Vultures at Twilight

by Charles Atkins

  Mattie half listened as she compared Nillewaug to the nursing home her mother was in. Worlds apart. Feeling pangs of guilt and heartsickness as she looked out on sweeping views of well-maintained grounds and gently graded walking paths; all with handrails and dotted with benches. ‘It’s lovely,’ the detective admitted. ‘I imagine it’s quite expensive.’ Could I ever afford something like this?

  ‘Quality costs,’ the director responded as she ushered Mattie into her lushly appointed fourth floor office.

  ‘How expensive?’ Mattie asked, taking in the tufted leather, Berber carpet, and brocade window treatments that framed a stunning view of a man-made pond.

  ‘There’s a monthly fee, it starts at three thousand and goes up,’ Delia explained, settling behind her gleaming mahogany desk.

  ‘That doesn’t seem bad,’ Mattie commented, remembering that it had cost far more than that for her mother’s nursing home. It had eaten through her Mom’s meager savings, and then she’d had to sell the house, and when that was gone, she went on Medicaid.

  ‘The monthly fee is for day-to-day operations, including very good meals. The biggest expense is the buy-in fee.’

  ‘How much does that run?’

  ‘It varies, but somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred and fifty to five hundred thousand for our deluxe two-bedroom units.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ Mattie said, taking the lower figure, dividing by four and coming up with something close to what the nursing home had charged her mother, and now billed Medicaid, on a yearly basis.

  The director beamed. ‘A lot of people don’t understand that. Many older people get sticker shock when they hear it.’

  ‘How many residents do you have?’

  ‘Over six hundred in independent living, maybe forty of those are couples. We have approximately ten female residents for every male. Then we have an additional fifty in our Safe Harbor Alzheimer’s and Dementia unit and fifty skilled and rehab in the Maple Creek building.’

  ‘Skilled?’

  ‘Full care; both of those units are licensed nursing homes, although we shy away from that term.’

  ‘It’s something of a gamble, isn’t it?’ the detective asked, lobbing a deliberately vague question.

  ‘Gamble?’

  ‘Nursing home care is quite expensive, isn’t it? If someone were to come to Nillewaug and have a protracted illness, wouldn’t that be a drain on your resources?’

  ‘That can happen,’ the director commented.

  ‘How can you avoid it?’

  ‘We screen all prospective residents.’

  ‘I assume that’s legal,’ Mattie commented, ‘or you wouldn’t be telling me.’

  ‘Perfectly legal. Our admissions criteria clearly state that upon entry to Nillewaug the individual must be able to provide most of their self-care needs. We do of course make exceptions on a case-by-case basis. What happens down the line is harder to predict.’

  ‘So a person with advanced diabetes?’ She asked, wondering what would lead Delia to make exceptions. The answer that popped to mind: money.

  ‘We don’t like to go into the details. But if they couldn’t maintain their self-care, probably not.’

  ‘What about Alzheimer’s?’

  ‘We try to screen that out.’

  ‘Isn’t that hard?’

  ‘Extremely, particularly in the over-eighty group. It’s just a fact of the business and why we make a commitment to our residents who do go on to develop Alzheimer’s or another dementia. Our Safe Harbor Pavilion is state of the art.’ She made a sweeping motion toward a shelving unit that contained rows of plaques and awards. ‘We’ve been written up extensively as a best-practice model, and three years in a row have been voted top skilled nursing facility in New England.’

  ‘Impressive,’ Mattie replied, having the strange sense that Delia was feeling her out, as though she were a prospective buyer. ‘What happens when you run out of beds?’

  ‘That’s never happened.’

  ‘What if it did?’

  ‘Obviously, we would have to make some sort of arrangement. But we’re well prepared for most contingencies.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Maybe move someone to a less restrictive setting with an increase in supervision.’

  ‘Like an aide?’

  ‘Exactly. Expensive, but when we have to do it, we can and do.’

