by C. E. Nelson
Green stood. “On it.”
She walked to the door, Trask watching. She had a nice walk. She stopped at the door.
“She’ll call.”
The single-story red brick coroner’s office was only a ten-minute drive for Trask. It reminded him of a grade school he attended in Minneapolis. He walked through the double doors and stopped at the first office on the right, leaning on the door frame.
“Maybe you should put in a request for a new desk?”
Linda looked at him over the reading glasses on her nose. “Why is that?”
“Get one with a semi-circle cut out in front so you could reach things.”
“If it wasn’t such a pain in the butt to get up, my fist would be reaching your nose with no problem.”
Trask smiled.
“This is your fault you know?” she said, hands on her belly.
“I know.” Bigger smile.
“What?” she said.
“You look great,” he said.
“If you like the look of a sumo wrestler,” she said.
“So, no kid yet?”
“No,” said Linda.
“OK. Just thought I better check,” Dave said.
“You here for the Bishops?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Did you assist?”
“Had to. The intern we have to replace me when I’m out got sick.”
“Flu?” he said.
“Yeah. Autopsy flu.”
“That’s not a good sign.”
“No.”
“See you at home?” he said.
“Hard to miss me,” she said.
Trask walked down the hall to Dr. Adams closed door. He knocked. No answer but he could hear the Rolling Stones playing ‘Tumbling Dice’. He walked in. There was no one in the office, but Trask lingered. He’d been here several times before but never tired of it. The walls were lined with memorabilia from the Minnesota Twins. Autographed pictures of Puckett and Morris and Carew and Oliva and many more. Trask noted Joe Mauer had been added to the collection recently. There were signed balls and bats and gloves, World Series Homer Hankies, and more. Trask’s father had taken him to a few games. Dave loved the Frosty Malts.
Adams caught the movement when the door to the lab opened. The thin man in the white lab coat held his hand up in the air, one finger extended, and walked over to the boombox on the stainless-steel counter, shutting off the music.
“Exile on Main Street?” said Trask.
“Probably the greatest rock-and-roll album of all time, especially when you consider what the band went through during its making. You a Stones fan, Sheriff?”
“Seen them live twice. Greatest rock-and-roll band in the world.”
“Amen to that.”
“So, you called?”
Adams walked to the first table, pulling back the sheet on Dan Bishop. There was a small hole in the center of his forehead. “The killer used a smaller weapon, nine-millimeter. From the shape of the wound and its surrounding area, the killer was very close. Probably no more than two feet away.” Adams replaced the sheet over Dan Bishop and walked over to the table with Bishop’s wife, again folding the sheet down. Lisa Bishop looked the same as her husband, lifeless with a small hole in the center of her forehead. “Now this is interesting, don’t you think?”
The strong antiseptic smell that often came home with his wife was getting to Trask. He just wanted to leave. “How so?”
“Well, based on the position of the bodies at the scene, I believe we are making the assumption that the man was shot first?”
“Yeah. She had an arm that was lying on top of her husband’s arm.”
“Yes. Well, I am not a psychiatrist, but it would seem to me that human nature would dictate that one turn away from a gun being fired. Especially one so close to you. Yet, for some reason, this woman not only did not do that, she actually may have been looking directly at the killer when the gun was fired.”
“Hmm.”
“There was a slight downward travel path for the bullet that killed the woman as you would expect because of the height, but she was definitely facing the shooter.”
Trask thought about what Adams had said. The noise of the shot alone would make you turn away. Why had Lisa Bishop stood frozen?
Chapter 12
She was doing the mashed potatoes again. She always did the mashed potatoes. Bennie said she was getting better, but it might be a while before she could handle the beans. The beans were kind of runny, and you needed to be careful, he had said.
As the last man came through the line at the mission, Carlisle put a scoop of potatoes on his plate. The man nodded his thanks. Carlisle watched him walk to a table. There was a bald spot at the center of his head in back, his long black hair stringy and oily. His green denim jacket was frayed at the wrists and had a rip down the back of his right arm. It was wrinkled like his stained jeans and looked like it had been slept in, which she knew it had.
Carlisle felt a wave of guilt come over her. This was the kind of guy she had rousted from a bench or a doorway when she had been a Duluth cop. The kind of guy she thought should take some initiative and get a job. The kind of guy she had joked with the other cops about. How the man was probably a millionaire, stashing his welfare checks away while he lived off of handouts. But over the months working at the mission, she had heard their stories. Men brought low in life, most through no fault of their own. Good men who had developed phobias, mental conditions, that made it incredibly difficult for them to function in society. Belittled and shunned, with no self-esteem, simply trying to survive.
“You OK, Miss Carlisle?”
Carlisle looked to her right to see a skinny, bent man of about seventy, a few wisps of silver hair still on his bald head under his mesh hair net. Six inches shorter than Carlisle. He was unofficially in charge of the kitchen.
