by Joanne Pence
Rebecca entered the spartan office and took a seat. “I understand Mrs. Najjar was suffering from dementia, and that her death may have been unexpected.”
“It’s hard to say. Yes, she had developed heart issues, and the end came more quickly than expected, that is true. But that doesn’t usually involve homicide, or any police—”
“What happened to her?” Rebecca interrupted.
Willis swallowed hard. “She was fine at nine o’clock when it was time for lights out, but when we did bed checks at midnight, we found her dead.”
“Did someone see her at nine?”
“Yes. We go into each room, shut off the overhead light, make sure the person is comfortable, has water by their bed, and so on.”
“You’re sure she had no complaints at nine o’clock?”
Willis turned to her computer screen. “We’re quite up-to-date here. We log-in every interaction with our guests.”
“Guests?” Rebecca asked.
“Patients, in your parlance,” Willis explained. She then studied the screen. “Najjar … where is she? Ah, here we go.”
She turned the monitor so that Rebecca could also see it. “Here,” she said. “You can see we’ve logged-in our bed checks, what she ate for breakfast, lunch, dinner. She had a visitor at seven that evening, and we had to ask the visitor to leave at nine when the facility shuts down for the night.”
“Who was the visitor?”
“That would be on our sign-in sheet.” Willis phoned for the sheets to be brought to her.
“But Fairuz was fine when the last visitor left?” Rebecca asked. “Did much time pass between the visit and the staff’s bed check?”
“The staffer is here now. I’ll call her in.” Willis used an intercom to request that “Abby” report to Mrs. Willis’s office. At the same time, the receptionist brought in the sign-in sheets and handed them to Willis.
“Okay, let’s see.” She ran her finger along the sheet. “Here we go. Gebran, the son, dropped in after work for about ten minutes. And later, Salma Najjar, that’s the daughter-in-law, arrived at eight and signed out at nine-oh-five.”
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and a young woman stuck her head in.
“Abby, come in. This is Inspector Mayfield. From Homicide. She’s asking about Fairuz Najjar.” Willis paused as Rebecca and the young woman greeted each other, and then continued. “When you looked in on Mrs. Najjar for the nine o’clock bed check, how did she look to you?”
Abby’s face turned red, and her expression stricken as her eyes jumped from her boss to the policewoman watching her. Finally, she gazed at the ceiling as she spoke. “She seemed okay, I think. Her daughter-in-law was with her, and she said she’d take care of getting her water and shutting off the lights. I didn’t want to throw her out of the room so I could do those things, so I said okay. I thought that was the nicer thing to do—to let the family help, and all. I hope that was all right.”
Willis gaped at Abby a long moment. “I see,” she murmured. “Thank you. We’ll talk later.” She regained some poise and said to Rebecca, “It’s our belief that our patients like to be with family members as long as possible. We encourage the little things—such as family saying goodnight…”
Abby nodded and turned to leave when Rebecca said, “Wait. You’re saying you didn’t actually see Mrs. Najjar at nine o’clock?”
Abby glanced from Willis to Rebecca, and then stared at the floor. “I did see her. She was in bed.”
“But,” Rebecca continued, “you didn’t go back to check on her after Salma Najjar left the room?”
“I had to do my rounds,” Abby explained. “We only have so much time—”
“But you checked on her at midnight?”
“No. My shift ended at ten. The night shift handles midnight bed checks.”
“Was it common for Salma Najjar to stay here that late at night?” Rebecca asked.
Abby scrunched her face. “No. I’m not sure she’s ever done it. Not alone, at any rate. When Mrs. Najjar first came here, her son would come by a lot, and Salma was often with him. But that was pretty much it.”
“Okay, Abby,” Rebecca said. “You’ve been a big help. Thank you.”
Abby finally smiled, then looked cautiously at Willis.
“Go,” Willis said. And Abby did.
Rebecca turned to Willis. “Thank you for your help.” She was about to leave when she asked, “Do you by any chance, have a back door I could use to leave?”
“A back door? Certainly, I’ll show you where it is. Is anything wrong?”
“No, not really. I just want to surprise someone.”
Before Rebecca left the office, however, she phoned Lt. Eastwood and gave him all the information she had amassed. Finally Eastwood agreed an autopsy was in order. Rebecca contacted the mortuary and the ME’s office with instructions. Then, she left the nursing home.
o0o
Rebecca peered around the side of the building to the parking lot in front of the nursing home. As she suspected, there was Vito sitting in a car she didn’t recognize and watching the home’s front door.
She crept up to the car and tapped on the passenger side window.
Vito nearly jumped out of his seat. He spun toward her, his hand hovering over the jacket pocket where she suspected he kept his firearm while driving. When he saw Rebecca glowering at him, his mouth dropped open. “Wha--”
She pulled open the door and got inside. “I've seen you following me for a few days now,” she said. “I know Richie's been worried about me, but really, isn't this a bit ridiculous? I understand the danger now. I’m convinced, okay? I can take care of myself.”
Vito swallowed hard. “The boss says that you're in danger, so I gotta do this.”
