Death With Dignity

by E B Corbin

“Nothing. White Cloud has some crazy Indian notions.”

  “Native American,” Sam corrected. “They’re not called Indians anymore.”

  “Whatever.” Henry refused to believe the nonsense about spirit guides, as much as the concept niggled at his mind. Since the buzzing remained at a low, barely perceptible level, he could ignore it for now.

  Julie smiled at Henry as they passed her reception desk, her expression changing to one of concern when she glanced at Sam. “Is everything all right? Your, uh, friend, doesn’t look too good.”

  Sam swallowed a grimace. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” She clung to Henry’s arm and smiled up at him, hoping Julie mistook the closeness as a lover’s embrace rather than the support it actually was.

  When they reached the elevator, she released Henry’s arm and slumped against the wall. “Sorry, I’m still a bit shaky.”

  “No problem. Hold on to me all you want.” Henry held the doors open when they reached the eighth floor. “I’m supposed to have your back, after all, and I let you down big-time today.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I should have been more cautious.”

  “And I should have been paying more attention.” Henry leaned her against the wall next to their apartment entrance. “Stay here until I make sure the place is clear.”

  Sam’s eyes wanted to close but she forced them open and glanced around the hallway. Hammering and the buzz of an electric saw came from one of the other units. She assumed the workmen were busy with the remodeling, but hoped they would knock off soon since her head pounded with each beat of the hammer.

  Henry returned to the door and signaled her in, holding the pots and skillets high so she didn’t bang her head on their makeshift burglar alarm. “We need to find another place to stay.”

  “Not today. You need to rest. We’ll deal with finding a new place tomorrow.”

  “We need to work on proving Norman innocent tomorrow.” She wanted to make her point but was too tired to argue. She kicked off her shoes, threw her jacket over a chair, and headed for her bedroom. “Maybe a little nap will help and we can still touch base with the brother and the priest today.”

  “They can wait until tomorrow. Norman’s trial won’t come up for a couple of months, so there’s no rush.”

  “But the sooner we can prove his innocence, the sooner we can move on to our next project.”

  “If he’s innocent.”

  Sam collapsed on the bed. “You think he killed his wife?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “He claims he loved her and misses her. We don’t have any reason to doubt him, do we?” Sam wouldn’t usually have any misgivings once she made up her mind, but aside from the physical weakness, her brain remained foggy, her emotions erratic.

  “I believe he loved her, but in a way, doesn’t that give him all the more motive to end her suffering?”

  Sam stared at him. “You believe mercy killing is acceptable?”

  “Don’t you? We do it to beloved pets when their pain becomes too much to bear. Why not humans too?”

  She gazed at the ceiling for several beats. “I once had a German Shepherd, Tiny, who lived to be fifteen years old. He went blind and his back legs gave out on him. He would lie around all day, whimpering in pain. When he couldn’t stand anymore, my mom called the vet to the ranch and had Tiny put down. I cried for days.” Her blue eyes held the pain of the long-forgotten memory as she turned to Henry. “I think if Norman killed Mary Margaret, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.”

  Henry gave a swift nod. “You could be right, but you need some sleep. We’ll discuss this later.”

  She kicked one boot off and stopped before the second one hit the floor. “We were in an Apple Store. Did you get a new computer?”

  “Well, um, I kind of left in a hurry when you were snatched. Didn’t have time to complete the purchase. I’ll get one some other time.”

  “You can go back now while I’m resting and pick up your new computer.”

  “I’m not going to leave you here alone.”

  “I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen in the middle of the afternoon.”

  Henry gave her a look that could have intimidated an elephant. “You were grabbed in the middle of a busy store. The robberies in this building occurred during the day when no one was at home. Things do happen in the middle of the afternoon.”

  Sam shoved her boots out of her way as she walked to the safe in the closet. She opened it, took out her .44, and held it up. “I have this and your trusty skillets and pots. If someone tries to get in, they’ll be sorry.”

  “Still . . . I don’t like it.”

  “You’re being foolish. Go get a new computer. You’ll be glad you did.”

  Henry paused to take notice of what was happening inside his head. The faint buzzing had faded at some point, but he still felt uneasy leaving Sam alone. He hesitated before answering. “What if you fall asleep and someone sneaks in?”

  “That can’t happen with those pots and pans. Go. I’ll rest better knowing you’re not hanging around here with nothing to do.”

  Henry took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. “If I go, you promise you’ll get some rest?”

  “I promise. Now . . . go.”

  Sam scrambled off the bed and pushed Henry in front of her. He waited in the hallway until he heard Sam twist the deadbolt and slide the chain into place. He’d stop at a hardware store and get a sturdy bolt lock to add to the door while he was out. He didn’t want to spend another night worrying about an intruder.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Sam didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when she woke to the incessant ringing of the doorbell. Perhaps Henry forgot his key. Still groggy, she stumbled to the peephole, but Henry wasn’t on the other side.

  The Portland police detective who’d stopped by the other day stood with his hand poised on the doorbell.

  “Hold on a minute!” She yelled through the door, then straightened her sleep-worn hair in the mirror in the entrance.