“I’m good, Bennie, thanks.”
“So, you busy after we get the dishes done?” said Bennie, his crooked yellow smile revealing a few missing teeth.
Bennie had hit on her every night since the first night she started working at the mission. She couldn’t be sure if he was serious but didn’t really want to find out.
“Yeah. Jeff and I have plans.”
She looked across the room to see her boyfriend talking to one of the homeless men in the room. He caught her looking and winked. Pearson had started the mission and funded it.
“OK. But if he ever gives you any problem, you just let me know and I’ll give him a good talking to.”
“Thanks, Bennie. I’ll remember that.”
Carlisle and Pearson sat together in the empty dining room.
“Bennie hit on you again?” asked Pearson.
“Every time,” said Carlisle.
“You going to take him up on it?” asked Pearson.
“Thinking about it.”
“Thinking about it? That’s the best you can do?” he said. “You OK, Danny?”
She stared at the wall across the room. “I don’t know. Is this really doing any good?”
Pearson was quiet, waiting for more.
“I mean, this used to make me feel good, helping here. But I just keep seeing more showing up, and the ones that don’t come anymore, well it seems like that just means that they died.”
Pearson remained silent.
“Why is God letting this happen?”
“Wow. Well, Dale, the big redhead, wasn’t here tonight because he got a construction job. Said the meals here kept him going. Um, Donny, the guy who always wears the Twins jacket wasn’t here because he reconnected with his family. Told me to tell you thanks.”
“For what?”
“He said that if you had the courage to be the only woman here, then he thought he should have the courage to make a phone call to his family.”
She looked at him with a tear about to spill over her eyelid, not sure if she could believe him.
“I used to make fun of these guys. When I was a cop.”
; “We’ve all done things that we haven’t been proud of, Danny. But I think if you ask God to forgive you, and you mean it, then you just got to –-“
“I know! Forgive myself!” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Sorry.”
Carlisle looked down at her folded hands on her lap.
“Is there more?” he asked.
Carlisle searched his face for something. She opened her mouth, about to speak, when her phone buzzed. She stood, wrestled it from her pocket, and looked at a number she did not recognize.
“Danny Carlisle.”
“Agent Carlisle?” said a quiet female voice.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Agent, this is Sandy Roberts,” the woman said in a whisper. “I need to talk to you.”
Carlisle did not remember the name. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Sandy Roberts. I worked at the home where that woman died. Mrs. Maples.”
“OK, sure. What would you like to talk about?”
“I can’t now. Can you meet me by the emergency entrance of the hospital in half an hour? It’s where I work now.”
Carlisle looked at the time on her phone. “Sure. But can you tell me what this is about?”
The woman had disconnected.
She pushed her phone back in her pocket and looked down at Jeff.
“Sorry, I got to go.”
“Agent stuff?”
“Yeah,” she said. “And sorry about unloading on you. I…”
“You going to come over after your agent stuff is done?”
“Umm, I’ll see how late it is. I’ll probably just go home.”
Pearson stood and moved close, hugging her, holding her. She finally pushed away. Looked at him with sad eyes and turned. Walked to the coat tree, slipped on her jacket and left.
Sandy Roberts was standing to the side of the emergency room entrance. She was in a black coat over her nurse’s uniform, arms crossed over her chest, smoking. Carlisle spotted her as she walked from the parking area.
“Miss Roberts?”
“Mrs. Roberts,” she said.
Carlisle didn’t see a ring. Roberts dropped her cigarette on the sidewalk and stepped on it. Her head swiveled, dark eyes looking toward the emergency entrance and then the other direction.
“Maybe we should go talk in your car? Are you close?”
“Just over there,” replied Carlisle as she turned to point and then looked at Roberts again. The woman was nervous. “Follow me.”
Carlisle beeped her car unlocked as they approached, waiting for Roberts to walk to the passenger door before getting in.
“Warm in here. Feels good,” said Roberts.
“Yeah. Cool night,” replied Carlisle. “So, what did you want to tell me?”
The woman was scanning the lot like someone might be after her. “You mind if I smoke?”
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” Roberts took a quick glance at Carlisle but did not appear too upset. “So, how can I help you?”
“You can’t tell anyone where you got this. They’ll kill me and my family if they find out.”
“Who will?”
Roberts was scanning the lot again. “I don’t know for sure.”
“OK. So, you called to tell me…”
“It’s the drugs. I think she was killed because of the drugs.”
“Mrs. Maples?”
“Yeah.”
“What drugs?” asked Carlisle.
“Mrs. Maples’ drugs,” said Roberts.
“Why would she be killed because of her medications?”
“She knew. I heard her say that some of her pills were missing. People just dismissed what she said because of her disease, but she knew.”
“Someone was taking Mrs. Maples’ pills?”
