Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  “Did you leave him alone every day?”

  “For a few hours. We had a woman coming in at midday to fix his lunch and make sure he ate it. Some days she was the only one at the house. Three times a week, we had a nurse’s aide who came in to shave him and help him shower. And a nurse who came in once a week to check on his meds and look for any other problems. She was the one who told us in October that we weren’t going to be able to leave him home alone much longer.”

  “Did you take that seriously?”

  “Yes, but we hadn’t decided what to do. We’d been visiting homes with Alzheimer’s units and also looking into home care. We weren’t sure what was best for Dad. We were even considering that one of us should take early retirement and stay home with him. There just didn’t seem to be any perfect decision. We put him on a couple of waiting lists to make sure he’d be in line for placement if we decided to take that route – there was one in particular that Dad really seemed to like and we had our fingers crossed. But it bothered us, sitting around hoping for a room to open up – it meant, really, that we were waiting for someone to die. The whole thing was so depressing and we were just floundering. We feel so guilty about that. We have for months. If only we’d made a decision and kept him safe.” Vicki’s lower lip quivered and moisture filled her eyes.

  “Was he home when the woman came to prepare his lunch?”

  “No. That was the first we knew of a problem. She called us. But it wasn’t the first time, so we didn’t panic.”

  “He’d run off before?”

  “Not exactly. We’d always find him within two blocks of the house. Sometimes, he’d be raking leaves in someone else’s yard. Other times, he’d be picking up sticks that had fallen from trees. Often, we’d find him in his stocking feet. But he never hurt himself and he never wandered far. The woman – Miss Jenkins – checked out his usual places but he wasn’t there. My husband and I both hurried home from work and looked again. Then we called the police.”

  “And you’ve not heard from him since that day?”

  “No. Not a word.” A tear broke away from one eye and trailed down her cheek to her chin. “Where has he been?”

  “That’s what we’re going to have to find out, Mrs. Humphries. How was he with people – with strangers?”

  Vicki laughed. “He was a lover of the world. If you showed the least inclination to listen to his World War Two stories, you were his new best friend. He got so animated recalling his old memories, it was hard to look at him then and remember that he wasn’t the same vital man we’d always known.” Vicki sobbed. “But he wasn’t. He’d lost so much. It was so unfair.” She bent forward, collapsing her head on top of her folded arms on the table.

  Lucinda stood and placed a hand on Vicki’s back. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Humphries. I would like to take his medications with me before I leave if that’s okay.”

  Vicki lifted her head a few inches. “Yes. They’re all in the little tray next to the toaster. We never moved them.” She dropped her head back down, her shoulders heaving with a fresh round of sobs.

  “If you think of anything that might help, give me a call. I’ll leave my card here on the table. Anything, ma’am. Anything or anyone that seemed the least bit off, or just unusual.”

  Vicki nodded without lifting her head. Lucinda patted her back and walked back to the living room. The paramedics were gone and Mr. Humphries was standing with a man helping to hold him up. The two took a few steps toward the stairway.

  “Excuse me,” Lucinda said. “I want to ask Mr. Humphries a few questions.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. But the doctor told me to get him upstairs and put him to bed. He said he’d be over soon to determine if medication was in order.”

  “And you are?”

  “Pastor Wrigley. From the Grace Street United Methodist Church. The family is part of my congregation. Can I take him up now?”

  Lucinda looked into Eric’s eyes and saw no sign that he was at all aware of her. Was he really distraught or was he simply a good actor? She stepped aside. “Okay. But make sure the doctor knows I need to speak with him before he leaves. And, Reverend, I would like to talk to you, too.”

  “Hey, Lieutenant,” a woman shouted from the front porch.

  Lucinda stepped through the door and saw the source of the outcry, Carole Livingston, a death investigator from the coroner’s office. “Whatcha got, Livingston?”

  “I don’t see any definitive signs of foul play, Lieutenant, but I did find something odd.”

  Lucinda tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

  Carole held out a blue-gloved hand and opened her fingers. “Acorns. Dozens of them in his jacket pockets. Have any idea what they are doing there?”

  Four

  “Forensic geeks reporting for duty, Lieutenant.”

  Lucinda smiled at the sight of Marguerite Spellman leading a Tyvec-suited crew into the front yard. “Always a pleasure to see you, Spellman.”

  “We’ll start with photographic and videographic documentation here on the porch. Anyplace else we need to do?”

  “It’s been five months since he disappeared so I doubt we’ll find anything useful in the house, but we might as well shoot his room just in case.”

  “We’ll video all the way there while we’re at it. What else do you need?”

  “Until we know the cause of death, we won’t know whether or not we need to look for a murder suspect. But we do know this: someone violated the law when they dumped his body on the porch. See if you can find anything out in front of the house that might lead to an identification of the person who did that.”

  Marguerite spun around and looked at the gaggle of patrolmen on the sidewalk and the police vehicles parked at the curb in front of the house. She turned back to Lucinda, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

  “I know. I know. Do the best you can. Run more evidence tape, shoo out the officers and get those vehicles moved. We’ve got to try even though the area couldn’t get much more compromised if we planned it. And when you have a tech to spare, I’d like someone to come to the kitchen with me and retrieve the prescription meds. We need a tox screen on his body for all of them. He could have had an alternative source while he was away or not having them might have contributed to his death.”

