Death With Dignity

by E B Corbin

  “Just protecting ourselves,” Sam said with a shrug.

  Norman then noticed Helen cowering behind the table, lying on her side, still attached to the overturned chair. “What did you do to Helen?”

  “We didn’t do anything.” Henry pulled his knife from its hidden scabbard under his jeans on his good leg and began to cut the duct tape around Helen’s hands and legs. He helped the woman into an upright chair.

  She spoke in a quivering voice. “Stacy and Nora attacked me.”

  Stacy spoke from her position on the floor. “She’s lying, Daddy. That con man’s daughter shot us both when we tried to rescue Helen.”

  “No, no, no,” Helen whined. “She’s trying to confuse . . .”

  Helen stopped as a siren wailed and fluttered to silence when a vehicle squealed to a stop in front of the house. Other sirens blared behind it. Two paramedics cautiously approached the open door and Stacy yelled, “Help! She’s got a gun. She shot us!”

  The EMTs stopped in their tracks; came no closer. Seconds later, Munroe’s voice came through the open front door. “Police! You’re surrounded. Put down your weapons!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Sam muttered. She slid all three guns across the tile floor toward the doorway where they were visible to anyone in the hall. Caught by the edge of the rug, the three guns piled up in full view of the front door. “You can come in now.”

  Munroe walked slowly down the hall, leading with his gun. Behind him, a younger man followed, swiveling his gaze into the living room as he proceeded down the hall. Dressed in a red Hawaiian shirt decorated with pineapples, the younger man looked like a surfer version of Magnum PI with blond sun streaks in his long hair. His gun rotated in all directions, his lips formed a thin line and his eyes were hard, calculating.

  They were followed by two uniformed officers, guns also drawn. A third policeman waited by the door, swinging a shotgun from side to side, ready to jump in if needed.

  “We’re not armed,” Henry called to them.

  When Munroe reached the kitchen, his gaze swept the room. “What the hell?”

  “She shot . . .” Stacy started but was interrupted by her father.

  “Be quiet, Stacy,” Norman said, his voice hard and full of authority.

  Sam noted how his attitude surprised Stacy into silence. Obviously, he seldom snapped at his daughter. Maybe she would have turned out less self-centered and mean if he had. Stacy returned to moaning and clutching at her shoulder as if she were about to die.

  The next half hour was filled with activity as the paramedics hustled Stacy and Nora off to the emergency room. The uniforms accompanied them on Munroe’s orders. The cut on Helen’s forehead had stopped bleeding and she refused to go. One of the EMTs cleaned her wound, rubbed an antibiotic on it and covered it with a large Band-Aid. Despite all the blood, the actual laceration was less than a half an inch long.

  The cop in the red shirt had confiscated the three guns and put each in a separate evidence bag. Sam wished she could retrieve her .38 but she knew that was a lost cause.

  Munroe scanned the remaining occupants in the room and settled his gaze on Helen. “I’ll take your statement first since you seem to be the most obvious victim. If you’ll come with me, we’ll go into another room.”

  “Gladly.” Helen regained her stiff composure as she used both hands to push herself from the chair. Her legs nearly gave out, but Munroe took her elbow and led her slowly from the kitchen. When she passed Norman, she muttered, “Sorry, but the truth has to come out.”

  Norman pulled out a chair and slumped into it. His shoulders slouched, his chest caved into itself. He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. He did not look up as the woman who had been his receptionist for the past twenty-five years shuffled out of the room.

  “Keep an eye on these three,” Munroe told the man in the red shirt. “Don’t let them talk to each other. I’ll get their stories when I’m through with Ms. Murphy.”

  After long moments of silence, the cop watching them said, “I’ve been his partner for five years and he still treats me like a rookie.”

  Sam assumed the Magnum PI surfer dude was also a detective. “Where were you when he was questioning us last week?”

