Death With Dignity

by E B Corbin

  The policeman shook his head. “As far as I know, there were only two females inside, no males.”

  “Sam is female!” Henry fought back his inclination to shout but the words came out harsh and demanding. If only he could put some weight on his foot, he had no doubt he could push past the officer and run to the house before the two other policeman standing beside their patrol car could reach him. As it was, they’d be on him before he hobbled a few steps.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you go any further.” The policeman had his hand on his duty belt, reaching for his stun gun. “I’ll tell you once more. Please get back in the taxi.”

  Before he could argue further, the front door opened and two men in jumpsuits with “Coroner’s Office” stamped on the back stepped out, pushing a gurney with a black zippered bag between them. The officer’s attention was drawn to the two men struggling to get a body down the steps.

  Henry used the opportunity to slam the taxi door shut and took a step toward the sidewalk.

  “Hey!” The officer tried to grab his elbow again but Henry twisted out of his reach. The two patrolmen from the cruiser started toward them, but Henry stood his ground. He would have crossed his arms if he didn’t have to lean on the damned cane.

  “I’m not going anywhere until I know who’s in that body bag.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With all three officers bearing down on him, Henry glared at them until a voice called from the porch. “Hold that man!” They formed a semicircle, trapping him next to the taxi. With his bum leg, Henry resigned himself to remaining civil.

  James Munroe said a few words to the coroner’s people, patted one of them on the back then sauntered down the driveway to where Henry stood. He glanced at the boot and cane. “What happened to you?”

  “A little run-in with your friends in the black van. You know, the ones you seem to think are working with us.”

  The detective turned to his fellow officers. “I need to speak with this man. I’d appreciate it if you guys could hang around for a few minutes.” Munroe indicated Henry’s boot. “I don’t think he’ll be any problem, but . . .”

  Henry let out a disgusted snicker. “You never can tell. I might just hobble away from you.”

  The three officers ignored Henry. “Sure thing, detective. Do you want one of us to come in with you?”

  “Not necessary. I’m almost positive I can handle things, but you never know. Appreciate it.” Munroe waited for Henry to start up the walk, then followed close behind.

  Sam waited at the door. “Henry! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to rest that foot.”

  “I had a feeling you might need some help, so I convinced White Cloud to bring me along. What’s going on?”

  Munroe reached around him and opened the screen door. “Let’s talk inside. I have a few questions for you.”

  Sam reached out to assist Henry, but he shook her off. “I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  She turned to the detective. “If you’re done with me, I can wait in the taxi.”

  “I’d prefer you stay in the house, in case I have some additional questions for you after I speak to your friend here.”

  Her disgust showed on her face but she clamped her mouth shut to avoid spewing any of the snarky remarks that came to mind. She marched into the kitchen without looking back.

  “Have a seat.” Munroe indicated the living room area to Henry.

  He sank into the closest chair, which happened to be a wingback with scratchy wool upholstery, and held back a sigh of relief when he took the weight off his foot. Wanting to get this over with, Henry tried not to fidget while he waited for Munroe to begin.

  “It’s quite a coincidence that you and Ms. Turner find another dead woman. You’ve only been in town . . . how long?”

  “We arrived on Tuesday afternoon. And we didn’t find the first one. You discovered her before we got off the plane.”

  “So you claim.” Munroe sat in the chair across from Henry. “But you are peripherally attached to the dead women. You have to admit, it’s quite unbelievable. Both older women, both widows. Both somehow connected to you and Ms. Turner.”

  “I never laid eyes on either woman, so I don’t see how you think we’re involved in this.”

  “For one thing, you showed up in both places.” The detective took out his worn notebook. “I need to know where you were for the past 24 hours.”

  Henry shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t really think we had anything to do with this, do you? I mean, what would be our motive? We didn’t know either one of them.”

  “Please just answer my question.”

  Henry turned his gaze from the window to the floor in front of him and finally to the detective. “Okay, let’s see. Yesterday afternoon, as I recall, you showed up at the apartment after I managed to extricate Sam from the clutches of those two yahoos in the black van. After you left, we talked to Father Black and Burt Hannopin.”

  “Whoa, slow down. Father Black?”

  “He’s a priest. A friend of Norman Bledsoe’s.”

  Furrows appeared on the detective’s forehead. “That’s the guy accused of murdering his wife. How are you involved with him?”

  Henry didn’t know how much Sam had told the detective, so he just shrugged. “Sam knows him. And Betty Maguire was Norman’s housekeeper. Maybe you should turn this investigation over to whoever was in charge of the Bledsoe case.”

  “That would be me.” Munroe mumbled as he glanced at his notebook. “What is Ms. Turner’s connection with Norman Bledsoe?”

  Henry wriggled in the uncomfortable chair. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “I did. Now I’d like to hear your version.” The detective’s eyes bored into Henry as he waited.

  Even though Henry knew it was a ploy, he could come up with no answer vague enough, so he tried changing the subject. “The important thing is that both Black and Hannopin can vouch for seeing us. In fact, Hannopin called the cops and two of your finest showed up after the thugs managed to hit my foot with their vehicle. The officers followed us to the hospital and I got this lovely boot.”

