Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  When he walked into the waiting area, it was empty except for the receptionist, who appeared busy tidying up her desk. She glanced up.

  “Hello, Mr. Casey. I'll let Dr. Grahm know you're here when he finishes with the last patient.”

  “Thank you,” Hawkman said, and sat down near the desk. He noticed she kept stealing glimpses at him. Finally she tossed her pen aside.

  “Mr. Casey, I'm sorry, but you're not what I'd expect a private investigator to look like.”

  He laughed. “You mean because I'm not wearing a suit and tie.”

  “I guess that's it. You remind me more of a cowboy with your Stetson hat, cowboy boots, and jeans.”

  “I guess we come in all sizes, shapes and dress.”

  About that time, an older woman came out of one of the examination rooms. Using a cane, she limped to the desk.

  “Hello, Mrs. Norris,” the receptionist said. “How did things go?”

  “As good as can be expected. I'm not getting any younger. What do I owe for this visit?” After they settled the financial part, the woman closed her purse and went out the door.

  The receptionist stood. “I'll go tell Dr. Grahm you're here.”

  He nodded.

  Within a few minutes, she and a man in a white coat, stethoscope hanging around his neck, stood at the door leading into the examination rooms and conversed. It gave Hawkman a few moments to scrutinize the doctor and flip on the recorder in his pocket. The man stood about five foot six inches; his receding hair, exposing half of his scalp, had obviously been dyed black with no signs of natural graying one would expect of a man in his sixties. His glasses were round and thick, magnifying the under eye puffiness. The wrinkles around his mouth were definitely turned down, and the fat jowls gave the appearance of a permanent scowl. His ears were probably his nicest feature, as they lay flat against the sides of his head. The white coat and wrinkled tie didn't hide the bulging belly or thick neck. He figured the man could afford to lose about forty or fifty pounds. Hawkman arose as they approached.

  “Dr. Grahm, this is Mr. Casey, the private investigator who wanted to meet with you.”

  The two men shook hands, then Dr. Grahm turned to the woman. “Ms. Carter, there's no sense in you staying, why don't you go home.” Then he gestured to Hawkman. “Let's go back to my office.”

  Following the man down a short hallway, Hawkman noticed the doctor's sagging shoulders. Either the day had worn him out, or he was a discouraged human being.

  They turned through an opened door and he pointed at a chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Casey, and tell me what's worrying you. Let's not beat around the bush; something is on your mind or you wouldn't be here.”

  “I understand you've looked in on other doctor's patients at Morning Glory Haven. What exactly qualifies you to do that?”

  “I volunteer my services to help out other busy physicians. They do the same for me.”

  “You're not a cardiologist or oncologist; you're a medical doctor. How do you take care of people with special needs?”

  He frowned. “As I said, I'm an extra. If I see a problem, I immediately notify the doctor who has asked me to check on his patient.”

  “How many times has this happened?”

  He squirmed in his seat and didn't meet Hawkman's gaze. “Seldom.”

  “I've talked with the relatives of several of the patients who have passed away in the last six months. Most show concern about the untimely deaths and many were unaware their loved ones had heart problems.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Mr. Casey, the people at Morning Glory are aging. Their hearts can give out anytime.”

  “Why weren't autopsies performed on these untimely deaths?”

  “I have no idea, but my guess is it would have been a waste of time and money.”

  “Are you aware there were more than the average rate of deaths at the home within six months?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Casey, I don't have access to Morning Glory's books, and none of the people living there are my patients. There's no way I'd know the death rate in the facility. I don't like this line of questioning.”

  “Maybe you don't, but we always have to investigate negligence.”

  He stood, jerked the stethoscope from his neck and took off his white coat. “Don't accuse me of malpractice when you have no evidence. As far as I'm concerned, this meeting is over.”

  “I might have to talk to you again,” Hawkman said, rising.

  “I have nothing more to say.”

  “If I discover these people were murdered, it won't be me you'll be chatting with, it'll be the police.”

  Grahm's face paled. “Murdered! Are you serious?”

  Hawkman turned before walking out of the office and looked him square in the face. “Yes, Dr. Grahm, I'm very serious.”

  When Hawkman reached the parking lot, he turned off his recorder, then glanced over his shoulder and could see the man's silhouette through the glass front door. “I'm not impressed with you,” he said under his breath as he climbed into his vehicle. The personality he'd observed in just the few minutes he'd met with him was sour and grouchy. In addition, he sure didn't like to answer questions.

  As he drove to Morning Glory Haven, he checked the clock on the dashboard. The dinner hour should be over and he wanted to find out the name of Maggie's physician. He'd really never thought to ask.

  He found the hallway fairly sparse of occupants, but could hear the televisions going in almost every room as he passed. Must be some favorite program they all like, he mused as he knocked on Maggie's door.

  “Come in,” George called.

  Hawkman entered the room and found the two with their gazes glued to the set, and then they burst into laughter. He peered at the screen and realized an old Bob Hope rerun special was airing and the Hamptons were enthralled. They both raised a finger to their lips to shush him from speaking. Hawkman took a seat in a vacant chair and waited until the program ended. The Hamptons then turned their attention toward him.

