The Fix, Page 3

  “I can certainly find out. Excuse me for a minute.”

  Palmer rose and left.

  Milligan took out his phone and checked messages. “Dabney’s wife is at the hospital with her husband. Alex says he hasn’t regained consciousness and probably won’t.”

  “Did the wife tell them anything?”

  “She didn’t know Anne Berkshire and was pretty sure her husband didn’t either. She also knew nothing about her husband’s business and had no idea why he would do what he did. But Alex texted again. Mrs. Dabney said her husband had taken an unexplained trip about a month ago and that he didn’t seem the same afterwards.”

  “Not the same how?”

  “Different mood apparently. And he wouldn’t tell her where he went.”

  “Okay.”

  Milligan looked around the small office. “Do you really think we’re going to get a lead from this place?”

  “People are killed by strangers, but most people know the one who kills them.”

  “Well, that’s always comforting,” said Milligan dourly.

  The men lapsed into silence until Palmer returned a few minutes later.

  “She met with three patients early this morning. Dorothy Vitters, Joey Scott, and Albert Drews.”

  “Were they people she normally would visit?” asked Decker.

  “Yes.”

  “You said she came in early this morning. Did she usually come in at that time?”

  “Well, no, come to think of it. She usually came in around noon. Our patients are generally more alert then.”

  “Can we speak with them?” asked Decker.

  Palmer looked taken aback. “I’m not sure what they can tell you. They’re very ill. And weak.”

  Decker rose. “I appreciate that, but Anne Berkshire was murdered this morning and it’s our job to find out why. And if she came here at an unusual time shortly before she went downtown and was killed, then we have to run that possible lead down. I hope you can understand that.”

  Milligan added quickly, “We’ll be as gentle as possible.”

  “Do you have to tell them that Anne was killed? That will be extremely upsetting for them.”

  Milligan said, “We’ll do our best to avoid that.”

  Decker said nothing. His eyes were already on the hallway.

  Dorothy Vitters was in her late eighties, frail and shrunken in the last bed she would occupy. Because of patient confidentiality, Palmer had not told them what specific illness she might have. She left them in the doorway and walked back to her office.

  Decker stood in the doorway and looked around at the small, sparsely furnished space.

  “You okay?” said Milligan in a low voice.

  Decker was not okay, not really.

  What he was seeing here wasn’t the flash of electric blue he associated with death but rather navy blue. That was a first for him. But when he looked at the terminally ill Vitters he could understand why. Near death was apparently represented in his mind simply by another shade of blue.

  Well, that is interesting. My altered mind keeps throwing me curves.

  He didn’t want to be here when Vitters died, because he didn’t want the navy to abruptly change to electric blue.

  “I’m good,” he finally said.

  He walked into the room, pulled up a chair, and sat next to the bed. Milligan stood next to him.

  “Mrs. Vitters, I’m Amos Decker and this is Todd Milligan. We’re here to talk to you about Anne Berkshire. She was in to see you this morning, we understand.”

  Vitters looked up at him from deeply sunken eyes. Her skin was a pale gray, her eyes watery and her breathing shallow. Decker could see the port near her clavicle where her pain meds were administered.

  “Anne was here,” she said slowly. “I was surprised because it was earlier than usual.”

  “Do you remember what you talked about?”

  “Who are you?”

  Decker was about to take out his creds when Milligan stopped him. Milligan said, “We’re friends of Anne’s. She asked us to stop in today because she wanted to come back and keep talking to you but then found out she couldn’t make it.”

  The watery eyes turned to alarm. “Is she…is she all right? She’s not sick, is she?”

  “She’s feeling no pain at all,” said Decker quite truthfully. He was counting on the fact that whatever meds the woman was on would slow her mental processes somewhat, otherwise Vitters might figure out that nothing they were saying made much sense.

  “Oh, well, it was just the usual things. Weather. A book she was reading and telling me about. My cat.”

  “Your cat?” said Milligan.

  “Sunny’s dead now. Oh, it’s been ten years if it’s been a day. But Anne liked cats.”