  Munroe wrote something and nodded. “What about this morning?”

  “Today I was hobbling around on crutches, stuck at the apartment. Julie, at the front desk saw me a couple of times and I talked to the foreman for the remodeling project. I don’t know the exact times, but I was in the apartment until I grabbed a cab to find Sam.” Henry threw his hands in the air and dropped them to his lap. “That’s it. Here I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why’d you talk to the foreman? You’re only a temporary resident, aren’t you?”

  “The man was standing in the middle of our living room when I came in from talking with Julie.”

  The detective raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you find that odd?”

  “Very much. He claimed he thought he was in 810.”

  “The crime scene. We haven’t released it yet. He had no authority to be in there.”

  “What can I say? That’s what he told me.”

  Munroe made a note in his tablet, then studied Henry. “What was so important that you came here instead of resting your foot?”

  “I was worried about Sam.”

  “Any particular reason.”

  “I don’t like her roaming by herself while those two in the black van are still around. Since you people don’t seem capable of doing anything about that, I’d prefer to keep an eye on Sam myself.”

  “Tell me about this black van.”

  “Nothing to tell. You know as much as we do. It’s been following us since we got here. Can’t you trace the license or something?”

  “We did. The plates show as belonging to a 1997 Buick Skylark.”

  “So why don’t you arrest them for the stolen plates?”

  “It’s a chump charge. I’d rather find something more before we make a move.”

  “An
d in the meantime, Sam and I are dodging bullets.”

  “And I’d like to know why before I take them in, wouldn’t you?”

  Henry shrugged. “It might have something to do with Sam’s father but we don’t know that for certain.” He figured that was a safe enough answer since Sam had already told Munroe some make-believe story about her dad.

  “Uu . . . hmm.”

  “How did Betty Maguire die?” Henry sat forward in the chair, longing to prop his foot on something. He wished he knew how much Sam had told the detective and hoped he could dodge any questions about her relationship with Bledsoe until he could talk to her. Munroe seemed pretty sharp. Henry didn’t know how long they could misdirect him.

  “Undetermined until after the autopsy.”

  “So she wasn’t stabbed?”

  “She was not. Do you by any chance know her next of kin?”

  “Why would I? I told you I didn’t know her. Never met her.”

  The detective slapped his notebook closed and tucked it into his inner jacket breast pocket. “Just thought I’d ask. We don’t need permission for the autopsy since it was an unattended sudden death, but we’d like to notify someone.”

  “’Fraid I can’t help you.”

  The detective stood and scrutinized Henry with narrowed eyes. “Don’t think for a second I’m buying your stories. You’re hiding something and I intend to find out what it is before this is all over. One death is bad enough, but two? I’m not about to let that slide.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, detective. I’d hate for you to become so focused on us that you missed catching the responsible party.”

  “Unless it’s you.”

  “Detective, I can assure you it’s not us . . .” Henry snickered. “But then I would say that, wouldn’t I?”

  “Yep.” Munroe stepped into the hall. “Get your fiancée, or friend, or whatever, and get out of here. But don’t leave town.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” Henry struggled to stand using only one foot and called for Sam.

  She popped out of the kitchen and hiked to the front of the house. “We can go?”

  “For now.”

  Henry stumbled a bit while attempting to navigate the three steps from the porch to the walkway. Sam grabbed his arm to support him. “You should have your crutches. You’re not ready for a cane.”

  He pulled away and put too much weight on his left leg. A spasm took his breath away but he continued moving forward. He would rather suffer the agony than admit Sam was right.

  When they reached the street, White Cloud jumped out of the taxi and ran around to the passenger side to hold the door for them. Henry eased into the rear with some difficulty then slid across to leave room for Sam. Neither wanted to sit in the front and give the detective the impression it was anything more than a random taxi ride.

  “What did you tell him?” Sam asked as the engine roared to life.

  “Nothing much. I don’t know anything. What happened?”

  “When White Cloud left me here, I rang the doorbell and no one answered. After several tries, it annoyed me to be stuck here without a ride, so I pushed on the door in anger. It opened right up. Wasn’t locked and I went in. Then I found Betty Maguire in her bedroom—dead.”

  White Cloud interrupted. “I did not wish to leave. You ordered me to go.”

  “I know. I’m not blaming you. I should have waited to send you on your way.”

  The taxi driver’s eyes met with Henry’s in the rearview mirror. “Your boss can be quite dictatorial.”

  “I know,” Henry said with a snicker. “She doesn’t always think things through either.”

  Sam’s mouth straightened into a thin line. “Are you two through talking about me?” She gestured to White Cloud even though he kept his gaze on the road. “I’ll admit it. I didn’t think before I sent you away.”

  She turned to Henry. “But you made me so mad insisting on getting a cane and finding it right away. Like you couldn’t wait for a couple of hours.”

  “You’re paying me to watch your back and I couldn’t do that from the apartment.”