  It took some time to undo the deadbolt, then the chain, and finally the handle lock, so that when she swung the door open, the detective pushed his way in immediately.

  “Watch out!” Sam grabbed the skillet before it had a chance to bean the man.

  “What the hell?” James Munroe ducked as a pot swung for his head. He frowned and stepped away from the booby trap. “Are you crazy?”

  Sam held back a smile. “No, just cautious.”

  “And you don’t think three locks and an alarm system are enough?”

  “Not when half the population of Oregon has a master key.”

  The detective grunted before he walked into the main room. “Where’s your sidekick?”

  “He had to go out to get a new computer. It seems that someone decided to take his old one yesterday while we were out.”

  Munroe scratched his chin. “It happened here?”

  Sam nodded. “Hence the additional security.”

  “Pretty old school.”

  “We worked with what we had.”

  “Did you report it?” the detective asked.

  “Haven’t had the time.” Sam gestured to a chair. “Consider this the official notification.”

  “I don’t do burglaries.”

  “Fine, then we’ll just let it go. From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t seem to matter whether we report it or not.”

  He pulled out a worn notepad. “I’ll send somebody to get your information. Right now I have a few questions for you. Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam kept her gaze glued to his face as she eased onto the sofa. “What happened to that detective we met the first day? He has to be easier to deal with than you.”

  “Peters was just helping me out while my partner’s on vacation. He’s got his own caseload.”

  “Too bad.” Sam slouched and crossed her arms. “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like your questions?”
<
br />   “Maybe because you’ve been lying to me.” The detective slanted his milk chocolate eyes at her.

  “What?” She went for indignant. “We . . . I . . . we did not!”

  “You weren’t on the Alaska Air flight as you claimed.”

  Sam frowned. She’d forgotten that she had booked her seat under an alias and had a fake driver’s license to go with it. Just in case her father or Jules were tracking her.

  She took in a deep breath and held it as long as she could. When she exhaled, she hid her annoyance behind a facade of dismay. If she could come across as troubled enough, perhaps Munroe would believe what she told him. After all, it was partially the truth.

  “My father, he’s a very wealthy man, and he doesn’t approve of Henry. We’re trying to get away from him and I used a false name to purchase my ticket.”

  The detective pursed his lips. “How’d you deal with the TSA and the need for a photo ID?”

  She put her head down and mumbled into her hand, hoping Munroe mistook it for embarrassment. “I have a driver’s license with the name Elizabeth Peters and my photo.”

  “Who’s Elizabeth Peters?”

  “Nobody. I made up the name.”

  James Munroe raised his eyebrows. “Huh. It must have been a damn good fake.”

  “It is. I paid a lot for it.”

  “You know that’s illegal?”

  “We didn’t have any other way to stay out of my father’s clutches.” Sam mumbled, playing up her anguish. “Please. I’m sorry we had to resort to such a scheme, but we were desperate.”

  “Lots of fathers don’t like the man their daughter hooks up with. Usually they manage to live with the problem without running away. And it doesn’t involve hiding identities and fraudulent IDs. What makes your situation so different?” The detective’s expression hardened as he stared at her with eyes of stone.

  Sam racked her brain to come up with a legitimate-sounding reason. Again, she went with something close to the truth. “My father has, uh, shall we say, connections?”

  He frowned and hesitated for a moment. “Are you trying to tell me your father’s in the Mob?”

  “No. No, not at all.” Sam realized she was digging herself in deeper. “He’s just a very powerful man.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  From his tone, she knew the detective didn’t buy her story. She’d need to learn to be a more convincing liar if she wished to continue with the deception. And she had better do it soon, like—right now.

  “Look, lieutenant, I know it seems pretentious, but you don’t know my father. He believes Henry is after my inheritance. The last threat my father made was to have me committed.”

  “To an insane asylum?” His voice went up an octave as he stared at her as if she had just told him she’d been abducted by an alien spaceship.

  “I believe they call them psychiatric hospitals.” Sam ignored his disbelief. “And my father has the power to do it.”

  “Is he some kind of doctor or something?”

  Sam nodded. Her head began to pound with the pressure from making up the fiction as she went along.

  “You have a history of mental illness?” the detective asked.

  “What? No, of course not! I’m perfectly sane.”

  “Uh-huh.” His eyes grew wary, the more she went on with her spur-of-the-moment fabrication. “That doesn’t make a fake driver’s license and traveling under a false name legal.”

  Sam sighed. “I know. I’m sorry I did it. At the time, it seemed I had no choice. Can’t you just overlook it for now?”

  “Ms. Turner, I’m investigating the murder of a chief of police’s widow. I have everyone from the mayor to the Police Association pressuring me to solve this. I can’t overlook anything. And the more I talk with you, the more I wonder what you’re hiding.”

  Sam twisted her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry you feel that way. But we had nothing to do with that woman’s death, I swear.”

  “What’s your father’s name?”

  She hesitated, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I can’t tell you.”

  “If you’re telling the truth, you shouldn’t have a problem with giving me his name.”