  “They sure don't make them like they used to. What a delight to see a good show,” Maggie said, wiping tears of laughter from her cheek.

  “Nope,” George said. “Most of the good actors and comedians are gone. A shame Hollywood didn't raise more to fill their shoes.”

  “I'm only staying a few minutes,” Hawkman said. “I wanted to see how things went today.”

  “Fine,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “I let Kevin hang around me all afternoon, and George won't let me out of his sight now, so I have no peace.”

  Hawkman grinned. “Good. Tell me, do you know a Dr. Grahm?”

  Maggie furrowed her brow. “No, I don't recall hearing the name. Should we know him?”

  “Not particularly unless your physician had him check on you. I understand he's a volunteer who fills in when the patients’ own doctor can't come by.”

  “We always set up appointments and go to our doctor together.”

  “What's his name?”

  “Dr. Karl Bunker,” George said.

  “You both use the same one?”

  George nodded.

  Hawkman jotted down the name. “Is he private practice or affiliated with a hospital?”

  “Private,” Maggie said. “Do you have one of his business cards, George?”

  He pulled a bulky wallet from his back pocket and thumbed through the many cards. “Yep, here's one,” he said, handing it to Hawkman.

  Glancing at the title, Endocrinologist, he glanced from Maggie to George. “Which one of you has diabetes?”

  She pointed at her husband.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Early Tuesday morning, Hawkman's cell phone rang, jarring him out of a deep sleep. He snatched the instrument off the bedside table and put it to his ear. “Yeah?” He listened, then sat up abruptly, the phone still glued to his ear, grabbed his jeans from the chair next to the wall. “I'll be
there within an hour.”

  Jennifer rolled over. “Who in the heck calls at six in the morning?”

  “Maggie.” Hawkman dashed into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and combed his hair, then headed for the closet. “There's been another death at Morning Glory Haven. Maggie sounded close to hysteria. I want to make sure an autopsy is done on this patient.”

  “Even if the Hamptons don't know the person?”

  After buttoning his shirt, he sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged on his boots. “Maggie knows everyone, except those in the Alzheimer's part of the facility, who are in a completely different building. She said this person lived only a few doors down from her.” He reached over and gave Jennifer a peck on the cheek. “Go back to sleep if you can. Sorry about the intrusion.”

  Jennifer pushed back the covers. “I might just get up and take Pretty Girl out for a hunt. She's really restless. You haven't paid much attention to her lately.”

  He turned at the doorway and threw her another kiss. “That would be great of you. Thanks, sweetheart.”

  When he reached the freeway, he knew the Highway Patrol loved this stretch of the road, as they called it ‘ticket heaven', so he only pushed the accelerator as fast as he dared. He pulled into Morning Glory's parking lot and spotted the ambulance at the door. Maggie must have found out about the death as soon as it was discovered. He hurried inside, took the stairs instead of the elevator, then jogged down the hallway to Maggie's apartment. She and George stood in the doorway watching the action taking place in the room just a few feet away.

  “Maggie rousted me out of bed at six and told me to get my butt down here.” George shook his head. “Now, I'm having a time keeping her in the room.”

  “Do you know any more about the victim?”

  “Her name is Gladys Owens, a very kind woman. I don't know anything about her personal history.” He pointed to two ladies standing across the hall. “I imagine one of those gals could tell you more.”

  Hawkman glanced at the two. “I'm sure they could, they're nosier than Maggie.” He strolled over to the two women. “Hello, Jessie and Margy, what's going on?”

  Jessie put a tissue to her eyes. “Our dear friend has passed away.”

  “Was she ill?”

  “Not that we knew. Occasionally she rolled around in a wheelchair, but most of the time she could make it fine with just her walker.”

  “Why did she need a wheelchair?”

  “Not sure, but arthritis, we think.” Margy said. “She didn't talk much about her aches and pains.”

  Hawkman had his eye on the victim's doorway, when Dr. Grahm backed out, then turned to walk away. Hawkman stepped in front of him. “Hello, Dr. Grahm. I hope you've ordered an autopsy.”

  The doctor glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Remember, I'm investigating the deaths of the residents.”

  “If you must know, I've requested an autopsy from her personal physician.”

  “Good. Maybe then we'll get to the bottom of this problem once and for all.”

  “Would you mind moving out of my way. I've got to go sign some papers.”

  “My pleasure,” Hawkman said, crossing the hall to Maggie's quarters.

  The doctor stared at the Hamptons as he passed.

  “Who's that guy?” George asked.

  “Dr. Jeff Grahm.”

  “He sure looks grumpy.”

  “Mark my word, he is.” Hawkman stepped into the room and approached Maggie as she plugged in the coffee pot. “What do you know about the woman who just died?”

  She pulled a tissue from the box. “Oh, she was such a dear. She called George her darling.” Wiping her eyes, she glanced up at Hawkman. “Every time she came near him, she had some sweet something to say. I had to watch him closely, as he'd sneak off and go to visit her when I watched a movie he wasn't interested in, or if I started knitting.”

  “You sound jealous.”

