Sweepers (44 page)

“And you actually interviewed him the second time, Commander? What was your estimate of this individual’s general physical and mental state?”

She thought for a moment. “Physically, he was badly hungover from using alcohol or dope of some kind. Probably both. He’s malnourished, very thin, but still strong enough to operate a big motorcycle.”

“And mentally?”

“Filled with hate. Rage. Pretty messed-up kid. Actually, he’s twenty-what? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? Not exactly a kid, but that’s the word that comes to mind: a belligerent teenage kid, resenting everybody and everything, living like the poorest white trash that ever was.”

“And he admitted to helping Galantz with your abduction in Great Falls?

How about the two homicides?”

“According to him, his contribution to the Walsh and Schmidt affairs was to appear at the respective funerals so his father would see him. And he doesn’t recognize the name Galantz, by the way.”

“Right, Mr. Smith. But for him, this all has to do with getting back at his old man for what happened to his mother, correct?”

“And to him. The night the syringe showed up, the admiral told me something of his history. He admits he’s more than a little responsible for what happened to his family.,, “I see. Of course this is all hearsay. Might work for a grand jury, but not so good at trial, as you know. You suppose he would tell us the same story if we pick him up?

There was no coercion or anything like that, was there?” Karen looked at Train, who arched his eyebrows at her.

Reluctantly, she told Mcnair about losing her temper with the .45.

“Uh-huh,” Mcnair said. There was the ghost of a smile around his lips when she was finished. Karen put the best face on it she could. “I don’t know what to say. I realized that here was one of the guys who cocooned me in a damned body bag for several hours and then nearly drowned me in the river. Especially when he revealed all this with a maximum sneer.”

“And you just happened to have a forty-five in your purse?”

“I did that morning, yes.”

Mcnair glanced at her regulation purse. “Got it in there now, do we?”

Karen couldn’t tell if he was being facetious. Given her inexperience in the use of the big ” hundredth time how lucky she had kill Jack. She decided to play it safe.

“No, I I she said. “Look, I shouldn’t have done that. So, yes, I left the gun for this trip.”

Mcnair nodded again, lookin over at the desk for signs of Sister Bernadette’s arrival. Train washelpfully studying the floor.

“Okay,” Mcnair said, turning back around. “Technically, what happened up there is a Prince William County problem. It doesn’t sound like the kid is the type who’ll be crying to the cops. The important thing is what he’s revealed. Assuming Mr. Smith is Galantz, this is pretty strong corroboration.”

“And maybe a good way to locate Galantz,” Train offered.

“If he’ll tell you the same story, wouldn’t that take care of Sherman’s political problem?” Karen said.

“It might,” Mcnair said. “But it doesn’t take care of his Galantz problem, not until we can take Galantz himself off the boards.” , I”So,”

Train said, “what are we doing in this place?”

Mcnair nodded and closed his notebook. “We checked with the Navy when we couldn’t contact Sherman. Carpenter’s office said he was on a selection board of some kind and that they’d get him to call us. Then they called back, said he was not present for duty. I asked if he was A.W.O.L., They said flag officers don’t go A.W.O.L.. Anyhow, the) huffed and they puffed and finally admitted they didn’t know where he was. I had a patrol unit go by his house -No car. I put out a locating bulletin for Sherman’s car. the tristate area. Maryland state trooper located the car at motel here in Hamey yesterday afternoon. I talked to tire motel manager. Turns out Sherman is a regular.” -“A regular?” Karen said. She was confused, until sb remembered the prior weekend, when Sherman had gone out of town.

Yup, ” Mcnair said. “See, this motel has a cut-rate. deal for people who are visiting long-term patients at the hospice here. The sisters here set it up years ago.’,’ At that moment, a large matronly-looking nun came out of the elevators, spotted Mcnair, and came over to where they were sitting. She looked to Karen like an approaching battleship in her black-and-gray uniform, with a large silver crucifix bouncing over a generous bosom. Mcnair roade the introductions.

“Very pleased to meet you both,” Sister Bernadette said.

“Detective Mcnair, I have the videotape you requested, and a busy night ahead.”