  “On my honeymoon. You’d think I could be gone for ten days without all hell breaking loose. I wasn’t supposed to report back for duty until tomorrow, but when I heard Jim got called out, I thought I’d give him a hand.” He took a deep breath as he looked from Sam to Henry. “I’m Mark Matthews, by the way. I got an earful about you two already.”

  Sam smiled. “Well, having dealt with Munroe several times in the past week, I know that can’t be good.”

  His head bobbed once. “You got that right. We don’t always agree, but Jim is a good cop.”

  “So tell me, Mark, why does your partner dislike us so much? We haven’t done anything wrong.” Henry attempted to return the table to its upright position.

  Mathews grabbed the other end to help. “He doesn’t like to be lied to, for one thing.”

  “Yeah, that was a mistake.” Henry glanced at Sam hoping she’d take the opportunity to set the detective straight on their true identities and reason for coming to Portland.

  Sam looked away, her mouth clamped shut. She was saved from the hot seat when Munroe sauntered back to the kitchen and addressed Norman. “Ms. Murphy had some interesting things to say about your daughter and your wife’s nurse. Would you care to step into the parlor and elaborate?”

  Norman sighed before he lifted his head from his hands, his face so pale it looked as if he wore one of those Mexican death masks. The gauntness further emphasized the dark bags under his eyes. He looked as if he wanted to cry, but he swallowed once and shuffled after Munroe.

  Matthews raised his eyebrows. “Interesting turn of events. Do you know what this is all about?”

  Sam guessed Matthews was used to playing the good cop to his partner’s hard line. She shrugged. “Not really.”

  Henry’s mouth twisted as he cast Sam an inquiring look. He made a snap decision to trust this guy despite his boss’s reticence. He’d deal with Sam’s anger later. “If I were to guess, I’d say that Stacy killed her mother and Nora helped to cover it up. Betty Maguire, the housekeeper, knew about their involvement somehow and left a note for Helen to give to Norman in case she died. You may not know it yet, but Betty was found dead yesterday.”

  Matthews nodded. “I heard. I also heard that Ms. Turner was the one who found her.”

  “That doesn’t mean I killed her.” Sam threw Henry the evil eye. “It was a complete surprise to me.”

  “Jim told me you’re a former FBI agent. You must understand how it looks. So far you’ve turned up around two dead bodies in less than a week.” Matthews leaned against the door frame and placed one foot in front of the other, his arms crossed casually over his chest. “I’m inclined to believe you, but you have to admit it looks fishy.”

  Sam lifted her shoulders and dropped them as she held out her hands, palms up. “What can I say?”

  Henry wanted to shake her and convince her to tell the truth. Munroe might be a by-the-book jerk, but his partner seemed less uptight. Perhaps they could trust him to keep it to himself. Then again, maybe Sam was right to keep the truth about her background a secret. It wasn’t his life on the line. He cleared his throat. “We had no reason to kill either woman. Didn’t even arrive until after that former police chief’s widow was dead.”

  Matthews glanced into the hall before he spoke. “Jim’s a pretty good investigator, and despite what he thinks about my gut feelings, I’m not bad myself. I’m leaning toward believing you’re not involved in this mess, but I’m not convinced. I think you’re leaving something out—something important.”

  Munroe came back to the room, running his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ! What a cluster…”

  Matthews looked at him with a question in his eye.

  Munroe held up a clear bag with a l
etter-size sheet of paper inside. “Mr. Bledsoe just gave me this.”

  Matthews took it and read the letter, his expression remaining inscrutable. When he’d finished, he looked up. “Well, that throws a monkey wrench into things.”

  Munroe looked as if he’d lost his favorite puppy. He turned to Sam. “You two are free to go. For now. Don’t leave—”

  “We know. Don’t leave town,” Sam said. “Don’t worry. We’ll be around.”

  Munroe grunted.

  When Henry stood to follow Sam, Matthews noticed the boot on his foot for the first time. “What happened to you?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Henry nodded at Munroe.

  “We’ve got a lot to figure out here,” Munroe said. “Your problems are low on the list,”

  “They won’t be so low if Sam ends up dead.”