“Yeah.”
“OK. So, this person stealing pills overheard Mrs. Maples talking about her missing pills and thought they would be found out and so they killed her? Is that right?”
“You don’t get it,” said Roberts as she bowed her head.
“I don’t get what?”
“They threatened me,” said Roberts.
“Threatened you how?”
“Said bad things would happen to me and my family if I said anything. I found my tires slashed this week.”
“A reminder?”
“I guess.”
Roberts was getting fidgety now, playing with the zipper on her coat as she continued to watch the lot.
“Who was threatening you, Mrs. Roberts?”
“I got to go.” She pushed open the door. “Please don’t say anything. I have a daughter.”
Carlisle watched the woman snake her way across the lot and then into the building.
Chapter 13
Carlisle ran. The ponytail of her chestnut hair flopped against the back of her neck as she rounded the track at the Y. It was just six. A few more people showing up now, crossing the track to get to the exercise area and weight room inside. Carlisle didn’t especially like running inside, but it was too dark to run outside at this time of the year and still make it to work at her usual seven starting time. It was monotonous running on the track, twelve laps just to make a mile. And sometimes it could get a little crowded. She’d much rather be outside.
Bob Seger was singing about Night Moves in her earphones as she finished her second mile and started walking her cool-down lap. There had been no night moves last night. She’d gone back to her apartment after talking to Sandy Roberts. Called Jeff to say she wouldn’t be coming over. He offered to come to her place, but she had said no, said she was too tired. She’d poured herself a glass of chardonnay and sat on the couch in front of the television, never turning it on, thinking about Jeff. He was like Mary Poppins, “practically perfect in every way”. The guy was independently wealthy, giving virtually all his time to charitable causes. He did pro bono legal work and had started the mission downtown. He was tall, very attractive, and was no slouch in bed. But for some reason she was afraid.
Carlisle hurried home, showered, dressed, and had her usual yogurt. She made it to the office at ten to seven, made coffee, and went to her cube. The file on the Maples’ murder was still on her desk. She should have filed it but something made her keep it close. Filing it would have been a sign of giving up. She didn’t give up. And now something had popped up with what Sandy Roberts had told her. Which gave her the green light to dig in again. She thought about this for a moment, thinking it might be God giving her another chance on this, and said a short prayer of thanks. Then she wondered if she wasn’t praying only when things went right and said another prayer about that.
Her coffee mug filled, Carlisle opened the file and found Lerner’s interview file. Lerner was detailed and planned in his notes. Date, time, and location of the interview was followed by the subject’s name and a brief physical description if the interview had been done in person. It listed questions and answers as well as subjective comments at the end of the interview.
Lerner had met Roberts on the lake walk in Canal Park, a jut of land in the harbor that housed numerous restaurants, shops, and hotels. Carlisle wondered why they had met there, a fair distance from the hospital. He asked her if she had ever been an attendant for Laura Maples. Roberts indicated she had occasionally, helping the woman with meals, the bathroom, administering her medications.
“Did the woman have any visitors while you were there?”
“Her kids. I saw them a couple of times. And a brother and a sister.”
“No one else?”
“No,” said Roberts.
“How did Mrs. Maples seem when you were attending her?”
“She wasn’t usually there, you know.”
“Did she say anything that would make you think someone might want to harm her or that she was in danger?”
“No,” said Roberts.
“Is there any reason you can think of why someone may have wanted to harm her?”
“No. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“What’s shakin’ boss?”
Carlisle noticed his eyes move from her face to her chest. It pissed her off when men did that, and she was about to say something when he pointed. She sat up straight, brushing the seeds from her red pullover.
“I think we’re back on the Maples’ case. I talked to Sandy Roberts last night.”
"The nurse who worked at Hillside? I interviewed her.”
“I know. She called me. Told me that someone was stealing pills from Maples, and she thought that Maples might have seen it. Said something out loud that the thief may be heard.”
“And so, the thief killed her?”
“Yeah.” Carlisle found a seed on her desktop and popped it in her mouth. “But I got the feeling there was more to it.” She picked up the wastebasket at her side and spit out some seeds. Caught Lerner looking at her after she set the basket back down.
“What?” said Carlisle.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?” said Carlisle.
“The sunflower seeds? It’s disgusting.”
“Really?” said Carlisle.
“Yeah. You’re spitting all the time, and it’s a mess.”
She didn’t need to be told it was a mess. Her cube and car were witness to that. She had managed to keep them out of her apartment so far, but it hadn’t been easy. “I know. Got hooked on them watching baseball as a kid. But they help me think.”
“Well, at least you don’t chew.”
She didn’t tell him she had tried that too, getting sick to her stomach in the process.
Carlisle stood, seeds tumbling on the floor. “Grab your coat. Let’s go talk to Roberts some more.”