by H. P. Bayne
Lucienne’s voice was barely above a whisper. “She’s at Lockwood.”
“I thought you said she was at a care home.”
“It is a care home, in a way. They have a building on the grounds for seniors suffering from dementia and Alzheimer’s. She’s nowhere near old enough to be there, not really, but Dr. Gerhardt insisted she be somewhere he could work directly with her each day.”
“Do you visit her?”
Lucienne shook her head. “I would never willingly set foot inside that gate. Not for anything.”
“Or anyone? Even Sully?”
Lucienne spared him a glance before going back to her cooking. “If you find anything to suggest Sullivan is there, then I’ll go back. But not for anyone else. No one else in my life is worth it.”
The gates were open, the treelined gravel road setting a straight course toward the massive Victorian-era structure at its end.
The last time Dez had passed through these gates, he’d been leaving with Sully, who had been silent but vibrating with tension beside him. Dez and Sully shared a love of camping and the outdoors, instilled in both of them by their deceased father, and so, after Flynn’s memorial service, Dez had taken Sully to the quiet of the nearby Winteredge National Park. There, next to the campsite they used to frequent with their dad, Dez had the first real conversation with his brother since he’d been committed to Lockwood.
The result was horrifying and left Dez both sickened and enraged. Had it not been for the obvious need to keep Sully as far from that place as was humanly possible, Dez would have driven back there and put Gerhardt and Hackman through the window of the head psychiatrist’s office.
Instead, he’d focused his energy on something more productive and less likely to land him in prison for the better part of a decade. In concealing Sully, he knew he was committing an offence that could easily put him out of work and saddle him with some sort of criminal charge for obstructing a police investigation. But there was no debating the issue for Dez, no way he would have been able to live with himself if he took Sully back, not after everything he’d learned.
Dez hated Lockwood, and he hated Gerhardt and Hackman. And as he closed the distance between the gates and the main building—that building that might even now hold his brother—he said a silent prayer to his father to keep him steady.
There was too much on the line. And it was one he realized he was dangerously close to crossing.
22
Dez knew his stature made him memorably imposing, but he suspected there was more to the glances exchanged in the reception area than could be blamed solely on his appearance.
The question was whether those looks meant people remembered him as the guy who had secured a patient’s escape, or whether they knew him to be the brother of a patient who, only recently, had been recaptured and secreted somewhere inside the facility.
He’d left Pax with Miss Crichton, the woman having turned into a dog lover overnight despite her typical adherence to rules and building code. Lucienne had offered to watch him, but Dez wasn’t sure how willing Pax would be to keep up the niceties around her once the food supply ran out. Better safe than sorry.
That expression applied to himself at the moment as well, and he reminded himself to keep his mouth shut about Sully at all costs. He had yet to find any proof his brother was here or that anyone from Lockwood even knew he was alive. The last thing Dez wanted was to blow Sully’s carefully constructed cover by laying out cards that weren’t his to play. He’d have to stay cool, assemble this bit by bit like a jigsaw puzzle. The piece he currently needed was named Lorinda Usher, and he asked for her at the desk.
“You’re Desmond Braddock, aren’t you?” the bespectacled receptionist asked.
It took him a moment, but he put a name to the familiar face. “Hi, Peggy. It’s been a while.”
Her smile wavered with uncertainty. “I’m not sure if ….”
She was a polite one, Peggy. Too polite to say what had to be on her mind.
Dez made it easier on her. “You’re not sure I’m supposed to be here. Look, that was two years ago. I’m hoping to talk to someone else, a Lorinda Usher. I’m told she’s in the building where they look after people with dementia and other age-related problems.”
Dez watched Peggy for reaction. The way he’d thought this through, his request would probably relax her a bit once she knew he wasn’t here to bust heads over Sully. Additional or continual discomfort, though, might suggest she knew something she didn’t want him to catch wind of. Either that, or inadvertently reveal she shared Dez’s knowledge about the connection between Lorinda and Sully.
There was no pause between his statement and the slight but clear release of tension in her face and the increased uplift at the corners of her mouth. If Sully was here, or if anyone knew Lorinda was Sully’s grandmother, they hadn’t bothered to tell Peggy.
“Are you family?”
“No,” he said. “I’m actually just checking into something for an associate of mine. He might have been here to see her recently? Older guy, bit paunchy around the middle—”
“Lachlan Fields,” Peggy supplied. “He was here yesterday morning.”
Now Dez was paying extra attention to his own facial muscles, trying hard to keep them from giving away his excitement. “Yes, that’s right. Here’s the thing. He was assaulted yesterday, and is in serious condition in the hospital. We’re trying to figure out who was involved.”
Behind her trendy cat’s-eye glasses, Peggy’s eyes had grown a size or two larger. “Oh, that’s awful! Such a nice man too.”
Clearly, Lachlan had put his best foot forward yesterday.
“Mrs. Usher might well have been the last person Lachlan spoke with,” Dez said. “I need to find out if there was anything said that might shed some light on who attacked him.”
“Certainly, I understand. I’ll just call Dr. Gerhardt.”