  She scoffed. “At my age? I don't think so.” Then she winked at him. “Well, maybe a little. After all, he's my man, and most of these old women have lost theirs. If they think hovering over mine is going to get them anywhere, they've got another think coming.”

  Hawkman brushed a hand across his mouth, suppressing a smile. “Do you know any of Ms. Owens’ family?”

  “I didn't have a lot in common with her, as we didn't visit much. George might be able to tell you.” She blew her nose.

  Hawkman knew it would be futile to pump George; he'd already said he didn't know anything personal about the woman. That seemed to be Maggie's specialty. He walked to the door just as George came into the room. “I need to look up some information on the computer. If I don't get back before you leave, tell Kevin to keep a close eye on Maggie.”

  “Will do.”

  Hawkman drove to his office and jogged up the stairs. While the computer booted up, he took a soda from the small refrigerator, popped it open and sat down at the desk.

  He'd already transcribed the recording from Lisa onto the computer and she'd given the death dates of each of the deceased. He printed out the report, then pulled up a calendar of the year. Checking the dates, he discovered the deaths occurred closer together as time passed. This looked very suspicious. He might be dealing with a serial killer.

  Putting the notes aside, he wanted to set up an appointment to see the Hampton's physician. He dug the card George had given him out of his pocket and noticed Dr. Bunker's office happened to be located on a street he passed when heading for Morning Glory Haven from the office. He jotted down the information in his file and figured he'd better talk to George and Maggie, as he certainly wouldn't be able to pry anything out of the doctor about either of their personal health conditions, if he didn't have permission.

  He'd stop by Lisa's office when he returned to the home and see if he could find out the relatives of Ms. Owens. Getting this information quickly would be in his favor. Otherwise, depending on what the autopsy revealed, things could become a bit sticky.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When Hawkman returned to Morning Glory Haven, he went to Lisa Montgomery's office. Her door stood open, so he knocked softly on the jamb.

  She glanced up from some paper work. “Come in,” she said, her forehead wrinkling into a frown. “I see you've heard the news.”

  “Yes, and I need to get a bit of information.”

  “I just talked to Gladys Owens’ daughter.” Lisa shook her head. “I hate that part of my job. The girl sounded devastated. She wanted to complete the move to her new home and planned to take her mother up for a visit.” She bit her lower lip and blinked back tears. “So sad.”

  Hawkman shifted his stance. “I can't imagine the agony of having to talk with someone whose parent just passed away. It can't be easy.”

  “No, it isn't.” Wiping her eyes with a tissue, she said, “Forgive me. Please have a seat, and tell me what you need.”

  He sat down and pulled a small note pad from his pocket. “What is Ms. Owens’ daughter's name and where does she live?”

  Lisa opened the file. “Sidney Wilder, and she just moved to Eugene, Oregon.” She stated the address and phone number.

  “Any other children?”

  “She's the only one listed. Gladys’ husband passed away two years ago.”

  “Is the daughter coming to pick up her mother's things?”

  “Not for a few days. Mrs. Owens’ physician broke the news to her and explained the body wouldn't be available for at least a week.”

  “What do you do with the deceased's belongings?”

  “We clear the room of all the personal items and place them in a sealed container until the family can pick it up. Then we spend hours sanitizing the area.”

  “Is anything thrown away?”

  “No. We leave that up to the family as we don't know what might be of interest to them. Every scrap of paper is put into th
e box.”

  He nodded. “Good. I might need to look through her things.”

  “I can't give you that kind of permission. You'll have to talk to her daughter.”

  “I understand.” He rose. “Thank you, Ms. Montgomery. You've been more than helpful.”

  She grimaced. “Mr. Casey, do you suspect foul play?”

  “I don't know what to think at this point. I'm hoping the autopsy may give me a lead.”

  “What happens to the reputation of our wonderful home, if it's found Gladys Owens and some of the others were murdered?”

  Hawkman sat back down. “I'd hoped the word wouldn't have traveled that I've been looking into the other deaths. I'd tried to give the impression that Maggie's life had been threatened and we were here as her bodyguards.”

  “I certainly never told a soul what we talked about. But gossip races through this home, and even the nurses in the other buildings are talking. I'm afraid Maggie's the culprit. She's told everyone why you're here.”

  He shook his head and threw up his hands. “Guess I should have known she couldn't keep a secret. All we can do is try to keep the lid on as tight as possible. I'll definitely be more closed mouth about what I tell her.”

  Lisa smiled for the first time since he'd been there. “Good luck.”

  Hawkman left her office and traveled down the hallway only to meet the Hamptons. Maggie had a purse dangling from her shoulder. “Where are you two going?”

  “Maggie wanted to get away from all this trauma, and suggested we go shopping. Such a shame to lose Gladys. I really liked her.” George sighed and brushed his chin with his hand. “We've decided to go to the store, then out to have a late lunch.”

  “Did you inform Kevin you wouldn't be here?”

  George snapped his fingers. “Oh, dang it, I knew I'd forgotten something. I better give him a call right now.” He turned and headed back toward the elevator.

  “Hold on,” Hawkman called, removing the cell phone from his belt. “I'll give him a ring. I might not always be here the times you take off. So, please notify one of us of your plans or doctor appointments.”