  “You don’t understand. If you contact him, or even run a check on his name on Google, he’ll find out about it. He has people who keep an eye on that kind of thing for him. When he learns that the Portland PD is inquiring about him, he’ll know where I am. I can’t let that happen.”

  “We’ll be discreet.”

  She let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. “I was with the FBI. I know cops don’t bother to be discreet.”

  The detective opened his overcoat and stuck his hand into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a tattered notebook, flipping it open and stared at a page filled with what looked to Sam like scribbles. “So you won’t tell me his name?”

  Sam stared at him with narrowed eyes. When she spoke, the words rushed out. “Henry and I didn’t arrive until Tuesday afternoon. I’m sure they have security cameras at the airport. Both airports, for that matter. You can check them. We were nowhere near Portland at the time that woman was killed.”

  “Her name was Mrs. Magruder.” James Munroe glanced at the notepad in his lap. The page was already filled with illegible scrawls, but so far, he hadn’t added anything. He flipped over to the next page and read what was on it before he spoke. “We’ll let your father and the ID problem go for now. But I can guarantee it will come up again. And if I find out it impacts my investigation in any way, you will be in a shitload of trouble, former FBI or not. Do you understand?”

  Sam nodded, keeping her eyes averted.

  Munroe pulled out a pen from the same inside pocket and added a checkmark to his notepad. He scanned the rest of his squiggles on the page, then brought his stony eyes back to Sam’s face. “Are you in any way connected to a black van that’s been spotted outside this building for the past three days?”

  “Black van?” Sam sank into the sofa. “I don’t know anything about . . .” She stalled. Enough lies. She could at least tell him the truth about the vehicle. She ran a hand over her face—the words tumbled out like ice from a vending machine. “Scratch that. I think it’s been following us since we arrived.”

  His eyebrows went up, but he remained silent as she continued.

  “It turns up everywhere we go. We tried to sneak out and lose them yesterday but it didn’t work.”

  “Do you know the men in the van?”

  “No, do you?”

  The detective’s mouth twisted. “Wouldn’t be asking you, if I did, would I?”

  “Look, detective, you’ve been asking all kinds of questions. But I don’t know the answer to any of them. I believe those men in the black van are dangerous and I don’t have a clue as to why they’re following us. Although, I truly doubt it has anything to do with your investigation. Why did you ask about them, anyway, if you don’t believe me?”

  His shoulders rose and fell before he gave a long sigh. Then he seemed to make up his mind about what he would tell her. “One of our guys on patrol spotted them idling at the curb yesterday. When he approached them, they pulled away before he could question them. He only caught part of the license before they turned the corner. Since he knew about the trouble going on in this building, he brought it to our attention. We had our techs check footage from the street cams in the area and it seems the van showed up on Tuesday shortly after you did.”

  She didn’t like what the detective told her but hoped the appearance of the van would take suspicion away from her and Henry. “What about Monday? Did the van show up then?”

  “My people are going through additional footage even as we speak. There are five other cameras in the vicinity and it will take some time. But so far—nada.”

  “I can tell you, it frightens me.”

  “Why didn’t you call it in? Between that and the stolen computer, it seems you had more than enough reason to contact the Portland PD
.”

  Sam swallowed. “We were trying to stay under the radar. You know, from my father.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Before he had the chance to ask another question, a light tapping followed by the sound of clicks came from the door. Henry was back.

  Sam jumped up to disengage the chain for him, keeping her back to the detective and made an attempt to hold the skillets and pans away from Henry’s path.

  “Detective Munroe stopped by with more questions.” She squinted her eyes, gave a tiny shake of her head, hoping Henry got the message to keep quiet. “He’s aware of that black van.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” Henry ducked, then stepped around her, dropped the box with the computer and a small paper bag on the counter. So much for her messages about keeping silent.

  “We were wondering if they were friends of yours,” the detective said.

  “Why would they kidnap Sam if we knew them?”

  James Munroe looked at Sam. “They tried to kidnap you?”

  Sam shrugged. “They grabbed me in the Apple Store earlier today. Henry followed them and rescued me.”

  The detective let out a disgusted breath at the same time he shook his head. “Why didn’t you mention this before? Do you think those two men have anything to do with your father?”

  Henry turned to Sam, his face a road map of confusion. “He knows about your father?”

  Sam stepped close and took Henry’s arm. Her elbow nudged his side in warning. “Yes, dear. I told him how Daddy didn’t approve of our plans to get married.”

  Henry covered his surprise with a smile that gave no hint of his bewilderment. He turned to face James Munroe. “So now you know our secret. What are you going to do?”

  The detective shrugged. “I’m a homicide cop. I don’t care about your personal problems unless they somehow relate to the murder I’m investigating. There’s a lot of pressure from on high to solve this case and you two were loose ends. Still are, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Detective, if we were in any way involved in the murder, why would we move in next door?” Sam returned to her place on the sofa, pulling Henry with her.

  Henry picked up her lies without missing a beat. “And why wouldn’t we be long gone instead of hanging around?”