by C. E. Nelson
The priest bowed and then walked away, down the hall. Canton followed him with her eyes, thinking she should maybe see if she could catch sight of Ken Bishop somewhere down that hall, but decided just to sit.
The entryway slowly filled as the time for the funeral approached. Another priest had come out, a small man, greeting some of the people as they entered. The entryway filled and Canton stood, moving to the side, trying to watch those coming in the door. Ushers were now at the main entrance to the sanctuary, handing out programs and helping people find seats.
There was still no sign of Bishop. Canton thought it was still possible he could be meeting with a priest, but it had now been over half an hour since she arrived, and Father Michael was now in the lobby with the older priest. She didn’t think there would be three priests. Maybe the family would wait in a room until everyone was seated? It was either that, or Bishop was not coming. She had slid over to the front of the coat area now, trying to figure out how she could remain in the lobby once the service was to begin, when she saw him.
Bishop looked flustered. His hair was uncombed and his suit jacket unbuttoned. The old priest had him by the hand, saying something to him, Bishop’s eyes darting about the lobby. For a brief instant their eyes locked, and Canton was afraid he had recognized her, but the priest led him away. Canton released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her heart pounding in her chest. As soon as Bishop disappeared down the hall, she slipped out.
Les Berger sat in his car in the northwest corner of the lot where he had a good view of the front door. The lot was half full when he arrived and filling quickly. Helen Johnson may have lived by herself, but this was a pretty good turnout. Berger wondered if there would be this many for him. About the only way he decided that would happen was if he died soon, or he became a celebrity or famous politician. Neither option sounded appealing.
A few people parking by him gave him a look as they passed. He considered getting out and going in, but he hadn’t dressed for it, and he didn’t think it would do him any good. He wasn’t really sure who or what he was looking for. With no description of the killer, this was likely a waste of time. He didn’t know if the killer would show, but for some reason had an idea that he or she would. And that it would be a single person. So, he watched for single people. Almost all were single women, and almost all were older. At least fifty. Not much older than him now that he thought about it. He noted a brief description of each and then got their license plate numbers.
About fifteen minutes before the service was scheduled to start a guy pulled into the lot and raced in the building. Berger watched him go in and then went to the man’s car. After writing down the license plate number of the gray Ford Fusion, he stood back looking at the car. A tiny shovel in his mind was trying to dig out a piece of his memory when the work was stopped by a small woman in a dark skirt and jacket, a purse hanging from her arm, leaving the church. He didn’t remember seeing her go in but thought it possible he had missed her. The woman hurried to her black Passat, got in, and left the lot by the west entrance. Berger didn’t catch the plate number.
Chapter 36
Carlisle and Lerner sat in Carlisle’s Subaru. The sunshine of the morning was short-lived, the gray blanket of a late Minnesota fall day back in place. They were in the Hillside lot facing the building. A shadow from the building was creeping across the lot. Several people had come and gone, one woman had carried a cake box, the woman with her holding several shiny metallic balloons.
“We going in?” said Lerner.
Carlisle didn’t look at him, her focus on the building. And no, she didn’t want to go in. The building reminded her too much of where her grandmother had died. The beige walls, the linoleum floors, the rooms where the residents were parked in wheelchairs around a television. Most were either asleep, or holding dolls, or babbling, unaware of what was on the screen. Unaware their life was disappearing with no prospect of ever getting better. People kept alive for a reason Carlisle hoped God knew because she didn’t. And there was the smell. The mixture of the odors of cleaning solutions and antiseptics and soiled clothes and linens. It all closed in on her and made her want to run.
Carlisle blew out a breath like she was about to lift weights. “Yeah, let’s do it.” Her hand moved to the door handle but couldn’t find the strength to pull it. She continued to stare ahead.
Lerner got out and walked around the front of the car, opening the driver’s door. “You OK?”
She looked up at him, wishing he would go away. “Fine.”
