Let There Be Suspects (27 page)

“I told you a few days ago, I’m taking New Year’s Day off instead so I can take the girls to the concert in Columbus—if Deena ever figures out who’s going. Tomorrow I have to be at a prayer breakfast in the morning, a luncheon program at the food bank on world hunger, and in my office for appointments all afternoon.”

“Then I’ll go alone.”

“Please don’t.”

“I could take Lucy.”

“Please don’t!”

I considered. “How about Jack?”

He was silent so long I thought he’d given up hope I would ever say another sensible word. But then he nodded. “Okay. Call Jack.”

“I’m telling you this as a courtesy. I’m not asking permission.”

“As if I hadn’t figured that out.”

“You love me anyway, don’t you?”

“I wish you’d take up mountain climbing or skydiving. Anything but this.”

“It’s not a hobby, Ed. It’s life or death.”

“That’s the problem.”

 
Every young, single attorney wants to spend New Year’s Eve with the wife of his minister. I figured by the time Peter’s office hours ended on Monday, Jack would be on his way to a party. Instead when I phoned, I asked Jack to meet me at Schaefer’s office at 8:30 the next morning. From his sign I knew office hours began at 9:00, and I guessed Peter would be in a little earlier to prepare for the day and check the pond. Maybe his receptionist would be helpful while we waited.

Jack was agreeable. I think almost anything that gets him out of the office sounds like fun.

New Year’s Eve morning was also unseasonably warm. I had promised the girls they could each have a friend over. Teddy invited Hillary Frankel to spend the day, but Deena shrugged at my offer. Judging from the constant ringing of our phone over the holiday, she is getting more calls than a registered Independent in an election year. Everyone wants to be Deena’s best friend. I think she’s afraid that anything she does will be interpreted as a sign she’s already made choices about whom to invite to the concert tomorrow. I’m glad she has family to keep her busy, since friends have been noticeably absent.

Teddy and Hillary planned a house-by-house search for Moonpie, and Junie promised to accompany them. I’d extended my inquiries to every vet in the area. I suggested that Deena make a poster to put on telephone poles with Moonpie’s photo and promise of a reward. Sid offered to take her to the copy shop in my van once it was finished.

With the medication log in my purse I walked over to meet Jack at Dr. Schaefer’s office. The streets were clogged with the Emerald Springs version of rush hour, which means there were a few extra cars per block in the downtown area, and I actually had to pay attention to traffic. I waved to a couple of people who looked familiar, and a block from the office I pretended not to see Ida Bere, who was hunched over the steering wheel of a boxy sedan, as if she was hoping to ram it into the first pedestrian who got in her way.

Jack had parked across from the doctor’s office, and he crossed the street when he saw me. I guess New Year’s Eve isn’t a big client day because he was dressed in khakis, a shirt with no tie, and a leather jacket. I was sorry Sid wasn’t with me to see how good Jack looks in a bomber jacket.

I had given him the rundown on the telephone. Now we gave each other a friendly hug.

“Thanks for doing this,” I said.

“It’s on my way to work anyway.”

“If we can just prove Ginger was here the evening she was killed, that has to be worth something.”

“You know it still won’t prove Sid didn’t kill her.”

“If Ginger was killed right here, do you think Sid could have moved her to the manger scene?”

“How far is it?”

“If you cross this street, cut through the yards across the way, cross Cardinal Street that way, you’re at the driveway into the Catholic church lot where the manger scene was set up.”

“It could have happened that way. It was dark, and there probably weren’t many people around. Stores were closed, church services were in session.”

“Or people were at home eating dinner. And it was snowing. Sid doesn’t remember seeing anyone else outside when she went for her walk that night.”

“Well, if you can convince Detective Roussos this might be the scene of the crime, he’ll send a team to look for evidence. But it’s been a full week now. We’ve had snow and runoff and lots of people have probably come through here.”