She sneered. “I don't think so.”
“Look Inspector, I only do what I'm told,” he said.
“Good, then I’m telling you to knock it off.”
She started to get back out of the car when he suddenly added, “If you want the truth, it does look to me like you're pretty safe. But, also, if you want the truth, it's the boss I'm worried about. Somebody's following him, that's for sure.”
She eased back onto the passenger seat, alarm bells going off in her head. She stared at Vito. “Somebody’s following Richie? Really?”
“I wouldn’t kid about that. Not to you, anyway. All I know is, it's too bad I can't be two places at once—sort of like that Italian saint my mother likes to talk about, Padre Pio. During World War II in Italy, there were a lot of stories about how he used to be seen in two places at one time. No lie. But, I guess this ain't really like no war, is it?”
“It's going to become a war,” Rebecca said, “if Richie keeps on having you follow me when he’s the one in danger. Who’s behind this? Do you know?”
“I'm not sure.” Vito looked worried, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know if he should or not. Finally, he dropped his gaze.
“Does this have anything to do with Isabella?” Rebecca asked softly.
He gawked at her. “You know?”
“Yes, I do. I've even been looking into her situation myself, a little at least. And the damned part of it is, Richie might be right. There were definitely some strange things going on at that bank. But what's important right now is that I don't need you following me, I don't want you following me, and I will not have you following me any longer. Watch Richie!”
“But what if—”
“If nothing! This whole thing—he’s too emotional about it. That puts him in danger. You’ve got to be there for him, Vito. I need you to be.”
Vito looked at her sadly. “I think you’re right.”
She smiled, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on his jowly cheek. “Thank you.”
With that, she got out of the car, only glancing back to see that Vito had blushed fifty shades of red.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
That same afternoon, Shay sat alone in his living room. It was
all he could do not to jump into his car, drive to Salma’s home and demand answers. How could she keep his daughter a secret? He was sure the girl was his. Her age was right, and her features were so much like those of his family—what little he remembered of it—especially the blue of her eyes. It was scary.
He could be wrong, but he had a hard time imagining Gebran Najjar fathering a girl like the one he saw. And yet, if she were his child … His mind went round and round with the thought of it, the crazy, irrational thought of it.
It made him wonder if Gebran ever had doubts, given everything else that had happened back then.
How ironic it was that, all those years ago, Salma had worried about trusting Shay, and thought him overly tough and fearsome. She even used to say she was a little afraid of him. He scoffed at the memory. He had been scarcely more than a tiger cub in those days. A little scary, perhaps a little dangerous. But nothing like today. Back then, he hadn’t yet learned how to use his experiences and training to be sure no one ever got the better of him. And he hadn’t yet taught himself how to shut down all his feelings so that he no longer cared about anyone or anything, including himself.
The ‘not caring’ was what truly made a man frightening.
Now, she would be right not to trust him.
Memories filled him of when he first met her and how trusting she had been of strangers, of people in general. In those days, she left the curtains of her home open wide for anyone to see what was going on inside. Burglars, robbers, rapists, or simply harmless peeping Toms could look in with impunity. She hadn’t thought about them. He had warned her; had explained about the world. Maybe too much; maybe too harshly.
But at least she had listened to his words of caution.
The irony of it was, if she had been wary of strangers, she never would have talked to him that day down at Aquatic Park, a small beach area along the north bay. It had a long pier from which people liked to fish. A baby seal had become caught in a fishing line. It had turned and twisted so much the line had become tangled around it, causing it to nearly drown. People were watching but no one acted.
He waded into the water and caught the line, dragged the seal close and then held its mouth shut so it wouldn’t bite as he cut the line from its flippers. Once freed, he let it go.
Others cheered and walked away as soon as the seal swam off, but she stayed to make sure Shay was all right, that he hadn’t been bitten or scratched, or suffered in any other way.
She had her son with her, a boy of three named Adam. She had brought him to the beach to play in the sand. She said it was far from her house, and that she liked being far away sometimes. He found that to be an odd statement
He was only twenty-five at the time, and she was twenty-eight. He had recently returned from Afghanistan and was out of the Marines, out of work, and bitter and troubled by much of what he had seen and faced and done. He had learned to doubt that any innocence was left in the world. And then he met Salma.
That first day, they sat on the sand and talked until his trouser legs, shoes and socks dried. And still they sat and talked.
He asked if she would be coming to Aquatic Park again, and she said yes. Next week, same time, same day.
He was there. And again the week following, and for weeks thereafter.
As he sat now, remembering, he realized he couldn’t leave things as they were. He had to see her—to warn her, let her know how far Rebecca’s investigation had progressed, and to talk to her about their daughter. He knew, if he hurried, he would have a couple of hours before Gebran returned home.
o0o
Rebecca rang the doorbell at the Najjar home. She had decided it was time, probably past time, for her to speak to Salma without Gebran hovering over her like some ghoul.
Salma answered the door. She was looking gaunt, dressed in jeans, an old tee-shirt, and unwashed hair pulled back in a barrette.
“Is your husband here?” Rebecca asked.
