements.”

“
Let me know how it goes.”

Another solo. Graham tried not to look too pleased.

“
How are you doing on those phone calls?”

“
I thought it might be better to wait for a more civilized hour.”

“
You’re a cop, Harrigan. You’re allowed to wake them up. Get to work.”

Schaeffer might be right, but that didn’t mean Graham was comfortable intruding, especially since an early morning call usually meant bad news.

Schaeffer turned his attention back to his paperwork and Graham went back to the cubicle he’d been assigned in the CID bay. When the phone rang, he picked it up.

“
CID. Harrigan.” Damn, that felt good.

“
It’s O’Neill. The truck you’re looking for showed up at Orlando International. Gold lot, long term parking.”

Which was pretty much where it was supposed to be. “Anything fishy?”

“
Nope. It’s got a low cover over the bed, but the cab is clean. No flies, no smell. Looks like any other car in the lot.”

“
Can you tell how long it’s been there?”

“
We’ve got a call in to check.”

“
Thanks. Let me know what you find out.” He hung up and found the number for Vista Gardens. He called, but the administrator he needed wouldn’t be in until nine.

He went back to the notes he’d made at Colleen’s. Something about the National Audubon Giving Society and the Great Egret. He clicked to their website and drilled through the links until he found what he needed. The Great Egret was one of the Society’s premium membership levels. He read further.

Holy crap! Jeffrey was going to donate over twenty-five grand to the Audubon Society.  The membership included an exclusive birding trip. Maybe it was spur of the moment and he was off in the boonies looking at birds. Graham studied Jeffrey’s credit card statement. There was a two hundred fifty dollar payment to the Nature Conservancy. He explored their website. Buying up land for conservation didn’t sound like something a developer would be doing. Had Jeffrey suffered a change of heart, or was he appeasing his conscience? He wondered how much information he could get from anyone simply by identifying himself as a deputy sheriff. If he got lucky, he might hit a babbler.

A voice from the next cubicle caught his attention.

“
Heads up!”

Graham caught a glimpse of motion, and something flew into his cubicle. He snatched it mid-air.

“
Damn it, Harrigan, your stomach’s growling loud enough to wake the dead. Take a break and feed it.”

Graham checked the clock on his monitor. After nine? He ripped open the wrapper. “Thanks,” he mumbled around a mouthful of a peanut butter PowerBar.

He washed it down with cold coffee and took a call from the airport parking authority. Frank Townsend’s car had been in the lot since October seventeenth. He reviewed his notes. Townsend had called Stuart Gravely on the fifteenth, almost a month ago. Townsend’s roommate said he’d been gone about three weeks. Graham called Townsend’s number and left a message to confirm the date. His next call yielded a noon appointment with the head administrator at Vista Gardens.

With a sigh, he picked up the telephone list from Gravely’s fund-raiser and started making calls.

*****

Promptly at twelve, Graham followed a plump African American woman down a carpeted hallway in the Vista Gardens Community Living Center. She pushed a massive carved wooden door open and leaned into the room. “Deputy Harrigan is here to see you.”

“
Thank you, Paula,” came a cultured female voice from inside the room. He stepped into the spacious office and his escort closed the door behind her when she retreated.

A tall, slender woman with steel-gray hair that matched her eyes stood behind a glass and chrome desk, bare aside from a nameplate and a large arrangement of silk flowers. Behind her was a credenza holding a computer monitor, a telephone, and one chrome organizer that appeared to contain a single file.

“
Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Wyckoff.”

Mrs. Wyckoff extended a hand with long, tapered fingers that ended in long, manicured nails. When he shook it, her grip was firm, and her hand was cool and dry.

“
What can I do for you, Deputy Harrigan? I have a luncheon at one.” She lowered herself into a large black leather chair, smoothing the gray fabric of her skirt as she did so.

“
I don’t think it should be a problem. I came across this facility in reference to an investigation.”

“
Certainly you’re not investigating Vista Gardens, Deputy? I can assure you, we meet or exceed all standards at all levels.” She motioned him to one of two armchairs.

He took a seat. “I was wondering if the names Jeffery or Doris Walters meant anything to you.

“
I can’t say I recall either of them.”

“
Perhaps you could check your records. Last month, Jeffrey Walters sent you five hundred dollars.”

“
That sounds like a routine donation in response to one of our expansion campaigns, but I suppose I can check.”

“
Thank you. I appreciate it.” He leaned forward a little and watched her swivel her chair and press a button on the phone.