“If Ginger was selling prescription drugs, that opens up a whole new avenue of inquiry, even if she wasn’t killed here.” I pointed to the white sedan in the doctor’s parking lot. “I think that’s Peter’s car. Shall we try knocking on the front door first?”

“What’s the alternative?”

“We could try the pond.” As we walked up the front sidewalk, I explained about Peter’s meditation garden. I rang the bell, and when that didn’t bring anyone, Jack rapped sharply on the door.

“It’s possible they won’t answer until they’re open,” Jack said when nobody came.

“I think it’s worth checking the backyard since we know Peter’s already here. The gate wasn’t locked yesterday. It has a high latch. From the inside it looked like one of those childproof varieties.”

“It’s trespassing, more or less.”

“I think under the circumstances it’s worth it. We’ll just take a peek. If he’s not there, we’ll leave and wait on the front steps.”

He didn’t hesitate long. He followed me to the other side and around to the gate. I rapped on it, but when that didn’t bring an answer, I reached over the top and felt for the latch. From the direction of the pond I could hear the pump grinding and water cascading over boulders. If Peter was there, he wouldn’t hear us over the noise. We’d had a similar latch at our last house, and I opened it without a problem. I swung the gate toward us and ushered Jack through.

Tall evergreens screened off this side of the yard, and it wasn’t until we were past them that I saw Peter. Jack saw him just a split second after I did.

Peter Schaefer was lying facedown on the ground, one hand trailing into the pond, the fish net with its aluminum pole floating just beside him. Two goldfish were floating belly up beside the net. I started toward him, but Jack grabbed me.

“Don’t touch him.”

“He needs help. Maybe he had a heart attack.”

“Get inside and turn off the power. Stay far away from the pond though. Do whatever it takes. I’ll call the rescue squad.”

I realized then what Jack had realized first. Peter Schaefer had been electrocuted in the pond he had lovingly created as an oasis for his patients to enjoy. And until we turned off the power, electricity was probably still coursing through the water.

17

Peter’s nurse-receptionist was a woman named Wilda whose grandmotherly appearance completed the image of home and comfort that Peter had tried to create for his office. When Wilda wasn’t choking back sobs, she was praising us for finding Peter and calling the rescue squad. I was a particular favorite since I had gone inside and flipped the circuit breakers.

“He’s going to be all right. I just know he will be,” Wilda said again. “But what if you hadn’t found him in time?”

I wasn’t so sure Peter was going to be okay. The rescue squad hadn’t made any guarantees since he’d been in both respiratory and cardiac distress. Jack had followed them to explain the details to the emergency room staff.

The police had come and gone, and I had made a request that they call Roussos, only to find that he wasn’t on duty until later in the morning. Besides, they were treating the incident as an accident. The extension cord to the pump was frayed and wiring exposed, the ground under it was wet from melting snow, and the ground fault interrupter plug, which should have been disabled at the first unusual surge, hadn’t worked properly. Although the circuit breaker should have tripped, the whole system had needed updating and just hadn’t been up to the task.

There was a lot of evidence to support this. Wilda remembered there had been a problem with the pump previously, but Peter, something of an amateur electrician, had fixed it. One of the cops had pointed out that “amateur” was the right word. The extension cord wasn’t even the type meant to be used outdoors, which explained all too well why it had frayed under harsh weather conditions.

The paramedics had told me that with prolonged shocks of this nature—of a voltage lower than if an electric heater or hair dryer had fallen into his bath water—the length of time Peter remained in a coma would tell all. More than one day was bad news.

I handed Wilda another tissue and patted her shoulder. “We did find him. And the hospital has skilled staff who know what to do.”

“If he hadn’t insisted on doing everything himself. That pond is like his therapy. His job takes so much out of him. All that suffering. All those people who need him, then the ones who just pretend they do.” She shook her head.

I had told myself Wilda was too upset to question, but here she had provided me with the perfect opening. Heaven help me, I took it.

“You know, that’s why Jack and I were here in the first place. We wanted to ask him about somebody who might have been trying to use him.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you came this morning.” She blew her nose. “I’ll need to cancel the afternoon appointments, won’t I? He didn’t have anyone coming in this morning. He had two cancellations yesterday.”

