Death With Dignity

by E B Corbin

  “Nancy Walker, returning your call.”

  “Yes, Ms. Walker, I’d like to speak to you about your client Norman Bledsoe.”

  “Well . . . speak.”

  The abruptness threw Sam off for a second. “Uhhm, I’d like to talk in person.”

  “Not possible. I’m tied up in court all day today.”

  “Maybe after you’re done?”

  “I have to go back to the office to prepare for my docket tomorrow.” The attorney paused, “May I ask why you’re interested in Norman? If you’re a reporter…”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I’d prefer to explain when you’re not distracted.”

  Nancy Walker snorted what might have been a laugh. “I’m always distracted. But if you can come by my office around six tonight, I’ll set aside a few minutes for you.”

  Sam got directions to the office and thanked her. With that taken care of, her thoughts drifted to the online conversation with Jules the night before. She turned to Henry. “Let’s go back to the apartment. I need my laptop.”

  He lifted an eyebrow in question.

  “I need to move the cash to another bank. I’ve been doing it once a week, but since we talked to Jules, I’m uncomfortable with that. I need to do it more often.”

  “I’d like to check on a few things myself,” Henry said. “I vaguely remember reading something about a Catholic priest who championed mercy killing for those suffering great pain. If the prosecution is going to turn Norman’s case into an anti-euthanasia charge, I’d like to know more about it.”

  “We won’t need to know more, if we find who actually smothered Mrs. Bledsoe.” Sam transferred the attorney’s address to the contacts on her phone.

  “It won’t hurt to learn more so we know what we’re facing.” Henry never had the opportunity to attend college but he sucked in knowledge however he could, whenever. No matter the topic. He’d never delved into mercy killing before and looked forward to learning something new.

  With his attention divided between scouting for any vehicle following them and keeping an eye on the GPS for directions to their apartment building, Henry fell silent for the remainder of the trip.

  Sam preferred it that way. She had a lot to sort out, not the least of which was whether or not she was doing the right thing with her father’s purloined funds. It had seemed so straightforward at first but it was more difficult than she’d anticipated.

  Her resolve dimmed with each new snag in her game plan, but no way would she risk her father recovering the money. She could always level with her former superiors at the FBI and turn the funds over to them, but that was a last resort and she was not ready to go there. She hoped she never would be.

  He dropped Sam at the entrance to their building and went to park the SUV. Since his head remained free of any buzzing, he assumed they had lost the men in the black van. Still, he scanned the street as he walked back from the parking garage.

  Sam sat at the counter, the computer open in front of her, a look of concentration on her delicate features. She hit a few keys before her fingers paused. “There. That takes care of the money for today. I think I should move it every day to be safe.”

  “What will you do when you run out of banks?”

  “Double back to some. I have a choice of over one hundred banks to choose from. It should make it almost impossible to find.”

  Sam’s phone chimed with a text. She read it twice before she looked up. “Nurse Nora just told me to leave her alone.”

  “What do you make of that?”

  “It makes me suspicious.”

  “Are you going to do as she asks?”

  “Hell, no. I’m going to find out where she lives and we’ll show up unannounced.” Sam turned to her laptop again and went to a website she used to locate people. She paused with her fingers over the keyboard, thinking, then scrambled through her purse for her notebook. “I don’t remember her last name.”

  “Robinson,” Henry supplied without hesitation.

  His reply surprised Sam. “How do you know that?”

  “Word association. When I saw the names Norman gave you, I pictured Nora as Mrs. Robinson. You know, from The Graduate.”

  “You’re a movie buff?”

  “Not exactly, that one kind of stuck with me for some reason.”

  “Hmmm.” Sam didn’t push Henry for more of an explanation, but she suspected there was more to her new associate than the obvious.

  She typed Nora’s full name into her search program. Fifteen Nora Robinsons popped up. Sam refined the search by adding “nurse” to the description. Only one met the criteria. She pulled out her notebook and added the address. “Got it!”