  ‘So where do most of your residents come from?’ Mattie shifted to what she hoped would be a richer vein.

  ‘All over the country.’

  ‘And locally?’

  ‘Of course. The majority of our residents come from the tri-state area.’

  ‘What about Pilgrim’s Progress?’ Mattie asked, not leaving Preston time between questions.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘How many?’

  The director hesitated before answering, ‘Forty percent.’

  ‘Why so high?’

  ‘Location. It’s less disruptive to move somewhere that’s close.’

  ‘It must be nice to have such a large built-in referral source. Which came first,’ Mattie asked, ‘Pilgrim’s Progress or Nillewaug Village?’

  ‘Pilgrim’s Progress is much older. Nillewaug is only in its tenth year.’

  ‘Really? Any relation to Pilgrim’s Progress? I mean other than the proximity and that half of your residents come from there?’

  ‘Forty percent,’ the director corrected. She paused. ‘You have to remember that we’re very different.’

  ‘I can see that, but that’s not what I asked. Are there connections . . . business connections . . . between the two?’

  ‘No.’

  Mattie sensed Preston holding back. ‘Really?’

  ‘Almost not worth mentioning.’

  ‘Try me.’

  The director leaned back in her leather chair and folded her manicured fingers together. ‘I think some of the Nillewaug investors also put money into Pilgrim’s Progress. But as corporate entities they’re entirely separate.’

  ‘What about the respective boards of directors? Any members sit on both?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain,’ Preston said. ‘It’s possible. I have nothing to do with Pilgrim’s Progress, so I really wouldn’t know.’

  Mattie noted how Preston seemed uncomfortable with this line of inquiry, and made a mental note to pull the charters and annual corporate filings for both Pilgrim’s Progress and Nillewaug. ‘You’re not on the board at Nillewaug?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I report to the CEO; it’s a very small executive team and because we’re a for-profit they also serve as the board.’

  ‘And who is the CEO?’

  Preston winced. ‘If I tell you, I assume you’re going to want to speak with him.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Is there any way that could be avoided?’

  ‘Probably not, but why should that matter?’

  The director picked up a black-and-gold Montblanc pen and fidgeted with the cap. She looked across at the detective. ‘I know you have your job to do, but so do I, and a lot of what I’m supposed to do is take care of problems. By and large my boss doesn’t want to be involved in the day-to-day situations that arise. He leaves that to me.’

  ‘In other words, it won’t look good.’

  ‘Yes. I’m not certain what you’re trying to find, or how talking to my employer would help you.’

  Mattie did not want to admit that she wasn’t at all certain where this would lead. Still, the connections opened up a number of possibilities, and ‘when in doubt’, her first mentor in the department had told her, ‘follow the money’. ‘His name?’

  ‘You’re putting me in a difficult situation.’

  ‘Murder investigations do that.’

  ‘I don’t see what Nillewaug has to do with the murders. Let me talk to him first,’ she said. ‘If you call him out of the blue it will look like I wasn’t doing my job.’

  ‘Which is to run interference? Look, Ms Pres
ton, I don’t have a lot of time and even less patience. If you want to call him, do it now.’

  ‘I see. Would you at least leave the room while I call?’

  ‘I’ll be outside.’ Mattie got to her feet. ‘Don’t keep me waiting.’

  As Mattie stood in the hallway looking out the picture window, she strained to hear Delia’s conversation.

  ‘Excuse me.’ An elfin nonagenarian, in a powder-blue sweater suit, tapped Mattie’s arm. ‘Is this my street?’ the woman asked, tugging at her sleeve.

  ‘What street are you looking for?’ Mattie asked, wondering if ‘street’ was a Nillewaug euphemism for hall or floor.

  ‘Oh you know.’ The woman’s face broke into a broad, chip-toothed smile and she began to sing as she moved down the hall, ‘On the rocky road to Dublin. I met my true love. His name was Tommy. He was my true love . . .’

