by Lori L. Lake
Flanagan flipped a few pages forward in his notebook. "For the record, this guy does love money. Or else he loves what he can buy with it. We found a stack of vacation receipts on his desk at home. Get a load of this. The charges from June—you see the ones from Pueblo Bonito Rosé?"
Leo squinted at the fine print. "Whoa, they add up to what—something like eight thousand?"
"Yeah," Flanagan said, "something like that. Remind me to schedule my next vacation down in Cabo San Lucas. Nothing I'd like more than a relaxing three-hundred-dollar massage."
"Do you think Ted Trimble has a motive?"
"More than anyone else."
"But why would he kill his mother? The logical victim would be Eleanor. She's the one in control of all the money, and if she died, Ted would be responsible financially to take care of things. He could dump Callie in a cruddy nursing home and milk her accounts for all they were worth. Killing his mom doesn't get him anywhere near the money."
DeWitt said, "Maybe there's a larger plan we're not yet seeing."
The men lapsed into silence. Leo was surprised that they were letting her know how puzzled they were. After her initial contacts with them, she'd assumed they'd act all macho and that getting information from them would be like prying embedded nails out of concrete.
She said, "I have questions for you guys. What's Hazel Bellinger's alibi?"
Flanagan whipped through his notepad. "From seven to nine, she was at the movies with a group of women. Bachelorette party for her sister's kid. Afterwards, until sometime after midnight, she was over in Saint Paul at a house on Ford Parkway for the actual party—some kind of naughty lady thing. Her sister alibis her."
"I've got a bad feeling about that Hazel," Leo said. "She's got a money problem herself."
"Yeah," Flanagan said, "we saw that. But what would she gain by killing the Trimble woman?"
Some details fell in place for Leo. "What if she's got her sights set on Walter Green?"
"Does she?" Flanagan asked.
"According to the housekeeper."
Flanagan smirked. "Can we trust anything Missy McCarver says? We got from a number of people that there was bad blood between the two of them."
"I got that, too," Leo said. "But Missy's affairs are in order and Hazel's aren't."
"McCarver lives with her mother and stepdad," Flanagan said. "She hasn't had time to run up the debts Hazel has."
"And at Hazel's age, she won't be reducing those debts any time soon. How old is she—pushing sixty? She needs a sugar daddy."
For the first time ever, DeWitt broke out in a smile. His teeth were uneven, but the smile didn't falter. "Now that's a theory I can get behind. Black widow cases are my specialty."
Flanagan said, "Walter Green isn't going to be easy pickings. He's not the kind of man who'd let some gold digger come along and bilk him out of his money."
Leo said, "If you ask me, I believe Hazel thinks she has a chance. She's turned him into her pet project. She dotes on him, and she's doing all she can to get in his good graces."
"So what," DeWitt said. "Makes no sense why the Trimble woman would be a target."
"What if Hazel did see her as a problem, like, say, Walter decided he didn't want to live at Rivers' Edge anymore because the women drove him crazy? He's told some of his neighbors that Callie and Eleanor were more than friends, and he showed me he's a racist jerk. What if Walter threatened to move out?"
"That's pretty unlikely," DeWitt said. "And I still don't see why she'd kill the old woman."
Leo said, "Hazel might not have had the guts to go after Eleanor Sinclair, but maybe she decided to kill Callie because she'd be easier to trick or to subdue. Maybe she thought that with Callie dead, Eleanor would be likely to move on, and presto! Bye-bye to the problems, and hello to Walter's money. Hazel's certainly spry enough to come over the wall, do the deed, and get the hell out. What theater does she claim to have been at?"
"The Franklin 16."
"That's close to Rivers' Edge," Leo said. "She could have made like she was going off to the restroom, skipped out of the theater, and been gone only fifteen minutes. Nobody would have paid any attention if it was a big group."
Flanagan rose. "It's an idea and a lead worth following up. We'll get the names of the people at the bachelorette party and talk to them. Maybe the theater staff noticed something."