“I’m sure I can find the way myself, if you’ll just point me in the right direction.”
“Sorry, facility rules,” Peggy said with a small shrug, her ever-present smile now apologetic. “Visitors all need to be cleared with him.”
“Just a second.” Dez paused a moment to think through a strategy. If he came face to face with Gerhardt, there were two likely outcomes, with neither ending in an actual visit to Lorinda Usher. The first scenario involved Dez beating the psychopath to within an inch of his life and being removed in handcuffs by attending members of the KRPD; the second would see him thrown off the premises, once again quite possibly in the escort of his former colleagues. He needed to appeal to Peggy’s sympathy, and fast. “Listen, Peggy—”
“Kimotan Rapids PD,” came a voice from near his left shoulder. Dez turned to see Eva approaching, badge and ID card flashing. “Is there a problem with us talking to the lady?”
Dez wasn’t sure whether he should be grateful or terrified by Eva’s unexpected presence. “Peggy says she has to clear it with Dr. Gerhardt.”
Eva stared Peggy down as only she could. “I hardly think that will be necessary. We’ll be just a few minutes.”
“I’m required to clear all unknown visitors with the doctor—”
“I’m a police officer,” Eva said. “Dez is working with Lachlan Fields. Did he tell you what happened to Lachlan?”
Peggy nodded. She seemed to have given up trying to form words. When Eva was all-business like this, she could have that effect. Dez tried to keep his pride from poking through whatever he had going of a poker face.
Eva continued. “So I don’t need to tell you time is of the essence. You’ve heard about the forty eight-hour rule?”
Peggy nodded and then decided an answer was called for. “You mean that crimes not solved within forty eight hours are harder to solve?”
“You got it. You know what happens when you call the doctor. He’ll take a while to get down here, then there will be questions and paperwork to fill out. And that’s all going to be made far more complicated b
y the presence of my former colleague here. Obviously, Dr. Gerhardt will not want him anywhere near here, given past events. Now I’m not excusing Desmond’s behaviour in the past, but that was the past. This is now, and we need to move on this immediately. There’s a real concern Lachlan’s assailant is preparing to flee the jurisdiction, and that’s going to make it really, really hard to bring him to justice. Do you want to be charged with obstructing justice?”
Peggy shook her head, no.
“So, please, point us in the right direction.”
Peggy raised an arm and pointed back toward the entrance, before deciding words were necessary as well. “Building on the left. I’ll call through and tell them to let you speak with her.”
“Thank you,” Eva said, leading the way out the door so fast even Dez had trouble catching up.
“Where did you come from?” he asked once they were outside and out of earshot.
“Later,” she said. “The way I see it, we’ve got all of five minutes with the woman before Gerhardt comes flapping in to break up the party. We need to get what we can and get the hell out.”
“Okay, but quick, then. How’d you know?”
“You didn’t answer your damn phone this morning, so I stopped by to check on you. There was a woman there, and I took a shot in the dark and guessed Lucienne. Once I convinced her who I was, she told me where I could find you. Then I drove like a bat out of hell to get here before you ran into someone you were likely to kill and bury.”
“Thanks, Eva. You have no idea.”
“I have every idea. Now let’s just get this done and leave, all right? This place gives me the creeps.”
Dez had never been inside the building they entered now, a slightly newer construction as compared to the main institution. Seniors’ Care, as it was now called according to the nameplate, looked to be a converted two-storey mansion that might once have housed the head psychiatrist and whatever family and staff he’d brought with him. Since those early days, economic woes had encroached on many a lavish lifestyle in KR, and Lockwood was no different.
Mental health had not been the highest priority in most recent government budgets, despite the increasing need. Not that everyone got that care at Lockwood, in Dez’s opinion, but the programs and staff here had somehow or other continued to win accolades for what they did for those in need. Once fully run on the taxpayers’ dime, Lockwood had since been forced to supplement its dwindling budgetary income through privately paid care. Dez guessed the doctor’s former residence was one of the first buildings on the site to go, refurbished and divvied up into individual units for dementia sufferers whose families were willing to pay for the best care. And, for some reason Dez couldn’t fathom, Dr. Roman Gerhardt was considered the best.
The entry hall of Seniors’ Care boasted a large oak desk that made efforts to blend in with the panelling on the walls and the banisters of the wide staircase that led to the second floor. Paintings adorned the walls, many likely original to the house or at least the last doctor to call this structure home. They appeared classical to Dez’s untrained eye, ships on calm seas, bowls of fruit and dour women in high-necked dresses.
If the desk and wall art were doing their part to fit into the surroundings, so was the receptionist. She was an older woman, though not old enough to expect a place here just yet, and she was every bit as colourless as many of the women in the portraits.
“I understand you want to see Mrs. Usher,” she said, voice a train of monotone syllables.
“We would, thank you,” Eva said.
The woman looked disapprovingly at Eva, and Dez bristled. Since he’d started dating Eva years ago, he’d gotten almost as good at picking out racists as she was. Eva knew it, and she stepped slightly in front of him so she could touch his hand without anyone taking notice.
“She’s in the sunroom, back of the house. But don’t expect much. She’s having more bad days than good lately.”