“Right, Sister, and we really appreciate this. As I explained to you, just seeing this tape will be a great help in our investigation. Then we’ll get right out of your hair.”

“That’s fine, Detective. Everyone does understand that this particular tape is not available for release or for any court proceedings, yes?”

“Absolutely, Sister,” Mcnair said.

“Very well. Let’s go to the security office.”

She led them to the elevators, where they ascended in silence to the third floor. Karen searched Train’s face for some explanation of what they were doing, but he could only shrug.

“All the administrative functions are handled up here,” Sister Bernadette explained as they came out on the third floor. “That way, the patients and the residents are on the lower two floors. Better for fire-evacuation purposes, you know.

As they walked down a carpeted hallway with what looked like offices on either side, Karen asked what the hospice’s mission was.

“We’re a Catholic charity hospice, Commander. We provide a medically staffed residential-care facility for a special kind of patient-those we term ‘the mentally absent.’ Clinically, these are people who are not ill-with cancer, for example-but who are no longer with us mentally and who require full-time care. These are also people who can’t afford or can’t get access to a commercial nursing home or hospital. Families pay what they can, of course.”

They arrived at the end office, and Sister Bernadette punched in a code on a keypad. “We have one hundred and eighty beds here, a full nursing staff, doctors here during the day and on call at night. The facility is full and there’s a waiting list.”

She led them into the security office, which combined a clerical area with a security surveillance center. The office part appeared to be closed, but there was an older man in civilian clothes sitting at a console in front of several dozen black-and-white monitors embedded in one wall.

“That’s our monitoring system,” Sister Bernadette explained. “This is Mr. Franklin, who has the four-to midnight shift.” The man nodded politely at them and then returned to watching the screens while Sister Bernadette explained the system.

“We can maintain surveillance of the facility and all of the rooms. A computer generates a random sampling that gives a one-minute look into each viewing area. Or the watchman can select sites for continuous surveillance. The system is integrated with the call system, of course, and the nurses’ station on each floor has a single monitor that can be used to respond to any calls, either from a patient’s room or from the security office right here, with two-way communications.”

“That’s a pretty sophisticated system,” Train said.

“A gift from a corporate donor.” Sister Bernadette replied. “Much of our facility equipment has been donated.”

“I can imagine. But suppose someone wants privacy, say for a visit?”

Train asked.

“Mr. von Rensel, by the time they come here, most of our patients have achieved the ultimate privacy. That’s what we mean by the term mentally absent. They may be alive and well as persons somewhere in their own minds, but we outsiders can no longer see them or’communicate with them.

The monitors are watching their bodies, for their own safety, care, and comfort. In fact, that’s how we come to have the Detective Mcnair wishes you to see. This way, ase.”

She led them to the back comer of the monitoring area and turned on a regular television set. A picture came up, one of the local stations, but the sound had been muted. She inserted a tape cassette into a VCR and switched to the video playback channel. The tape leader created a fuzzy black and-white pattern on the screen.

“What are we going to see here?” Karen asked.

Sister Bernadette hit the Pause button. “When our patients have visitors, we monitor. It’s for our protection and the patient’s.

Visitors are fully informed, and they can even see the tapes if they wish to. But a visitor cannot gain access to the room until the charge nurse has confirmed the monitor is positioned.”

“What we’re going to see here,” Mcnair interjected, “is a that of Admiral Sherman making a visit-to his wife.”

“His wife?” Karen said. “But I thought-I mean, he said-“

“She’s been here for ten years,” Mcnair said.

“Admiral Sherman didn’t tell us the whole story about what happened to his wife. She did shoot herself. She just didn’t succeed in committing suicide. She’s in what the docs call’a sustained vegetative state.’ Body is alive. Brain is not.”

“We don’t know that last bit, of course,” Sister Bemadette observed.

“Her mind might be alive. She might even come back.”

“Has. that ever happened?” Karen asked. She was still trying to absorb the fact that the admiral’s wife was still alive. Ten years. My God.

“Yes it has, but very seldom. It is dramatic, though, when it does happen.”

“I’ll bet,” Train said. “And this is a tape of a visit?”