"If I find out anything particularly interesting, especially about Ted Trimble, I'll let you know."
"Sounds good. Thanks for your help. C'mon, Hal."
They rose, bid her goodbye, and swept down the hallway, leaving behind excess warmth and the faint odor of sweat.
Chapter Fifteen
"HAVE YOU LOST your mind?" Daria shouted.
Leo sat in an overstuffed chair, her feet tucked to the side. She swirled the contents of a sweating glass of Mike's Hard Lemonade on ice.
Daria repeated the question then said, "What the hell are you thinking? You've got a mass or—or—whatever it is, and you're going to sit and wait for the specialist's appointment in a week? That's bullshit!"
"That's when they could get me in."
Daria paced back and forth in front of her, her blouse unbuttoned and her dark hair standing on end from constantly running a hand through it. "We're going to the doctor tomorrow. Not a moment later."
Leo felt curiously disconnected, likely due to the fact that she was drinking her second glass of the malt-based lemonade. On an empty stomach, the alcohol had gone straight to her head, exactly as she'd intended.
Daria said, "I can't believe you're just sitting there. What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing that a little eye removal can't cure."
In a flash, Daria moved to squat in front of her, hands on Leo's knees. "Get your head on straight, Leo. You need to see a specialist immediately. Tomorrow at the latest. We'll go down to the Mayo Clinic."
Leo giggled and covered Daria's hand with hers. "Don't be silly. You're in the middle of the Dunleavey trial."
Daria's expression went from worry and concern to horror. "Who gives a rat's ass about the trial? This is your health, your life. We need to go to the doctor tomorrow. Otherwise, we'll have to wait over the weekend." She rose. "I'm calling the prosecutor. I'll get a continuance."
"Daria, that's not—"
But she was gone. Feet pounded up the stairs to the office.
The inquisition had gone on for ten solid minutes, and Leo was relieved to be left in solitude now. The dull throb behind her eyes slacked off as she held the cold glass up to her forehead. She hadn't expected Daria to get so bent out of shape, but part of her was pleased. Lately they'd been going separate directions, and at some dimly conscious level, she'd registered concern. After over four years of living together, their ardor had cooled, and she was worried about it. Better than any empty promise or apology, Daria's over-the-top response to this health crisis showed Leo that she was still invested.
Daria came thumping down the stairs and stomped into the living room, cell phone to her ear. "I know for a fact that your hospital is open all hours. I want to talk to an eye cancer specialist. I'm aware that it's after business hours… This is an emergency! We don't need an ambulance, we need—"
Daria pulled the phone away, looked at the display, and angrily pushed the OFF button. "Damn fools hung up on me."
"Listen, babe, just stop. Sit down and let's talk about this."
Daria paced like a wild animal in a cage. "We'll drive down to the Mayo Clinic first thing in the morning. Better yet, let's go now, get a hotel, and show up when the doors open."
"No. Listen to me." Leo set the glass on the end table and rose. Feeling lightheaded, she lurched over, wrapped her arms around Daria's middle, and buried her face in her neck. Daria's body was tense, but she held her tightly. "Dr. Winslow is the region's best with this kind of eye condition."
"Why can't he take you tomorrow?"
"He's in surgery. They'll get me in as soon as there's a cancellation. They'll call
as soon as they can squeeze me in. They know it's high priority."
"That's not good enough."
She loosened her hold and peered into Daria's face. With wild hair and her face so red, she resembled a crazy woman on a bender. Leo cupped her cheek. "Dr. Spence said everything's steady for the moment. Another few days is not going to make a difference. I'm okay, really."
Daria crushed Leo to her. Despite Leo's own fear, she felt a kind of elation. She wasn't alone in this.
AFTER A TROUBLED night of sleep, Leo rose before Daria and ate a solitary breakfast. She had a hard time stomaching much. All night she'd debated whether she should call in sick, but since she was up and around, she decided to go in. She hadn't finished the report Fred Baldur thought he'd be getting bright and early, and she needed to tell him she had a few more things to check out. If she could track Ted Trimble down at his job, she hoped to schedule some time with him.