“I guess you’d better.”

We were sitting in the reception area on a comfortable sofa. Wilda sat back and squared her shoulders. “You were here because of one of his patients?”

“It’s possible she was a patient.” I decided to explain, since this would be my best chance to get information. I finished by telling her about the medication log, then I pulled it out to show her.

Wilda nodded after one glance. “Yes, that’s one of ours.” She took it and opened it, scanning the first page. “And yes, Ginger Grable was a patient here.” She snapped the book shut. “But not for long.”

If I ever win the lottery, I know this is exactly how it will feel. “Can you tell me the details?”

“She called about a month ago and made the appointment. Dr. Schaefer requires all medical records first, of course. Sometimes it takes awhile to get everything.”

A month ago, just about the time Junie had dreamed up this reunion.

“Is Dr. Schaefer well known in the field, Wilda? I mean, do people come from other places to see him?”

“Oh, a lot of people make the trip here for his help.”

“But how does that work? How can he follow them?”

“After the initial workup and treatment, patients travel here periodically, and in between they’re required to fill out monthly reports. He reads every one, makes phone calls. He’s extremely conscientious.”

“So someone like Ginger might have heard of him as far away as Indianapolis and made the appointment to get relief?”

She was silent a moment. “I really shouldn’t be talking about this, should I?”

“Ginger’s dead, and we need to find out who killed her. Whatever you can tell me might help.”

That seemed to reassure her. “His patients come from as far way as California. Mrs. Grable’s records arrived in bits and pieces because she moved from Cincinnati, where the accident occurred, to Indianapolis. So several doctors were involved. I had to call a number of times to get everything. Dr. Schaefer went through them, of course, before her first appointment. We see a lot of patients with the same history. An accident, back or neck pain. Reams of paperwork, X-rays, you name it. Some of them are at the end of their rope. It’s a sad thing when people suffer.”

“But he took her as a patient?”

“Yes, he did a complete workup when she came in, and he didn’t see any reason not to take her on. At least not anything he could put his finger on. Not at first.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“There was something going on, or he was afraid there was. I guess he’s developed a sixth sense. He gave her a log and asked her to start filling it out, and he gave her a prescription for a very limited supply of a form of oxycodone. That’s what he does at first. He prescribes for a few days, sometimes just a day. That way he can change medications, increase them slowly, whatever he decides to do. But with Mrs. Grable, he just wasn’t sure he trusted her.”

“And something happened to make him think he’d been right to be cautious?”

“She came in on Christmas Eve morning with a man. She showed Dr. Schaefer this log, and he went over it with her while the man stayed in the waiting room.”

“Can you describe him? I’m curious. A tall guy, kind of gangly, wire-rimmed glasses?”

She chewed her lower lip. “No, I don’t think that’s right. He was blond, a little soft in the middle, if you know what I mean. One of those noses you don’t forget, kind of prominent, pointy.” She demonstrated by making a V with her fingers and putting her fingertips on each side of her nose.

Bix Minard. It was a perfect description. But what had Bix been doing here with Ginger the morning after Sid kicked him back to Sag Harbor? Or thought she did. And how long had he remained? Long enough to murder her?

Wilda continued. “I guess she was pushy with Dr. Schaefer, asking for more drugs. He wasn’t increasing her dose fast enough and she was leaving town on Christmas Day. She had depended on him not to let her suffer, that kind of thing. I guess something about the whole appointment set off his alarm, because after Mrs. Grable left, he said he was going to go back over her chart. A little later he asked me to get a doctor in Dayton on the phone, and I caught him just as he was leaving for the holidays. Anyway, they spoke for a few minutes, then Dr. Schaefer came out and told me to call Mrs. Grable and get her in again for the last appointment of the day.”

“Did he say why?”

“I’m the only person he confides in. I just want you to understand that. He’s not loose-lipped.”

“Doctors often confide in nurses.”