  As the woman ambled away, Mattie’s gaze fell upon an electronic bracelet around her ankle. It reminded her of a convict on homebound. Increasingly, she realized that Grenville’s chief industry wasn’t antiques; it was old people. The seven hundred-plus residents of this facility alone represented hundreds of millions of dollars; it was simple math. Each one of them a cash cow at the end of their lives ready to be milked, bilked . . . and possibly worse. But something didn’t quite jibe with the story Preston had just told her. What’s someone who’s clearly demented doing in this building? Shouldn’t she be in that Alzheimer’s Unit?

  Delia’s door opened. ‘I hope this makes you happy,’ Preston said, thrusting a business card at the detective. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her foundation. ‘He’ll be expecting your call. And if you don’t need anything further . . .’

  ‘That should be all . . . for now,’ said Mattie, looking down the hall to where the old woman had disappeared from sight. ‘Thank you.’ And before she could formulate a question about the woman with the ankle bracelet, a visibly shaken Delia Preston had shut her door.

  NINETEEN

  Like pulling teeth, Mattie thought as she sat outside Nillewaug in her state-issue unmarked and aging Crown Victoria and studied the card Preston had given her. No reason for things to be this hard. It made her deeply suspicious, but what if this was a dead end? With the body count escalating, time – that most precious of commodities – couldn’t be wasted. But this could be completely unrelated. ‘Something stinks,’ she said out loud, and she pulled for facts to back up her gut. There was something complicit between Nillewaug and Pilgrim’s Progress and whatever games the local antique dealers were playing. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. ‘Hank, it’s Mattie Perez.’

  His voice was cheerful. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Not bad. I’ve been following some leads at Nillewaug Village. Did you know forty percent of the residents here came from Pilgrim’s Progress? And another third from Grenville?’

  Moments ticked. ‘That and a bunch of other stuff. What’s the point?’

  ‘I’m not certain,’ she said, her resolve wavering. ‘But the murders keep sending me back to Pilgrim and Nillewaug. At times I think the murderer does too.’

  ‘The jewelry bit?’

  ‘Yes. The night McElroy was murdered he had just auctioned off the estate of a Nillewaug resident, did you know that? Or that a good portion of Mildred Potts’ inventory came from Pilgrim and Nillewaug?’

  ‘You could be clutching. So what was it you wanted to ask?’

  ‘Hank, there’s a connection, but I have to be able to look around. That seems hard to do.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  Mattie related her session with Delia Preston.

  ‘So she gave you Jim Warren’s name?’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then why the hush hush?’

  ‘Probably what the woman said. Preston’s a single mom with a son in college; she doesn’t want you bothering the man who signs her paycheck.’

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked, realizing she might have misjudged Delia, and knowing first hand what it’s like to be the sole support of a family.

  ‘Jim Warren’s sharp. He’s the most expensive lawyer in town. You won’t get much from him.’

  ‘You think this is a dead end.’

  He paused. ‘I don’t know if it’s where I’d put a lot of effort.’

  ‘Why?’ suddenly annoyed, realizing at the end of the day Hank’s loyalties fell in step with his town.

  ‘Mattie, in Grenville, you got to watch whose toes you step on. It’s not Hartford or New Haven; it’s a small town where everybody knows everybody’s business.’

  ‘You telling me to pull back?’

  ‘Nah, you got to go where your gut tells you. Just be careful.’

  ‘Of toes?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He chuckled. ‘People around here got lots of ’em.’

  ‘You want to come with me when I talk to Mr Warren?’

  ‘What about Kevin? He’s got toes too. He kind of figures you’ve been leaving him in the dust.’

  ‘It’s just . . .’

  ‘I know, but people like him, and frankly, you could use the social lubricant.’

  ‘You want me to take him?’

  ‘Couldn’t hurt. Anything else come up?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said, feeling like a rookie who’s just been chastised. ‘I’m waiting for forensics. They told me there was talc residue on the paddles so it seems like the killer was wearing disposable gloves. Of course, around here every other store is a pharmacy or medical supply shop, so it’s not the most robust lead.’