  Sam waited for Henry in the hall. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

  White Cloud had parked his taxi across the street, one house up from Helen’s. They were surprised to see Norman Bledsoe standing on the sidewalk waiting for them.

  “I’m sorry, I, um . . . I just . . . she’s my daughter!” He made no attempt to hide the tears that ran down his face. “I can hardly believe it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Henry said.

  “You did the right thing.” Sam patted his arm. “I know how it feels to be disappointed in a family member.”

  “How could she do it?” Norman looked at the leaden sky. Darker gray clouds crept under a field of dirty white but no rain fell.

  “Apparently, it was Nora’s idea,” Sam said. “Stacy just went along with it.”

  “Nora! I never felt comfortable around that woman.” Norman wiped the tears from his cheeks. “But she befriended Stacy and I felt it was a good thing. Stacy never hung out with friends, never brought anyone home for us to meet. I was relieved to see her laughing and talking to Nora.” He shook his head. “What a fool I was. They killed Betty too. I can’t understand how they could do that.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Henry said. “You had no way of knowing.”

  “I should have seen it.”

  “We never guessed it either. They were quite good at covering their tracks.” Sam took Norman’s hand. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “What? Oh no. No, my car’s here.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t drive right now.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Norman looked around the neighborhood. “Thank you for understanding. I don’t know what I’ll do now. I guess I should see if my attorney will defend Stacy.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. You need to contact her and bring her up to speed on the latest developments. My guess is that they’ll drop the charges against you.”

  Norman bobbed his head. “Yeah. Yes . . . I’ll do that right away.”

  They watched him shuffle toward his car, his head down, his shoulders slumped.

  “So what do we do now?” Henry asked when they had settled into the cab.

  “I guess I can return his money. There’s nothing we can do to help him cope with the situation.”

  “You wish to go back to your hotel.” White Cloud made a statement. He never asked what had happened inside Helen’s house.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Sam went straight to her bedroom for her computer and began the process of transferring the funds. She realized she didn’t have enough info to deposit the cash into Norman’s bank, so she created a new account in his name. She chose First Republic Bank since it came up first on her search.

  When she completed the transfer, she moved the other accounts to new banks as well, keeping ahead of Jules and his relentless search for the money she’d reallocated. She closed the laptop and dusted her hands together. “That’s that. I’ll give Norman the account information and we’re done.”

  “Do you ever wonder if Norman would have been better off had we never involved ourselves in his life?” Henry looked up from the in-house magazine he perused.

  “He would be spending the rest of his life in jail,” Sam said. “How’s that better off?”

  “Do you really think that?”

  Sam sighed. “If I keep telling myself, I could come to believe it.”

  “Maybe we should take a day of rest before we start searching for your father’s next victim.”

  Sam nodded slowly. “What do you say we take in the Japanese Gardens?”

  Henry looked at the boot on his foot. “I don’t know. I guess I could handle it.”

  “I’m sure they have wheelchairs we can rent,” Sam said. ”Unless you want to stay here. I can visit the gardens and tell you about them.”

  “Do I have to remind you . . . ,” Henry started.

  “Those two goons are still out there,” Sam finished. “I know. But my Smith & Wesson is at the apartment. They won’t know where I am.”

  “Too risky,” Henry said. “If you’re going, I am too. Besides, I wouldn’t mind spending some time in a peaceful setting.”

  “How Zen of you,” Sam said with a smile.

  Henry shrugged. “Hey, I’m not all brawn. I’ve got brains too. But I’m ordering from room service before we leave. I didn’t get any lunch.”

  Sam shook her head. “Fine. Order me a turkey club.”

  She slid her laptop under the mattress in her room and used the time to wash her face and brush her hair. She debated changing her clothes but the jeans she had on seemed a good choice for a tourist destination, so she changed her sweater for a T-shirt. The sun had come out at some point during the ride back to the hotel and her suede jacket on top of a sweater was much too warm.