  “Give me a minute to talk to the crew and I’ll go with you.”

  “Lieutenant?” Butler said approaching the porch. He stopped two steps below Lucinda and handed her a plump file. From that vantage point he looked even more diminutive. His head bent back so far, Lucinda thought it looked ready to snap off of his neck. “I had a copy made of the missing person’s case file for the dead guy. It’s got contact info for everyone we interviewed including the three people who cared for him during the day.”

  “Thick file, Butler,” she said hefting it in one hand.

  “Hey, I’ll tell ya, I was really worried about the guy. I wanted to find him before he got run down in the middle of the road or rolled by some lowlife. I can add that to my list of failures,” he said with a sigh.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Butler. Appreciate the file – I don’t often get one without requesting it first. Could you help the techs clear out the yard and street in front of the house?”

  “Guess I screwed up there,” Jumbo said, a light red flushing his cheeks under Lucinda’s gaze.

  “No offense, Butler, but if you want to play pitiful, you’re going to have to take it elsewhere. I have work to do.”

  Jumbo spun around, his whole face now burning bright. He nodded and mumbled at Marguerite as he passed her coming back to the porch.

  “Whoa, Lieutenant,” Marguerite said with a laugh. “He looks a little worse for wear. You giving him a hard time?”

  “No need, he was doing a fine job of beating himself up.”

  They walked in the front door across the gleaming wood floors to the tiled surface of the kitchen. Vicki hadn’t moved from the position she’d assumed when Lucinda left her earlier.
Her head bowed over the table rested on folded arms. Lucinda pointed to the tray by the toaster and as Marguerite followed the direction of her finger, Lucinda placed a hand on Vicki’s back. “Mrs. Humphries?”

  Vicki raised her head and looked at Lucinda with red, wet and vacant eyes.

  “Are those all the medications your father-in-law was taking?” Lucinda asked pointing to Marguerite who was bagging up the prescription bottles.

  Vicki blinked her eyes several times, furrowed her brow and nodded her head.

  “Did he have any spare bottles of any of those he could have taken with him?”

  Again she made multiple blinks before answering with a shake of her head.

  “Did he take those medications on his own or did you need to give them to him?”

  “I . . .” Vicki struggled to force her tongue down from the roof of a dried mouth.

  Realizing Vicki’s problem, Lucinda placed a hand on her shoulder and said,

  “Wait. Let me get you a glass of water.” She pulled a tumbler off of an open shelf and filled it from the ice-water dispenser on the front of the stainless steel refrigerator.

  Vicki took two greedy swallows before placing the half-empty glass on the table. “Sometimes he’d think to ask about his pills but he never could remember whether or not he’d already done so. I’m sure he wouldn’t have taken them with any regularity if I hadn’t given them to him.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” Lucinda said, turning to leave the room. She spun back and asked, “Mrs. Humphries, can you think of any reason why your father-in-law would have dozens of acorns in his pockets.”

  “Acorns?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Acorns? I have no idea.”

  Lucinda and Marguerite were at the front door when they heard steps on the stairway behind them. The two women turned to greet the person descending. A corpulent man, in khaki pants, a brown tweed jacket, white shirt and golden tie, breathed heavily as he made his way down. A clump of blonde-gray hair straggled on his forehead, revealing a balding head. He clutched a black bag in his left hand.

  “Were you the doctor caring for Mr. Humphries?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your name?” Lucinda asked.

  “Dr. Nelson. Dr. Harry Nelson. And you?”

  “Pierce, Lieutenant Pierce,” she said with a quick flash of her shield. “I’d like to speak to your patient.”

  “You’re a bit late for that, Lieutenant. I gave him a strong sedative. Reverend Wrigley is sitting with him until he’s sure Eric is asleep. But even if he is awake, he’ll be too groggy for a grilling. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have patients waiting in my office.”

  “Do you normally make house calls, Doctor?”

  “No. This was an extraordinary circumstance, don’t you agree?”

  “Certainly, Doctor. But why did you give him a sedative?”

  Dr. Nelson pulled back his chin and looked at her as if she was a specimen. “He’s been through a rather traumatic experience, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “But why a sedative strong enough to knock him out, Doctor?”

  “Because, in my medical opinion, that is what was called for. Are you questioning my professional judgment?”

  “Just wondering if there was a reason why you didn’t want him to answer my questions.”

  “You have a suspicious mind, Lieutenant.”

  “And you have a diagnostic one. You still haven’t answered my question, Doctor.”

  “I really need to go,” he said brushing past her.

  She grabbed his arm. “Not yet. Were you Edgar Humphries’ primary physician?”

  “Of course. I cared for the whole family.”

  “What medications did you prescribe for him?”

  “I’d have to check his file to know the specific names and doses.”

  “Marguerite?” Lucinda asked.