  “Now what are you going to do?”

  “We’ll drop by her place tonight after we talk to Nancy Warner.”

  “What if she won’t talk to you?”

  Sam glanced up from her keyboard. “She already said she would. You think she’ll change her mind?”

  “I meant Mrs. Robinson, not the attorney.”

  “Oh, well, she’ll talk if she knows what’s good for her.”

  Henry kept his disbelief to himself. No use irritating his boss any more than necessary.

  Sam closed her laptop. “I’m going to take a shower. I feel grimy after all the excitement this afternoon.”

  As much as Henry wanted to discuss the danger from the men in the black van, he decided to let it go for now—until his head gave him another warning. He hauled his ancient laptop out of his duffel and set about researching “mercy killing” while he waited for Sam.

  Shortly before six, they found a parking space around the corner from a storefront with the words “Legal Aid” painted on the window. The door was locked when they tried to enter, but the lights were on. From the window, the space appeared empty except for a battered desk and a few plastic chairs. As Sam searched for a buzzer or doorbell, Henry wrapped on the glass until a petite woman approached from the back.

  Nancy Warner wore her brown hair in a no-nonsense bun, which went along with her plain white blouse and synthetic navy skirt. She looked to be about thirty-five, older than Sam expected, but then, looks could sometimes be deceiving. She might be a worn-out twenty-five-year-old or a young-looking forty-five.

  Her voice came out hoarse, as if she’d been using it too much. “You must be Sam Turner.”

  “Yes, and this is my associate, Henry Samuels.”

  “You didn’t say you were bringing somebody.”

  “I didn’t think it would make a difference.”

  The attorney scowled at Henry, his charming smile and good looks lost on her. “I like to know what I’m getting involved in.”

  “We have a few questions about the charges brought against Norman Bledsoe.”

  Nancy didn’t budge from her place in front of them. She didn’t invite them in or offer a seat in the worn plastic chairs in the room. She crossed her arms. “Why?”

  “Well, uh . . . because we’re not certain he’s guilty and we’d like to help him, if possible.”

  The attorney eyed them with distrust. “You PIs or something?”

  “No, we’re just friends.”

  Henry cleared his throat. “Actually, we’d like to help clear Norman’s name. He’s been like an uncle to me since I was little.”

  Sam hid her surprise at the ease of Henry’s lie, but Nancy Warner took a step back. A frown remained on her face. “You might as well come in.”

  She locked the door behind them, then led them down a dim hallway to an office with an ill-fitting wooden door. Two cracked leather chairs faced a desk with papers strewn across the top. If Sam didn’t know better, she’d think the place had been ransacked. Stacks of folders piled against the desk on threadbare green carpeting. The windowless room felt more like a cave than a legal office.

  The attorney flopped into the chair behind her desk and stared at them out of emotionless brown eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  Disconcerted once more by
the attorney’s abrupt manner, Sam hesitated before she pulled up one of the chairs and sat, indicating for Henry to take the other one. She didn’t speak until they were settled. “We’d like to know what evidence the prosecution has against Mr. Bledsoe.”

  Nancy Warner snorted. “None, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Then why did they arrest him?”

  The attorney raised her shoulders and held out her hands. “Motive.”

  “Motive? That’s it? No physical evidence?” Henry leaned forward in his chair, causing the spindly wooden legs to squeak. “That’s pretty weak.”

  Nancy Warner’s vacant eyes swiveled to Henry. “A million-dollar life insurance policy isn’t weak.”

  Sam touched Henry’s arm and signaled with her head for him to sit back. He didn’t care to be ordered around, but he slumped against the back of his chair and determined to keep his mouth shut. If Sam thought she could handle things, he wouldn’t interfere.

  “Do you think that’s enough for a jury to convict?”

  “I think the assistant district attorney is an asshole—excuse my French.” The attorney picked up a sheet of paper and started to read.

  “Why?” Sam determined if one-word answers were good enough for Ms. Warner, one-word questions would work too.