  “So nothing other than that?” asked Decker.

  “No, not that I recall. She wasn’t here that long.”

  “Did she seem okay to you? Nothing out of sorts?”

  Her voice grew more strident. “Are you sure she’s all right? Why are you here asking these questions? I might be dying, but I’m not stupid.”

  Decker saw the watery eyes turn to flint before flickering out again.

  “Well, if you have to know the truth, the fact is—”

  Milligan cut in. “We know you’re not stupid, Mrs. Vitters. As my colleague was about to say, the fact is, Anne fell down and hit her head today. She’ll be fine, but she’s got short-term amnesia. And she needs to remember the passcode to her phone and her apartment’s alarm system and her computer. She sent us here to find out what she was talking about to people so that we can tell her and maybe jog her memory. The doctors said that that might do it.”

  Vitters looked relieved. “Oh, well, I’m so sorry she fell.”

  Decker glanced at Milligan for an instant before gazing back at Vitters and saying, “So anything you can tell us would be appreciated.”

  “Well, again, we didn’t talk about much. Although, it did seem that Anne was preoccupied. She usually led the conversations we had but today I had to prompt her a few times.”

  Milligan glanced sharply at Decker, but Decker kept his gaze on Vitters.

  “Did you ask her if anything was wrong?”

  “I did actually. But she said everything was fine. She just had something on her mind, but she didn’t say what.”

  “Do you know if you were the first person that Anne visited today, or were there others before you?”

  “I think I was the last. She mentioned she had to leave after seeing me. She had somewhere to go.”

  “She didn’t mention where that was?”

  “No.”

  Decker rose and turned to leave.

  Milligan said hastily, “Thank you for your help. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  Vitters smiled grimly. “Put in a good word for me with the man upstairs.”

  As they left, Milligan whispered, “Hey, Decker, you need to go a little easy with these folks, okay? They’re dying.”

  He passed by Decker, who turned and looked back at Vitters lying in the bed, her eyes now closed. He walked back over to her and looked down. The navy blue image in his mind was starting to turn electric blue. Decker didn’t believe he could foresee someone’s death, but his mind was obviously making the logical leap with the terminally ill Vitters.

  He reached down and adjusted the woman’s pillow to make her head rest more comfortably. His hand grazed over the white hair and then he said in a low voice, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vitters.”

  He didn’t see Milligan watching him from the doorway. The FBI agent hurried off before Decker turned around.

  CHAPTER

  5

  JOEY SCOTT WAS an even sadder case than Dorothy Vitters.

  Decker and Milligan stood in the doorway with Palmer. Scott was only ten years old, but his short life was nearing its end. Eschewing patient privacy law, Palmer, who had escorted them here, had said in response to their blank looks, “Leukemia. The untreatable kin
d.”

  Milligan said, “But why would Berkshire have to visit him? Don’t his parents come?”

  Palmer bristled. “He was in the process of being adopted out of foster care. When he got sick his ‘adoptive’ parents pulled out. I guess they wanted a healthy model,” she added in disgust. “And it’s not like they couldn’t afford it. Anne visited him at least twice a week. She was really all Joey had.”

  Then she turned and left, her face full of despair.

  Decker looked down at the little body in the bed and his thoughts wandered back to the daughter he’d once had. Molly had been murdered before her tenth birthday. Decker had found her and his wife’s bodies at their old home. And because of his hyperthymesia, he would always remember every detail of this tragedy like it had just occurred that second.

  There could be nothing that ever happened to Decker that could be more horrible and depressing than finding his family murdered. But seeing this came close.

  He sat down next to the boy, who slowly opened his eyes. IV and monitoring lines ran all over his withered frame.

  With a quick glance at Milligan, Decker said, “Hello, Joey, I’m Amos. This is my friend Todd.”

  Joey raised a hand and made a little wave.

  “I understand your friend, Anne, was in today?”

  Joey nodded.

  “Did you have a good talk?”

  “She read to me,” Joey said in a small voice.

  “A book?”