She went to wake Daria, a mug of coffee in hand. Her partner rolled over, one arm over her eyes. "What a horrible night of sleep. What time is it?"
"Twenty to seven."
Daria groaned.
"I brought you some coffee." Leo placed it on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Why are you dressed for work?" Daria asked. "Why don't you stay home?"
"I'd rather be busy."
Through slitted eyes, Daria gazed up at Leo then slid a hand from her waist and down to her hip. "You call me today the minute you get a cancellation. If they don't call this morning, you call them."
"I know you're in court—"
"It doesn't matter," Daria said sharply. She sat up and put an arm across Leo's shoulders. "I decided how to handle this. I'll inform the judge and prosecutor right away. You call me on the cell immediately—as soon as you know the time. If court's in session, my paralegal will have my phone on vibrate. He'll pick up, exit the courtroom, and get the info from you. Don't hang up if no one says anything for a minute."
"Okay, I'll let you know right away."
"Good plan." Daria kissed her goodbye and threw off the covers. "Guess I better get ready myself."
Carrying a go-cup filled to the brim with coffee, Leo left the house. Her headache was milder than usual, and the coffee helped to sharpen her thoughts. At DHS, she settled into her cubicle at half past seven, long before most of the other staff. Feeling drained but calm, she decided not to worry about anything but finishing off the case. Once she made it through the workday, she could fall apart over the weekend.
The two-inch-tall stack of Rivers' Edge reports sat on her desk. She pulled the data toward her and leafed through the pages.
Martin Rivers employed 106 full- and part-time staff in his eight facilities and administrative office. Seven new staff had been hired in the last two years, a surprisingly low turnover rate. From the starting salary information, it was clear that Rivers paid his staff well, slightly above the Twin Cities average. She paged through the background checks. Each employee appeared to have been fully vetted, with proper nursing credentials listed for all the mobile nurses.
Nobody had mentioned mobile nurses. Did that refer to the RNs Rowena Hoxley had told her about? Leo didn't know what their role was, so she made a note to check into that.
Appended to that section was a typed list of contractors who periodically took care of gardening, painting, maintenance, electrical problems, and exterior window washing. According to Flanagan, they'd all checked out. Other than the gardener, none of the contractors had been on the Rivers' Edge premises for weeks.
She was concentrating so hard that she didn't see Thom until he rolled his wheelchair in, next to one of the visitor's chairs.
"How are the interviews coming along?" he asked.
"Pretty good. Some of the residents were less than forthcoming, but most people tried their best to remember all they could."
"How about the owner and managerial staff?"
"Compared to what happens when I work patrol, I'd have to say it's par for the course. I've been reviewing the paperwork supplied by the main office, trying to parse out what I can. I count 106 staff in all the facilities, and they all seem to check out as decent, law-abiding citizens. The Rivers' Edge tenant data for the last three years is interesting. Until June, all twelve units were occupied, but four tenants moved at the end of June and one in mid-July: Georgia Grabenstein, Patty-May Decker, Corrinda Clark, Tillie Anderson, and Sallie J. Herman."
"Anybody say why the big exodus?"
"Rowena Hoxley is the site manager. She was fairly vague."
"These kind of places do have turnover. I've seen that in similar complexes I've investigated. We should find out where all of them went—make sure nothing odd was going on."
"One of the residents, Willie Stepanek, moved in two years ago. Every other resident, except Eleanor Sinclair and the victim, Callie Trimble, has been at Rivers' Edge over three years. I talked to them all. None of the tenants reported anything unusual about their financial or legal circumstances. As far as I can tell, they're all a bunch of regular retirees, some of whom have substantial financial resources."
"So this is no low-rent, urine-soaked, flea-bag kind of a place, huh?"
"Definitely not. Their quarters cost more per month than my partner and I pay for our first and second mortgages."
Thom gave her an acknowledging nod. She wasn't sure whether that was about the finances or the admission that she had a partner.