  “Euthanasia.”

  “You want to kill him?”

  For the first time since they’d arrived the attorney’s eyes lit with a touch of humor. “Much as I’d like to, that’s not my intention. The ADA is a Bible-thumping Christian who has designs on becoming the next district attorney. He thinks this case will win him votes with the rest of the self-righteous bigots.”

  Henry scanned the posters hanging on the faux wood paneling behind the attorney’s desk. A “Save Our Trees” one took center stage, amid others with various liberal themes. To goad her, he said, “I read where the conservatives in Oregon were the most conservative of any state. Do you think it will work for him?”

  She snorted. “I doubt it. The liberals are more liberal too. But as far as Mr. Bledsoe is concerned, we’re talking about involuntary euthanasia, which is illegal everywhere and considered murder.”

  “So there’s no way Norman can claim it was a mercy killing?” Sam glanced from Henry to the attorney.

  “Oregon is one of the few states where someone can end their own life, but that’s the catch—a terminally ill patient must be given less than six months to live and submit three separate doctor requests. Then they’re given the lethal medication to administer themselves. None of these requirements were met in Mrs. Bledsoe’s death. It should be a straight-forward murder charge, but that sorry excuse for an assistant district attorney wants to make it a manifest to weaken our Death with Dignity Act.”

  “That annoys you?” Sam asked.

  “You bet it does.” Nancy Warner sat back and gazed at the ceiling. “When I was in law school, there was a case in Chicago. A mother killed her adult handicapped daughter with an overdose of barbiturates. The woman had adopted the girl when she was maybe four or five, and took care of her for twenty-some years. They lived in a one-bedroom apartment, sleeping in twin beds in the same room. Then one day, the mother found out she had cancer and needed to go to the hospital for chemotherapy. She put the daughter in a nursing home.”

  The attorney lowered her eyes to take in both Sam and Henry. “I don’t remember what disability the daughter had, but she couldn’t walk without help and could only say one word, “mama.” When the mother came to pick up her daughter, she found her cowering in fear in a corner, filthy and shaking like a leaf.

  “The mother knew she couldn’t let her daughter suffer like that when she was gone, so she fed her the pills. Since Illinois has no right to die laws, they tried the woman for murder.”

  Sam couldn’t grasp how this case had any bearing on Norman Bledsoe and was just about to ask when the attorney continued. “The prosecution was sympathetic when she was found guilty and she served four years’ probation. She didn’t deserve even that and it stuck with me for a long time. It was wrong. That daughter had no one to take care of her and no possibility of improving. The mother loved her and cared for her for years. The guilt from killing her daughter ate at her throughout the trial. I didn’t see how hauling her into court made it any better and I still don’t.”

  “That’s a very sad ending, but I don’t understand how it relates to the present situation.”

  Nancy’s voice turned hard, her eyes fiery. “I don’t intend to let that damned ADA use this trial as a showcase for getting rid of the Death with Dignity Act. The law isn’t perfect as it is but it’s better than nothing.”

  Sam cleared her throat. “Then the only explanation the police gave for issuing an arrest warrant was that Norman had a motive?”

  The attorney’s head ducked with a quick nod. “That and the testimony from the others in the house that afternoon. They all stated that Mrs. Bledsoe was alive when they last saw her.”

  “Is there any chance they could be mistaken or lying?” Henry said,

  “Any one of them could be lying, but not all of them. Besides, none of the others had any reason to want Mrs. Bledsoe dead.”

  “Did you get a copy of their statements?” Henry interjected his question quickly before Sam had a chance to interfere with his line of thought.

  “Not yet. It’ll be several days before I get any discovery. When I do, I can’t share it with you, you understand?”

  Sam nodded, then stood and set a business card on the attorney’s desk. “We understand. It’s been nice talking with you. If you get any additional information that you can share, would you please let us know? I can be reached at that number anytime.”

  Nancy Walker glanced at the card. “Sure, if I can.”