  When they had finished their meal, they called an Uber to take them to the garage where their rented SUV awaited. Henry didn’t want to rely on White Cloud any more than necessary. The Toyota was a welcome sight but Henry had the Uber driver drop them two flights up from where it was parked. He wanted to scope out the area, keeping a close watch for any cars with occupants. The low buzz in his head never registered louder, so he assumed it was safe to reclaim their car.

  Sam drove, keeping an eye out for a black van, a Dodge Charger or a maroon pickup. Damn, it was hard keeping track of those two goons!

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  They took West Burnside toward Washington Park and followed the signs toward the welcome center on Southwest Kingston Avenue. After a drive up a long hill, covered with tall pines, they found a parking space and Sam went to pay for the slot. She wanted to drop Henry at the gate, but he refused and without a handicap sticker, she had to search for a close space in the crowded parking area.

  A long walk up a steep hill led to the entrance and Sam worried that Henry was hurting but too proud to complain. Once they paid their admission, they entered the Cultural Village and watched a demonstration on the yukata, a Japanese kimono, while a soft shakuhachi flute whispered in the background. As they learned about chado, or the Way of Tea, Sam felt her mind empty of tension, her muscles relax, and a sense of peace envelop her body.

  She glanced at Henry and hoped he felt the same, although she feared he might be bored with the slow pace. He showed no outward signs of either boredom or interest, but she noticed his eyes scanning the area nonstop.

  When they left the Cultural Village, Henry steered her toward the Strolling Pond Garden where they stood on an arched wooden bridge and watched the koi in the pond below while the sound of a waterfall filled the air. They rested on a bench under a gazebo in the Tea Garden taking in the lush greenery surrounding them.

  Henry felt a sense of peace come over him that he’d never experienced. Chirping birds replaced the annoying buzz he’d learned to live with. He’d never been one for meditation, but the quiet beauty of the place could not be ignored. He even noticed that, aside from a small twinge every now and then, his ankle gave him no problems.

  They stopped at the weeping cherry tree in the Flat Garden. Without a word, they sat on a bench and admired its beauty. Somehow, three hours had passed as they strolle
d the gardens.

  “We’d better find our way to the exit,” Sam said. She felt a twinge of guilt dragging Henry around all afternoon, although she couldn’t help but stop to inspect the bonsai in containers along the path.

  “I wouldn’t mind stopping at the Umami Cafe,” Henry said.

  Sam’s lips turned up at the ends. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

  Another hour went by as they sat in the cafe with Henry enjoying hojicha tea with fried rice and Sam having the same green tea with chikara cake. The sun disappeared behind more clouds and the wind picked up as they left for the parking lot.

  Henry stopped abruptly when the loud buzzing began. He scanned the lot, taking in students and tourists milling about and lining up for the shuttle buses. Behind a cluster of young people he spotted the two men heading in their direction.

  Sam saw them at the same time. “Shit. We don’t have our guns.”

  “Too many people around anyway,” Henry said.

  “So what do we do?”

  “You run.” he told Sam. “I’ll try to slow them down.”

  “Run? Where? They’re between us and the car.”

  “The woods. I’ll pick you up at the bottom of the hill.”

  Sam hesitated for a second, then took off, wending her way between the crowds of young and old. She stopped to look behind before she disappeared into the pines. A path had been carved out of the forest, but she didn’t want to stay out in the open, so after a few yards, she ducked into the trees. She figured as long as she kept moving downhill she’d eventually wind up on the road at the bottom.

  Henry moved through a group of senior citizens to cut off the men after Sam. The big man plowed through a cluster of teens, knocking them out of his way. The skinny guy attempted to follow in the path cleared by his cohort but Henry cut him off and stuck his cane out, handle down to grab at the man’s leg. The wiry man tripped over the cane and tried to regain his balance but ended up sprawled on the ground.

  In one motion, Henry turned his cane around and pushed the bottom tip into the man’s back, keeping him face down. He applied pressure to the cane drilling the tip into the man’s upper spine just below his neck. “Don’t move or I’ll crush the vertebrae in your neck.”