He asked, "What else did management give you?"
"Historical record of all deaths since the owner opened the business. There've been six on-site, not counting Callie Trimble. Look." She handed him the single sheet of paper listing the names, dates, and locations. "No one has died in four of the complexes. The ones in Bloomington, Burnsville, Woodbury, and Rivers' Edge in Minneapolis have had no deaths. Those are the newest apartments, by the way."
"So, we've got deaths of one resident at Minnetonka, one at Vadnais Heights, and two each in the Plymouth and the Coon Rapids homes."
"Those last two are the oldest facilities."
"From what I've seen, that's a pretty good track record, considering the ages of some of these residents." He scanned the document. "The guy who died at the Minnetonka site was 92. Either the owner is amazingly lucky or else he's trained his staff well to get anyone who collapses to the hospital immediately. As long as he can be sure a heart attack or stroke victim makes it out of the apartment before dying, Rivers' record will stay low like this."
"If you were investigating this case, what would you think?"
"It's screwy. Who got in there and why? Why kill this old woman?"
"Exactly my question all along. Even the cops are stumped."
"The whole thing sounds damn fishy, if you ask me. You sure all those employees check out?"
"Seem to." She handed him the section of the report that contained that information.
He thumbed through it. "Where's Rivers' information?"
"You mean for Rivers' Edge?"
"No, the high mucky-muck. Martin Rivers. Where's his data? And who works with him? Doesn't he have an army of accountants and administrative personnel and so on?"
"He's got two exec assistants. No one mentioned an accountant or anybody else fulfilling other functions."
"From what I can see here, they've given you staff and resident info, but nothing on anyone else. What about the administrators? That's a little hinky. I learned my lesson because one of the first cases I worked on when I joined investigations was at a nursing home where the head honcho was forthcoming about everything except his own data. Turns out the complainant, who said he wasn't getting services, was right. The nursing home was charging off services to Medicaid, but not actually providing them. The administrator pocketed the money instead. One of the first things I always do now is check out the people in power."
Leo felt her face grow warm. "I'm embarrassed I didn't think of that."
Thom let out a hearty laugh. "Please don't think I did eithe
r. I was working with an old coot who'd been round the block a couple thousand times. Learned a lot from him before he retired."
"The cops working on the case may have something on the owner. I never asked them about that, but lately they've been good about sharing information."
"How would you like to proceed, Leo? Do you mind me calling you by that nickname? It seems to fit you."
"Yup, that's okay."
"Excellent. And you'll call me Thom with an H." He grinned.
"What?"
"Thom with an H when you write it. In first grade, there were two other boys named Thomas in my class, so I've always put the H in. Makes things less confusing."
"Well, Thom with an H, I think I need to do some more interviews at Rivers' Edge."
He nodded. "Sounds good. If you don't mind, I'll tag along, and I'd be happy to drive."
"I need to check in with Fred and let him know I can't get the report done as quickly as he expects it."
"Fred? Old Baldurdash?" He let out a derisive snort. "Is he even in today?"
"Heck if I know."
"Forget him. Grab your stuff, and we'll go. I can give you some background on the way for how to deal with him."
A NERVOUS ROWENA Hoxley ushered Leo and Thom into the foyer at Rivers' Edge. After introducing Thom to Rowena, the first question Leo asked was about the mobile nurses.
Rowena said, "I thought I told you about that. We contract with a highly recommended professional nursing company called RN/LPN Solutions. We have specific nurses assigned to our complexes. They make periodic health visits to offer wellness advice and touch base with the residents."
Leo asked, "How periodic?"
"At least quarterly. They show up every day for the better part of a week. In addition to basic health checks, they do ongoing physical and cognitive assessments of each tenant. Any time someone is ill, but not so sick that they need an ambulance, a nurse can be here inside twenty minutes."
Thom nodded to Leo and said, "The State regulations require a nurse on call for a facility such as this." Turning to Rowena Hoxley he asked, "Who handles medications for the occupants?"