  ‘Welcome to Grenville,’ he commented dryly. ‘Old folks and antiques.’

  ‘Although,’ she said, using Hank as a sounding board, ‘there could be something with the gloves. We all had to change from latex to these funky purple ones a few years back, because some people had allergic reactions.’

  ‘Same here. What’s the point?’

  ‘It could be nothing, but the new ones don’t have talc. Do me a favor and see if they’re still selling latex with talc, if not our killer is using old gloves.’

  ‘I’ll make a couple calls, you’re right it could be something . . .’ His voice trailed. ‘Not a big something.’

  ‘I know, but at this point I’ll take anything.’

  After they hung up she dialed another number.

  ‘Mrs Strauss?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is Mattie Perez.’

  ‘Well hello, Mattie,’ Ada said, sounding pleased.

  ‘I had a couple questions about things you and Mrs Campbell had said at lunch yesterday.’

  ‘Fire away, dear. Oops, could you hold on one minute while I get my tea?’

  ‘No problem.’

  Mattie cradled the phone and heard the whistling teakettle. There was something comfortable in the clatter of crockery and the hollow whoosh of a cookie tin opening.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Ada said. ‘You had some questions?’

  ‘Right, they have to do with the woman’s estate you’re liquidating.’

  ‘Evie’s, Evie Henderson.’

  ‘You said that Mildred Potts had given you an estimate and also Tolliver Jacobs.’

  ‘That’s right and I got a third from Mr Caputo.’

  Mattie felt her breath catch. ‘You mentioned him at lunch.’

  ‘Yes, although he hasn’t returned my calls.’

  Mattie again got that sick feeling about Rudy Caputo, as well as the other two men whose auction paddles had been used to flay open McElroy’s gut. Hunting them down had been the sole task she’d handed off to her grudgingly provided reinforcements. ‘How did you get the names for the dealers you picked?’

  ‘Some I got from the Grenville Antique Association website, others I got from Evie’s attorney.’

  ‘Mr Warren?’

  ‘You’ve been doing your homework, which I suspect my grandson who’s sneaking out the door as we speak, has not. Excuse me.’

  Mattie eavesdropped
as Ada interrogated her grandson.

  ‘Aaron, where are you going?’

  ‘To the mall.’

  ‘Homework done?’

  ‘Mostly.’

  ‘You know that if your schoolwork goes down, there’s no way your mom and dad will let you stay here.’

  ‘I’ll do it; I promise. I made plans to meet a couple friends at the mall.’

  ‘I suppose . . . Just be back for dinner.’

  ‘Is Lil coming?’ he asked.

  ‘She should.’

  ‘Can we have Chinese?’

  ‘You’re getting too used to this, but yes, and yes I’ll order the moo shoo.’ Ada turned back to the detective. ‘I just don’t know what I’m doing,’ she admitted.

  ‘He sounds like a nice kid,’ Mattie offered.

  ‘He’s a gem,’ Ada boasted. ‘I just think it’s hard for kids these days. Or harder in a different way from when I grew up. Back then you kind of knew what was expected of you. Now it’s all so confusing.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you something personal?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Why isn’t he with his parents?’

  ‘My son-in-law and he aren’t on speaking terms, it seems.’

  ‘Big fight?’

  ‘A whopper, which reminds me that I should give my daughter a call. I’m still not certain what’s going on.’

  ‘In my experience,’ Mattie offered, ‘and before homicide I worked domestic violence, there are only a few reasons why kids leave home . . . or get pushed out. You want to hear them?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Let’s get rid of the ugly ones first,’ the detective began. ‘Sexual and physical abuse are two of the major causes for runaways.’

  ‘No,’ Ada said. ‘Although . . .’

  ‘Although?’

  ‘As much as I might not care for my son-in-law, I can’t believe he’s responsible for Aaron’s black eye, and Aaron adamantly denies that his father hit him.’