After talking to Farmer, they had decided that a confrontation with Rahm would follow meetings with the nursing staff. Their plan was to go in unannounced, giving Rahm no time to prepare or caution her staff. Carlisle had called Fran Naulty to arrange a meeting. There was no answer, and she left a message. Carlisle also contacted the Drug Enforcement Task Force for Northeast Minnesota. They had no active investigations involving Hillside.
Carlisle had used a small room to the right of the Hillside lobby when she had talked to the staff after Laura Maples’ death and decided to do that again. She checked to see that the room was unlocked and unoccupied. Their plan was to ambush nurses as they walked by, hustle them into the room, and then put the fear of God, or prison, into them.
Elaine Duffy was first. Duffy was of average height and weight for a woman of twenty-five. Her long black hair was parted in the middle and tucked behind her ears. Her blue eyes surrounded a slightly upturned nose. Prominent cheeks seemed to hold up her wide smile. She wore the standard Hillside midnight blue nursing top and pants. Carlisle had not talked to her before. Both agents held out their identification as they stopped her in the hall.
“Yes?”
Carlisle looked at the name tag on Duffy’s top. “Miss Duffy. We are BCA Agents Carlisle and Lerner. We’d like to speak to you for a moment. Please step into this room,” she said, motioning to the open doorway.
“What’s this about?”
“We will talk to you about that inside.”
“I have rounds to do.” Her eyes jumped back and forth between Carlisle and Lerner. She was anxious and afraid.
“This will only take a moment,” said Carlisle as she put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Please.”
There was a small circular table in the room with a tan Formica top and chrome legs. Four chairs with tan fabric seats and backs and chrome arms wrapped in the same fabric surrounded the table.
“Please take a seat, Miss Duffy,” said Carlisle.
Duffy pulled out the chair nearest her and sat. Carlisle and Lerner sat. Both leaned forward, elbows on the table, while Duffy’s arms were folded across her chest.
“What do you want?” Duffy said.
“Miss Duffy, do you know Sandy Roberts?” said Carlisle.
“I met her a few times before she left.”
“Do you know she is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Does that scare you, Miss Duffy?” said Carlisle.
“Why should that scare me?” said Duffy.
Carlisle could see the look of fear. “Did you know she was murdered?”
Duffy tightened the hold on herself. “She was murdered? I heard she drowned.”
“Someone made sure she drowned,” said Carlisle.
“I…I didn’t know.”
“She was murdered by someone trafficking drugs from Hillside. Anyone involved in that drug operation is potentially an accessory to murder. Are you stealing drugs from the patients here, Miss Duffy?”
Duffy sucked in a breath which Carlisle thought must have been pretty hard to do considering how hard she was squeezing herself. She looked like a mouse trapped by a cat.
“I…I have to go.” Duffy pushed her chair away from the table with her legs, her arms still across her chest, and bolted. The door banged against the wall and then slammed shut.
“She seemed a little tense,” said Lerner.
“Do you think it’s my interview style?” she said.
“Maybe you should try smiling a little more,” he said.
“Thanks. I’ll do that,” replied Carlisle as she stood. “Well, let’s go grab another one.”
They managed to get two more nurses into the room, the second looking like she was about to cry, when Mrs. Rahm burst in.
“What do you think you are doing?”
“We’re just talking to a few of your staff. Getting to know them a little better,” said Carlisle.
“Get out of here right now! I am calling our lawyer!”
“Maybe we could talk a little first?”
“There will be no more talking. You are upsetting my staff and interfering with their work. I am calling our lawyer. Now, get out!” Rahm noticed the nurse still sitting at the table, her eyes wide. “Get back to work! You two, get out!”
The nurse scurried from the room, Carlisle and Lerner standing.
“You’re in big trouble, Rahm. Murder charges on top of drug trafficking. It will not be good for you. We can make a deal if you tell us who you’re working for,” said Carlisle.
Rahm walked to the door and held it open. “Get out now. I will be lodging a complaint.”
Carlisle looked hard at Rahm as she passed but the woman’s stern face showed no signs of softening.