“
Paula, will you please bring me anything we have on a Jeffrey Walters?”

“
Or Doris,” he said.

“
Or Doris Walters. Thank you.”

She turned back to face Graham with a look that said she was tolerating him, but barely.  He merely sat and smiled. He could handle waiting. Unlike Erica, however, Mrs. Wyckoff wasn’t a babbler.

Several silent minutes later, Paula deposited a folder on the desk and departed. Mrs. Wyckoff picked up the file and gave an obvious look at her watch before she opened it. He saw a flicker of something pass across her face before the façade of cool professionalism dropped back in place. Surprise? Embarrassment?

“
It would seem Mr. Walters has visited Vista Gardens on several occasions. I apologize for not remembering him, but you must understand, we get dozens of visitors each week, people looking for the best environment for their loved ones. If you like, I can have Paula give you a tour. I’m sure you’ll find Vista Gardens is far from your stereotypical image of an … old age home.”

“
I’m sure I would,” he said, although he wondered if the residents’ accommodations came anywhere close to the luxury of this office. “Can you tell me why he was here, or if he made any arrangements for his aunt to move in?”

She scanned the papers one more time, then closed the folder, set it in the center of her desk, and folded her hands on top of it. “The five hundred dollars was, as I suspected, a donation to the facility. We’re trying to expand our recreation center. However, he did fill out a preliminary application for Doris Walters. As our space is limited and very much in demand, we have placed Mrs. Walters’ name on our list of potential guests pending further investigation, and of course, an opening.”

“
And what is it you investigate?”

“
The usual. Overall health, of course. We have both assisted living and full nursing home facilities and different availabilities in each. And although we don’t charge rent,
per se
, we do require an equitable sum be turned over to Vista Gardens in return for lifelong care. We provide meals, room, furnishings, recreation, and of course, proper health care. None of this comes cheaply, you understand.”

“
I do.” He leaned in and rested his hands on the edge of her glass desktop and smiled inwardly as he saw Mrs. Wyckoff try not to flinch. He could almost hear her calling Paula to polish her desk as soon as he left. “Basically, your residents sign over their life savings to Vista Gardens, and before you let them in, you need to make sure the money won’t run out before they do.”

“
I think that’s a rather crude way to put it, Deputy.”

“
I’m a crude kind of guy, Mrs. Wyckoff. Was Doris going to make the cut?”

“
I believe that’s privileged information.”

“
I believe I could get a warrant if I had to. Or ask you to come to the station, but that would mean you’d miss your lunch, wouldn’t it?” Damn, he hoped she couldn’t tell he was bluffing. He had no leverage with her at all.

She stood and walked to a narrow door at the side of the office. Pulling the door open, she reached inside and removed a jacket to match her skirt, and a small gray purse. He stood and waited for her to step back into the room.

“
Mrs. Walters had little, if any, money of her own, Deputy. However, her nephew was negotiating terms of acceptance. It is my belief she would be considered for an opening within a year.”

“
And what might those terms be?” He held his breath. This one was a real push.

“
I’m sorry, Deputy. I think I’ve already told you far more than I was required under the circumstances. If you want any more details, perhaps you should think about procuring that warrant. Now if you will excuse me, I don’t want to be late.”

So. Doris did have something to worry about.

Colleen lowered the pile of shopping bags to the couch and organized her purchases. First, she ripped the plastic wrappings off her new sheets and took them to the washer to get the stiffness out. There would be more drenched-in-sweat awakenings, but at least now she had more than one set of linens. She was on the way to becoming a new Colleen.

She ran her hands down the black and brown tweed slacks and long-sleeved brown polo Tracy had selected. As comfortable as her standard jeans. Nothing fancy. Just different. And maybe if she changed the outside, the new Colleen she was creating would burrow down to the inside. Maybe the new Colleen wouldn’t flash back to scenes of domestic violence.

With the washer running, Colleen fell victim to the golden box of truffles. She chose one at random, shoving bags aside so she could relax on the couch and savor the rich sweetness. The new Colleen got chocolate truffles and e-mails quoting Yeats.

Yeats.  She owed Graham a response for that one, but had no clue how to handle it. Maybe another piece of chocolate would help.

When the last traces of chocolate had dissolved, she retrieved the file cabinet keys from her nightstand drawer. Next, the box of brownies she’d bought. And if the brownies didn’t get her into the house, asking to borrow a hammer to hang her new pictures might.

She’d stepped outside when the phone rang. Tempted to ignore it, then remembering her answering machine was still en route, she raced inside.