“No. When he was told his mother’s body would undergo an autopsy, he became very angry. I believe he may be complaining to people at police headquarters at this very time.”
Rebecca nodded. It was hardly unexpected news.
“I have some questions for you,” Rebecca said.
Salma nodded. “Come in. My children are at school. I was just doing some cleaning.”
They sat in the living room. Rebecca accepted the tea offered, black tea made with cardamom, honey and lemon. “This tea is delicious,” Rebecca said. “I like the spices in it.”
“It’s a popular way to serve tea in Lebanon,” Salma said. “My husband enjoys it.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Fourteen years. I was living in Beirut with my father—my mother died when I was very young. Since we are Christian, and many different political and religious groups fight there, my father was afraid for our safety and wanted to leave the country. He heard from one of Fairuz’s relatives that Gebran was looking for a Maronite wife from the old country. Since I knew English and had gone to school, he contacted Fairuz and told her about me. Gebran brought us both to this country. He gave my father a job at his dry cleaners, and I married him.”
“How old were you?”
“I was twenty-three. My father was afraid I was already an old maid.”
“How did you feel about marrying like that?” Rebecca asked.
Salma stared at the floor a moment, then raised her eyes, her jaw firm. “I didn’t think anything of it. It’s common in my country to have the family plan a marriage, and this helped my father get away from a place he had come to fear, and to get him a job. Gebran is a good and generous man.”
“I see.” Rebecca turned to a different line of questioning. “I was told that some men argued with Yussef right before he disappeared. Although your husband indicated he knew of no such men, I wonder if you have any idea who they might be.”
“No, I don’t,” she said.
“Do you know of anyone who might have fought with Yussef?”
“I’m sorry, but no.”
Rebecca almost hated to take the next step, but she was stymied. From her handbag, she took the picture of Shay that Richie had taken with his phone one night at Big Caesar’s when Shay was doing some surveillance work for him. Richie had printed it for her.
“I want you to look at a photograph.” Rebecca placed the photo on the table, then pointed at Shay. “Do you know this man?”
Salma paled as she stared hard at the photo. She said nothing.
“You know him, don’t you?” Rebecca said.
“I don’t think so.” She scarcely whispered, but kept her gaze fixed on the photo.
“Don’t you? He’s connected with this family. I don’t know how, yet, but I’ll find out. We have many ways of finding out,” she emphasized.
Salma turned her head away.
Rebecca watched her carefully. “You do remember him. I see it in your face.”
Salma shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you expect him to keep quiet about what happened to Yussef? He was Yussef’s friend or so I’ve heard.”
“His friend?” Questioning eyes met Rebecca’s. The idea of the two men as friends seemed to puzzle her, and Rebecca wondered if Shay had lied about that, too.
“Tell me what’s going on, Salma,” Rebecca all but pleaded. “What does this man have to do with your family?”
“Please,” Salma whispered, increasingly agitated. “Don’t do this.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I can’t … I don’t know anything!”
“We’re going to Homicide.” Rebecca stood, her voice cold. “Maybe there your memory will return.”
“My children are in school. I need to pick them up when class ends.”
“You can call someone to pick them up for you. Or call the school to keep them until you’re able to get them.”
She shook her head, then squared her shoulders. “My husband will be very upset
if he hears you are questioning me. Please, I need to get my children myself.”
Rebecca was surprised by this answer. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice unless your memory improves substantially and quickly.”
Salma’s lips tightened, then she nodded. “Fine. As you wish.” With that, she began gathering up some papers and keys, and stuffed them into a large tote. “I’ll go call the school.”
She put the bag on her shoulder, and then stepped into the kitchen to make the call. Rebecca listened as she did. When the call ended, she waited for Rebecca at the top of the stairs. “Go ahead. I’ll lock up behind you,” she said.
Rebecca had taken a couple of steps on the stairs when she caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. She turned around just as Salma swung the tote at her. Something heavy hit the side of her head, and then all went black.
o0o
Shay saw Rebecca’s SUV parked outside Salma’s house. Too late for a warning, he thought. He was pondering if he should stay or go when Salma’s garage door opened. He parked the Maserati just as Salma backed out. She was alone.
As she pulled onto the street, he got out of his car and stood in front of her.
She slammed on the brakes and stared at him as if he were a ghost.
He went to the driver’s door, but it was locked. “Roll down the window.”
She hesitated a moment, then did as he asked. “Shay, my God. How…”
“I know what’s going on,” he said, gripping the window frame. “Where’s Rebecca?”
Her large brown eyes searched his face as if trying to delve into his very soul, but then she dropped her gaze. “I pushed her down the stairs. She … she’s not moving. But she wanted to arrest me!”
His heart sank. “God, Salma! Go to my house.” He gave her the address. “I’ll be right there, but I’ve got to see to Rebecca.”
“Wait.” She placed her hand atop his. “Your skin is warm. You’re real. I thought so many times … But how can you be here now? Why?”
“Wait for me. I’ll be there soon.” He went into the garage and then to the door that led to the home’s interior. There, he stopped and looked her way.