  The forensic supervisor stepped forward with the Baggie of pill bottles. “Doctor, are these the prescriptions you wrote for Edgar Humphries?”

  “Yes, yes. You can see my name on them.”

  “Is anything missing?” Lucinda asked.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Tell me, Doctor; are there any medicines in here that could be responsible for your patient’s death if he stopped taking them?”

  “Well, stopping the Prozac abruptly could have made him suicidal. Did you see any water bottle near his body?”

  “No.”

  “He was on two blood pressure medications. That could have taken his life but, in all likelihood, it would take more than five months to do that. I say the mostly likely problem would be the Plavix. It’s a blood thinner and he had stents in his heart. Without that drug, the blockage in his stents could have induced a heart attack.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’m sure I’ll be back in touch.”

  “You want records, Lieutenant; make sure you bring a subpoena.”

  It was one of those times when Lucinda wished she were still a child – she wanted to stick her tongue out at his retreating back.

  When he closed the door behind him, Marguerite asked, “You think he might have had a reason to shut up his patient?”

  “It was a stray thought, but who knows? And who knows why? Just the fact that he made a house call raises a red flag for me. But I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s a homicide yet.”

  Five

  Lucinda stepped into the living room where elegance struck a perfect balance with comfort. Broad, white crown molding ran around the space with an oak leaf and acorn motif carved into the center board at regularly spaced intervals. A marble fireplace with matching hearth and mantle stood at the end of the room flanked by a pair of built-in bookcases – the edge of each shelf adorned with the same design as the crown molding. The treatment applied to the walls looked more like watercolor than house paint – an abstract rendition of the shallow shoreline along the Caribbean Sea.

  Gathered around the hearth, a love seat, sofa and a pair of chairs in a plump, rounded style threw splashes of ocean blue both in a solid color on some pieces and in a delicate floral pattern against an off-white background on others – inviting furniture that promised hours of cozy conversation and relaxation. In a corner of the room next to the hallway, an armless, slip-covered chair stood beside a walnut drop-leaf table with barley-twist legs.

  Lucinda selected to settle in that spot because of its good view of the front door and hallway. She sat to an angle in the chair, plopped the file folder on the table and began to read. She’d finished with the statements of the three caregivers when she heard footsteps on the stairway once again. She rose, stepped into the hallway and looked up as Reverend Wrigley descended the stairs with a furrowed brow and a harsh frown. “Reverend?” she said.

  He jerked to a stop with a gasp. “Lieutenant, you startled me.”

  “Sorry, sir. I do need to ask you a few questions.”

  “You know, ma’am, as the family’s spiritual and marital counselor, I have to hold everything they told me in strictest confidence.”

  “So, Vicki and Eric needed marriage counseling.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Wrigley objected.

  “Not exactly. But you did say, and I quote, that you were their ‘marital counselor’. Now, it seems to me, Reverend, that unless they needed help with their marriage, you wouldn’t be filling that role.”

  “There was nothing wrong with their marriage, it was just that . . . I can’t say anything more. Please. No more questions,” he said, holding up open palms in front of his chest.

  “Okay. Nothing more about their relationship. What about Edgar Humphries?”

  “What about him?”

  “Did he attend your church?”

  “He did when he first moved in with his son.”

  “When was that?”

  “About two and a half years ago as I recall.”

  “So he lived here for two years before he disappeared?”

  “Something
like that.”

  “But then he stopped attending church?”

  Wrigley sighed. “We allowed him to serve the same function in our church as he did in his former church in Nelson County. He was an usher. He was responsible for handing out the church bulletin before the church service and helping pass the collection plates to accept the gifts the congregation bestows upon us in exchange for my spiritually uplifting message. Then one Sunday after finishing the final pew, he just kept walking out the door. Eric found him a couple of blocks away. The collection plate was nearly empty – he’d been handing out the money to the people he met in the street as if it belonged to him and not to God.”

  Lucinda swallowed hard to keep a spontaneous laugh from erupting. She didn’t think the good reverend would appreciate her sense of humor. “He stopped coming after that?”

  “Not right away. At first, we just took away his responsibilities. But even though we welcomed him into the bosom of our church as a member, not participating as an usher seemed to agitate him. He complained about it each Sunday when he shook my hand after the service but he didn’t do anything more. Then during one service, he bolted out of his seat, ran up and down the aisles and tried to forcefully remove the collection plates out of ushers’ hands. Coins, bills and checks went everywhere. A couple of kids started crying when they got hit in the face by flying quarters, dimes and nickels. It was so disruptive and, of course, so terribly tragic. God bless that poor man.” He folded one palm across the other and bowed his head.

  Something about the retelling of the event and his assumption of the pious pose seemed phoney to Lucinda. She suspected it was how he played his congregation to feed his own ego. Irritation scratched dissonance into her voice. “Well, did you at least minister to him here at home?”

  “He never asked for me, the poor man, not once.”

  “That’s lame, preacher man. He was a lost soul. You could have responded to that without an invitation,” she sneered. “Here’s my card. You think of anything that can help my investigation, give me a call.”