“Thank you,” Eva said and led the way to the back through an archway past the stairs. Dez, bringing up the rear, took advantage by levelling a glare at the older woman.
Boasting pristine white walls and windows that rose to the high ceiling, the sunroom must once have held wicker lounge furniture, thriving potted plants and decorative indoor trees, and coffee tables filled with the latest reading material. The wicker had given way to chairs only a step above those Dez recalled from the main building, rickety looking card tables and bookshelves featuring rumpled romance novels and jigsaw puzzles that, by now, were likely missing several pieces.
Some seniors looked happy enough, playing away at card games with friends and visiting family while others sat chatting. But a handful sat alone, facing the large window, and Dez felt a cold chill as he considered that, for some of them, this might be as close to the outdoors as they’d ever get in what little time they had left. It might be that staff here took them outside once in a while, but given his experience with Sully in the next building, he wasn’t about to lay any money on it.
“I’m guessing she’s one of the ones by the windows,” Eva whispered. “Probably the skinny, grumpy one in the wheelchair who looks like the American Gothic painting.”
Dez had no idea what painting Eva was talking about, but he went with it. There didn’t seem to be anyone around to ask.
They approached the woman from the side, Eva taking the lead.
“Lorinda Usher?”
The woman didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just continued to glare out the window.
Eva tried again. “Mrs. Usher?”
“Oh, that’s me!” exclaimed a voice from nearby. Dez turned to see a second seated, window-watching woman who, at first glance anyway, looked too old to be Lorinda Usher. But then, he guessed a life like hers aged a person, perhaps significantly. This woman, unlike the one they’d first approached, looked bubbly and welcoming, and he was plenty happy to sit down with her instead.
Eva didn’t sound quite as sure. “You’re Lorinda Usher?”
“Ye-es,” the woman said, ending the one-word statement with a giggle. “What can I do for you dears?”
Dez met Eva’s eye for a moment, found her giving him a little head shake, no. Dez shrugged. With no other takers, what choice did they have?
“I’m going to go look for a staff member,” Eva said. “Have a chat until I get back.”
As Eva left the room, Dez pulled up a plastic chair and, hoping it would support someone his size, eased himself onto the seat. It held, and he celebrated with the smile he gave the senior in front of him.
“You’re sure you’re Lorinda Usher?”
“Of course, I’m sure, dear. You think I don’t know my own name?” He would have thought her insulted but that she ended the statement with another light laugh.
“All right, then,” Dez said. He’d quickly become as skeptical as Eva but forged on anyway. They didn’t have the luxury of time and hopefully his questions would draw a response from the real Lorinda. “I need to speak to you about Rhona.”
The bubbly lady continued to grin. “Oh, Rhona. Such a dear. Such a dear.”
“Bitch,” said the other.
Dez’s gaze snapped back to the younger woman. She had not looked at him, had given no sign she’d said anything, yet he was certain the curse had come from her. “Did you say something, ma’am?”
Silence.
He turned back to Bubbles. “I’m working with a private investigator, and I’m trying to find Rhona. I’m wondering if you can help me.”
“That nice young man who was here the other day?”
Dez didn’t think he’d ever in his life heard Lachlan Fields described as a nice young man, and it merited assurances they were talking about the same guy. “Do you remember his name?”
“Lachlan, I believe I heard. I only remember because that was the name of my oldest brother, God rest.”
She took a breath and Dez could tell she was about to launch into a story not likely to relate to the topic he’d come her
e to discuss. Once started, there would be no stopping her. “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Did he ask you about Rhona too?”
“He did, asked about how to find her. I wanted to help him, poor man, but I had no idea.”
Dez leaned in and smiled, hoping she’d get the hint. “Might anybody else here know how to find her?”
The older woman smiled sheepishly. “Well ….”
“You aren’t Lorinda Usher, are you?” He leaned closer to her. “Lorinda is the woman in the wheelchair on my other side, isn’t she?”
Bubbles didn’t get the chance to answer before Eva returned with a nurse. And not just any nurse, the sight of her drawing his eyebrows up his forehead. “Greta? You work here?”
“I’m a volunteer, and I really need to insist you not speak with our patients without first checking with Dr. Gerhardt,” she said.
Dez stood and looked Greta up and down without thinking, hoping in retrospect no one had misconstrued anything. This Greta looked vastly different from the one he’d seen the other night at the bar, that woman having been strung out on something or other and sporting a spaghetti strap top and short shorts. In uniform with minimal makeup and her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek bun, this Greta was like the Dr. Jekyll to the other night’s Ms. Hyde.
“Are you all right?” he asked her. “The other night—”
Greta instantly looked uncomfortable. “Can we not talk about that here?”
“Not that I care what Forbes is dealing with ordinarily, but he’s worried about you. I told him about the night at the bar.”
“What about it?”
“Someone followed you. Didn’t you see him?”
Greta shook her head in the negative. “No one followed me.”
“I know someone followed you. I saw him. I kept an eye on him for some time, at least until he headed into the cemetery. Someone attacked me at that point, and I never knew what happened to you after. I just wanted to make sure—”