The parking lot was dark now, the lights on. A sharp breeze from the north brought a reminder of things to come. They got in the car and Carlisle pushed the start button.
“You’re probably not going to be on her Christmas card list,” said Lerner.
Carlisle didn’t respond, staring at the building like she had done when they arrived. Lights above the entryway and spotlights from the overhang on either side of the building made the exterior appear almost silver.
“We gonna sit here for a while again?”
“She’s dirty, Mike.” Carlisle’s remained focused on the exterior of the building. “She may not have done it herself, but she’s responsible for the death of Laura Maples and Sandy Roberts, a woman with a baby. A woman who was trying to do the right thing.” She sat staring for a moment longer before pulling out her phone and checking for messages. There were none. “Nothing from Fran Naulty. If I don’t hear back from her tonight, we’ll drive over to see her in the morning.”
Carlisle put the car in gear and drove back to the office, pulling up to Lerner’s car in the lot.
“You want to get a drink or something?” he said.
“Thanks, but I can’t tonight.”
“Plans with the fiancée?” Lerner was flashing his smile, but Carlisle looked at him like he had snot hanging from his nose. “What?”
“The World Series starts tonight.”
“Oh,” said Lerner like he knew why this was important. “Totally forgot. Well, I’ll see you in the morning.”
He got out, got in his car, started the motor. Waved to Carlisle through his window and drove away. Carlisle watched him go and then looked at the BCA building, thinking she should maybe go in and finish a few things. But Rahm had soured her mood on working. Most times, confrontations like the one with Rahm would fire her up, make her want to dig in and work harder. But not tonight. The death of Roberts had left a cloud over her that the wind off the lake couldn’t seem to blow away. She thought about going to Jeff’s too, but decided she wouldn’t be very good company and called to tell him she wouldn’t be coming over. He told her to call if she changed her mind so that the Vikings’ cheerleaders he had visiting would have time to clear out. She told him she would and headed home.
The dark sedan that had followed Carlisle before was parked on the side street next to the BCA lot. Carlisle looked past it as she slowed to exit the lot but did not really see it. She turned left out of the lot and then another left, headed south. A cell phone light came on in the sedan.
“She’s leaving. Just turned south out of the BCA lot. On her way to her place. Be ready. I’ll let you know if she makes any stops.” The sedan’s engine started, and it pulled away from the curb.
Chapter 37
Ken Bishop felt like he was sticking out like a palm tree in Duluth. Helen Johnson’s husband’s family was looking at him like he was the reason no one else from his family was at the funeral, which he kind of was for a couple of them. It was the same look they gave him at the cemetery. He was sitting alone at one corner of a folding table in the basement of Holy Cross trying to choke down something that looked like a casserole. There was some kind of ground meat in it along with half-cooked noodles and other things he couldn’t identify. The runny white sauce didn’t help. He’d definitely need to stop for lunch somewhere on the way home.
Or go to the bank. It was time to close out his mother’s accounts. He’d get half now. It would make him right with some left over. A nice chunk actually. Maybe take just a bit of that and see if he could get lucky at the casino. It would be fun. And he was feeling damn lucky to have all of his siblings die like they did. It was almost like he had some guardian angel looking out for him, although he guessed it was probably not an angel based on what he had done. He was just trying the Jello, which unfortunately had shredded carrots in it, when Father Jim sat next to him.
“I want to say again how sorry I am for your loss, Mr. Bishop.”
Shit, thought Bishop. I bet Tom and Fran never paid him. I bet he’s here to collect. “Uh, thanks Father. It was a very nice service.”
“Yes, it was. I thought the organist, Mrs. Erdman, did an especially nice job today, didn’t you?”
Oh Christ, he’s going to want me to pay her something too. “Yeah. The music was nice. I’m sure Helen would have appreciated it.”
“Oh, I’m sure she was listening. Your sister was a devout Catholic.”
Bishop took a sip of the thin coffee made by the ladies he could see through the serving window to the church kitchen. He wondered if he would be on the hook for the meal too. “Yeah, Helen was a very spiritual person.”