  “I can take care of myself for a few hours.”

  Henry wanted to disagree. He wasn’t certain that his early-warning buzz, or his spirit guide, as White Cloud insisted on calling it, worked if he wasn’t close to the person in danger. He didn’t want to take the chance when Sam’s life could be at stake. “It can’t hurt for me to hang around you, though.”

  Sam threw her hands up. “And now Munroe thinks we had some sort of plan to off Betty Maguire and hook up at her place! I could have handled him by myself.”

  “Munroe’s no fool. He knows we’re not being straight with him.” Henry worked his jaw back and forth. “I think you should tell him the real reason we’re here.”

  Sam shook her head. “I can’t take the chance. If he puts it in a report, there’s a good possibility that Jules will uncover it and try to stop me.”

  “Jules is already tracking you,” Henry said.

  “We don’t know that for sure and even if he is, he doesn’t know what I’m doing here. It’s best if he thinks I’m afraid and hiding out from my father’s hit men. The story I told Munroe fits that scenario perfectly.”

  “But it won’t hold up if he digs into it.”

  “We didn’t kill either of those women. He can’t prove we did.”

  “There was little proof that Bledsoe killed his wife either. That didn’t stop them from arresting him.”

  “If that happens, I’ll tell him the truth. Until then, I don’t want to risk it.”

  Henry shook his head. “At least tell me what happened at Mrs. Maguire’s place.”

  “Like I said, I rang the doorbell a couple of times and no one answered. I was angry with myself about sending White Cloud away too soon, so I shoved on the door. To my surprise, it opened. I called out and when no one answered, I decided to do a little snooping.”

  “What did you think you’d find?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe something to prove Norman’s innocence.”

  “You think Betty Maguire killed Mary Margaret?”

  “It’s possible. The woman obviously has a lot of money or she couldn’t live in that mansion. Why was she working as a housekeeper?”

  “Because she was a friend and she wanted to help out?”

  “Maybe—but maybe someone paid her to get rid of Mary Margaret. Or maybe because she was such a good friend she couldn’t stand to see her suffer.”

  “If that’s what you think, it could as well have been Norman. He’s the beneficiary of a million-dollar life insurance policy. That doesn’t help prove he’s innocent in any way. Did you find anything while you were snooping?”

  “I found Betty in her bed and an empty bottle of pills on the stand next to her.”

  “So it was a suicide.”

  “But why? Why would she kill herself if she wasn’t somehow involved in her friend’s death?”

  “She left Bledsoe’s at three as usual. You have at least three people who claim that Mary Margaret was alive after that.”

  “None of them can say for sure. They thought she was sleeping, she could have already been dead.”

  “Wouldn’t the autopsy have shown the time of death?” Henry twirled the cane between his legs.

  “Not to the minute. I checked with Norman’s pro bono attorney while I waited for the police to arrive. She told me the autopsy listed time of death as between three and six that afternoon.”

  “So it’s possible Betty Maguire smothered her friend before she left for the day, but since she’s dead now, too, there’s no way to prove it.” He understood Sam’s reasoning about Betty Maguire’s apparent suicide.

  According to what he’d researched on mercy killings, many times the person who assisted the gravely ill felt so guilty after the fact that they committed suicide shortly thereafter. But if that was the case, he didn’t see how they’d ever be able to convince the cops or the prosecutor. Not
without a confession.

  “Unless she left a suicide note. I searched the house thoroughly before I called the police and found nothing to indicate she was responsible for Mary Margaret’s death. I need to search the Bledsoe house. Maybe she left something there.”

  “Not today. It’s after six. We can start there first thing tomorrow. We need to think about dinner.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “You think about food too much.”

  “Only when I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry.” Sam sighed and rested her head against the back of the seat. “I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

  “We’ll wait until tomorrow.”

  Rather than argue, Sam closed her eyes and thought about the ramifications of Betty Maguire’s death. Unless she uncovered a written confession, it could throw a wrench into her plan to prove Norman’s innocence.

  And if Betty did it, why didn’t she confess when Norman was arrested? Was she going to let an innocent man go to trial for something she knew he didn’t do? Maybe Nancy Warner was right in her desire to use a mercy killing defense. It might be the only way left for Norman. Sam felt conflicted about what to do next.

  As they approached the apartment building, a low buzz began in Henry’s head. The closer they came to the block, the louder the buzzing. Henry sat upright to scan the area as they approached their entrance. No black van in sight.

  When White Cloud pulled to a stop in the loading zone, he turned to face them. “There is a dark blue Dodge Charger parked across the street in the next block with two men sitting in it.”

  “You think it’s them?” Sam grabbed the back of the front seat to better see out the front window.

  “It is possible.” White Cloud turned to Henry. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “So you feel it?”

  Henry hoped the Native American would keep his mouth shut about spirit guides and such. He didn’t need Sam growing suspicious. “It could be them. Or it could just be two men waiting for their wives.”

  The expression on White Cloud’s face remained stoic. “Whatever you say. You should get into the building as quickly as you can. Do you want help?”