  Henry followed Sam through the depressing hallway to the door. When they were on the sidewalk, he said, “She’s not going to help.”

  Sam agreed. “She wants this trial as a showcase as much as the ADA.”

  “But the mercy killing angle could still come up no matter who is accused.”

  “Ms. Walker has her client and her soapbox. She doesn’t care about the truth. We’ll have to hope we get more from Nora.” Sam approached the SUV. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “Hell, no. I’ll do the honors tonight.” Henry clicked the doors open and slid into the driver’s seat before Sam could argue. “Let’s grab some dinner before we confront nurse Nora.”

  “Is your mind always on your stomach?”

  “What can I say? It’s a gift.” Henry pulled the SUV out. The night sky made it more difficult to scan for a tail, but he kept a close watch on the headlights behind them. His head remained clear of any ringing.

  Thinking Sam would object to a leisurely meal at a high-end restaurant, Henry acquiesced to grabbing a quick bite at a Wendy’s. Sam scarfed the cheeseburger and fries, not even considering ordering another salad. She’s had her fill of green food for the day.

  They arrived at Nora’s house a little after eight-thirty. A flickering white light shone through the golden glow of a table lamp in the front window. Sam figured the nurse relaxed by watching television. She assumed it meant the nurse was alone and would have no excuse to avoid them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nora Robinson lived in an area called Slabtown, a combination of homes and commercial buildings. Her small house stood on a tree-lined street, one of the smaller homes facing much larger places on the other side.

  Nora’s single family home remained dwarfed by the larger homes that had been turned into apartments for the residents of the burgeoning city.

  The path to Nora’s door led to a tiny porch with an arched entrance and slotted windows on the side. When Sam rang the doorbell, Nora approached from a room off to the left. She stared at them through the small window in her door. “What do you want?”

  “I’m Sam Turner. I tried to reach you this afternoon.” Sam raised her voice to be heard.

  “Go away. I have nothing
to say.” Her shoulders poked through her sweater as she began to turn away.

  “Mrs. Robinson, please wait. We need your help.”

  The nurse paused but didn’t face them. “I was told not to talk to reporters.”

  “We’re not reporters,” Sam yelled through the door. “Norman Bledsoe asked us to help him. Please, we’ll only take a few minutes of your time!”

  Nora swung back to them. Hesitancy showed on her pinched face. “Norman sent you?”

  “Yes, he said you might be able to explain what happened that day.”

  After a few moments, they heard several locks clicking and a chain sliding across the door. Nora Robinson remained blocking their entrance, her voice an irritated rasp. “I told the police everything I know.”

  “We’d like to hear it too.” Henry smiled at the woman, turning on his charm. “Please, we’d appreciate it.”

  It was lost on the nurse. Her sullen expression never changed. “I don’t see what good it will do.” She let out a loud sigh, shaking her head. “You might as well come in.”

  Henry hung back to allow Sam to enter first. She stepped into a time warp. From the outside the cottage appeared to have been built in the 1940s, but nothing had been updated inside since the 1960s at the latest. Brown-and-orange shag carpeting covered the hall, steps, and living room. The walls were painted a dull green, which did nothing to lighten the look. A lava lamp sat on the fireplace mantle, slow bubbles working their way from bottom to top in an unending journey.

  Nora led them into the living room, where she took a seat on a worn wing chair. Sam knocked her shin on a black painted coffee table as she and Henry took a seat on the plaid woolen sofa. Even through her clothes, the fabric scratched.

  “Mrs. Robinson, we’d like you to tell us about the events of that day,” Sam said.

  The pinched expression on the nurse’s face caused her to look more like the Wicked Witch of the West than the flirty Mrs. Robinson that Henry had mentioned. Her salt-and-pepper hair curled tight against a small head and scrawny neck. She wore sturdy lace-up shoes with brown pants and a bulky sweater that hung loosely on a bony frame. Her scowl deepened. “Just call me Nora. I’m not married. Never have been.”