The priest stared hard at Bishop for a moment. He thought the man was going to ask him about payment then, but instead said, “It’s a pity more of your family couldn’t have been here.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s quite odd that your brother and sister would arrange the funeral and then not show.”
Bishop couldn’t agree more, at least as far as his brother was concerned. Where the hell was he? “Yeah, I don’t know what happened to them. Neither one of them answered their phones.”
“Were they coming together? I certainly hope nothing has happened to them.”
Bishop turned away from the priest. That could be it. Tom went to Fran’s and found out she was dead. Seemed odd he would go all that way and then come back just to ride with her, but maybe they had more details about the funeral to talk about. Or, what if they were talking about him and his handling of the estate? They both knew about his gambling, and he knew Tom didn’t trust him. Could be. But the reason didn’t really matter now unless Tom thought he was the one doing the killing. And what if he had told his suspicions to the police? “Oh shit,” muttered Ken.
“Pardon?”
Bishop turned to the priest. “Uh…nothing. Yeah, I hope they are OK. Now you have me worried.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bishop. I didn’t mean to do that, especially when you are already mourning your sister.” He stood and put his hand on Bishop’s shoulder. “God’s blessings on you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Father Jim moved on. The other priest was on the far side of the room talking to some women Bishop had never seen. Maybe friends of Helen? Didn’t matter. Now was his chance to get out. He took a final sip of coffee before standing, leaving his plate and cup where they were, and headed for the stairs.
Bishop made it to his car, immediately pulling out his phone. No messages. He tried Tom again but went immediately to voicemail. Bishop put his head back on his headrest and tried to think. What to do? He needed to find Tom, but if Tom was talking to the police, that was maybe not a good idea. But what did To
m really have to talk to the police about anyway? Certainly nothing that he couldn’t talk him out of. He’d always been able to do that with Tom. Get him to believe things even if they weren’t true. Like when he cleaned out Tom’s wallet so he could go on a date. Tom had accused him of taking the money, but he’d been able to convince Tom it couldn’t have been him. Even got him to question whether there was any money there to begin with.
Tom would have to sign the papers at the bank, and Ken needed to have him do it sooner than later. Ken had to find him.
There wasn’t an easy way to get to Tom’s house from the church. Ken went north a few blocks to Glenwood. Glenwood took him east but then angled southeast before running into Duluth Road. Duluth Road wound to the northwest before it straightened out and intersected Martin, the roads straight north/south or east/west after that. The clouds were heavy, almost feeling like it might snow if it was colder. The wind was sweeping leaves across Fairview as Ken turned into his brother’s driveway. Ken saw Tom’s car parked in front of the garage and was glad he had come looking for his brother here first.
Ken sat looking at the house for a minute. Not much of a place, but probably not much different than his own house. Enough for one person. He wondered why his brother never married, never had a serious relationship as far as he knew. Of course, he didn’t really know him that well. Brothers, but not much more than occasional acquaintances. His fault, he supposed. Tom had invited him to his house a few times, but his wife thought Tom was a little creepy so he had turned him down. His wife’s fault, really.
The house was quiet and dark. With the clouds, you’d kind of expect a light on somewhere, especially with all the trees around. Maybe he was sick. Spending the day in bed. Possible. Still, it seemed like Tom should have at least let him know he wouldn’t be at the funeral. Just a quick call.
Ken got out and walked by Tom’s car, bending to look in the driver’s window, just making sure the guy hadn’t had a heart attack in it. He turned toward the house and a cold breeze carrying a few leaves threw them in his face. Ken turned his head to the side, watching the dark shadows of other leaves drift across the last of the day’s light. One thing about living out here, you could just blow your leaves into the woods. No need to bag them liked he’d have to do soon. Ken reached the front step and looked up at the door, stopping. He could see into the hall. The inside door was open. That made no sense. He didn’t know his brother well, but he knew the guy was cheap. Leaving the door open meant it was costing him more to heat the place.