  He nodded. “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It’s on the shelf over there. She said she’d be back tomorrow to finish it.”

  Decker reached over and snagged the book, flipping through some pages until he came to the bookmark about ten pages from the end. He glanced at Milligan before looking back at Joey. “That’s great. Is that all she did? Read?”

  Joey shook his head. “We talked some.”

  “What about?”

  “Are you friends with Anne?”

  Decker said, “I just saw her this morning. She’s the reason we came to see you. She wanted us to meet her friends here.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Milligan said, “How long have you been here, Joey?”

  Joey blinked up at him. “I don’t know.”

  Milligan took a step back and put a hand against the wall. He looked hopelessly at Decker.

  Decker said, “Do you remember what you talked about with Anne? Maybe things about the book?”

  “She asked me if I saw the sun come up.”

  Decker looked to the large window, which faced east. He slowly looked back at Joey. “Did you?”

  Joey nodded. “It was nice.”

  “I used to get up early and watch the sun rise when I was a kid,” said Decker, drawing a surprised look from Milligan. “I grew up in Ohio so the sun got to us later than it does here.”

  On the nightstand next to the bed was a framed photo. Decker picked it up. It was a picture of Peyton Manning.

  “You like Manning?”

  Joey nodded. “I used to watch football a lot. And I played before I got sick.”

  “I played too.”

  Joey ran his gaze over Decker’s huge physique. “You look like a football player. I might have grown up to be big like you.”

  Milligan rubbed at his eyes. Regaining his composure, he said, “Joey, Decker here played in the NFL. For the Cleveland Browns.”

  The little boy’s eyes grew wide and a tiny smile crept across his features. “You did?”

  Decker nodded. “My career was short and not necessarily sweet.” He put the photo back. “Before that I was an Ohio State Buckeye. Some of the best years of my life.”

  “Wow,” said Joey. “Do you know Peyton Manning?”

  “No, but he was one of the greatest. First-ballot Hall of Famer.” He sat back. “Did you talk with Anne about anything else?”

  The smile faded. “Not really.”

  “Did she tell you where she was going after she left here?”

  Joey shook his head.

  Decker rose, glanced at Milligan, and said, “Thanks, Joey, you’ve been a big help.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Milligan looked down at him and said, “Hey, would it be okay if I came back and saw you again?”

  “Sure. Maybe you can come with Anne.”

  Milligan said, “Well, we’ll see.” He took a card from his pocket and put it on the nightstand next to the Peyton Manning photo. “You need anything, have them give me a call on that number, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “Can I shake your hand?” asked Joey, eyeing Decker. “I never met an NFL player before.”

  Decker put out his hand and slowly gripped the little boy’s. It was like a whale swallowing a minnow.

  “It was an honor meeting you, Joey.” Decker put the book back on the shelf and walked out, followed by Milligan.

  “Damn,” said Milligan. “I’m not sure I’ll ever smile again.”

  “You will,” said Decker. “But whenever you feel things are bad, you’ll think of Joey and then things will look a lot better for you.”

  * * *

  Albert Drews was in his forties and volunteered that he had final-stage pancreatic cancer. He was pale and thin and his skin looked brittle and jaundiced.

  “By the time I had any symptoms it was too damn late,” he said after they’d introduced themselves and shown him their IDs. “Chemo, radiation, kicked the shit out of me. Then I go into remission, for about two months. Then it comes back like a hurricane, and now this is it.”

  He stopped talking and started breathing heavily, as though this bit of speaking had exhausted him.

  When his lungs settled down he said, “You’re lucky you caught me now. When my pain meds kick in, I’m out for the count. Morphine. Don’t know what I’d do without it. The pain…well, it’s not nice,” he added resignedly.

  “I’m sorry to be bothering you, Mr. Drews,” said Decker.

  Drews waved this off. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do except lie here and wait to die.”

  “We understand that Anne Berkshire came to talk to you today?”

  “This morning. Why?”

  Decker decided to just tell the truth. “She was shot and killed this morning in D.C. Shortly after she left here.”