“Yes. He’s been coming here for nearly ten years. When, he is assigned in Washington, he comes almost every weekend. This particular tape is almost a year.old, but it is representative of what happens. I must reiterate that what you are going to see is intensely personal.

Detective Mcnair has explained that this is a murder case. You two must assure me that you will never reveal to Admiral Sherman that you have seen this. On your honor, yes?”

Karen and Train nodded agreement.

“Say it please,” she demanded.

They said it aloud. Train wondered if they were being taped. “Very well, then.” She pressed the button.

There were a few more seconds of leader noise, and then a black-and-white image materialized on the screen, showing a hospital room. There was a single hospital bed in the room, a chair, a dresser, and a door that presumably led to a bathroom.

There was a sound and the door to the room opened. A nurse led in Admiral Sherman, who was dressed in civilian slacks and a sweater. He thanked the nurse, who looked up at the monitor briefly and then withdrew from the room.

Sherman approached the bed, where a woman lay motionless under the covers. Looking at the screen, Karen couldn’t tell how old she was. She had a middle-aged face that had once been pretty, but her hair was now snow white. Her eyes were open but clearly vacant. Sherman sat down on the edge of the bed and lovingly reached out with his right hand to brush a few strands of her hair away from her forehead.

“Ten years,” Train murmured.

“There are some who have been here longer,” Sister Bernadette said.

“Some come as children. They can break your heart. “

Sherman sat there in silence for a few minutes, smoothing his wife’s hair and staring into space. Then he leaned forward onto the bed, near his wife’s head, and gently rolled her to face him, cupping her head with both hands. Karen was startled to realize he was saying something.

She had to strain to hear it.

“I’m sorry, Beth,” he was saying so y. in so very sorry.” He said it over and over, holding her tightly. Karen watched for a few seconds, then turned away, tears in her eyes. Sister Bernadette switched off the set.

“That’s what he does,” she said as the tape rewound.

“The same thing each time. He stays for about forty minutes and then leaves. Usually comes Saturday afternoons, and again Sunday mornings.”

“Every weekend?” Train asked. Karen noted that he seemed to have a catch in his voice. Mcnair, who apparently had known what was coming, waited patiently.

“Often enough. Of course, some years he’s been away at sea. Sometimes he comes unexpectedly. He told me once that this place has become his refuge, too, when his official life becomes too - complicated. But we have a visitor log at the front desk and we keep records for seven years. Given the nature of our patients, there are often legal actions that requite our records.”

“I see,” Train said. “This must cost a fortune, Sister.

Even an admiral doesn’t make that kind of money. And he’s only recently an admiral.”

“We know,” she replied. “As I said, people pay what they can. And in his case, he just sent in a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That happens. People inherit something, or someone dies and leaves insurance.”

Karen and Train looked at each other. Elizabeth Walsh’s life-insurance proceeds had found a home.

“Sister, we thank you for your time and for letting us see this,” Mcnair said. “And we will keep what we’ve seen and heard here private.” ‘“Very well, Detective,” she rtplied, ejecting the videocassette.

“Is Admiral Sherman here now, Sister? Karen asked.

“I don’t know. You can ask at the front desk, Commander. I’ll take you back downstairs now, if you don’t mind.”

They checked at the front desk and found out that Admiral Sherman had indeed been there but had already left.

They signed out, went out to the front entrance, and stood on the steps.

The pyomise of rain had been fulfilled as a light drizzle blew in from the northwest. The parking lot was illuminated by -several tall light standards, whose tops were now veiled in a misty orange glow.

“Well,” Kare said.

“Yeah, well,” Mcnair replied. “Not that he’s been a very good suspect up to now. But I can’t feature a gvy for murder who makes this little pilgrimage for ten years, no matter what it looked like originally.”

Karen had a sudden thought. “Do you suppose Elizabeth Walsh knew about this? And that’s why she’left him the insurance-policy money? She had no other relatives.”

Train nodded thoughtfully. “Possibly. But I think the more important question now is whether or not we want to go talk to Sherman,” Train said. “Tell him what his son admitted to. That he’s been part of Galantz’s -little program.”