Part 10 (2/2)
”How about those out-of-town trips?” Bailey asked. ”Do I go after them?”
”Not yet,” Barbara said. ”We may have to later, but put that on hold for now unless you correlate someone else's trips at those same times.”
”You might try to find out if anyone on that list planned a vacation for the last week of June,” Frank said, remembering that Hilde had planned to spend time during that week with her lover in San Francisco.
A few minutes later, when it appeared that for the moment at least Bailey knew who he was working for, Barbara said, ”Okay if I have a copy of that autopsy report? I was planning to break into the police station and swipe a copy, but yours will serve.”
Frank scowled, then shrugged. ”Why not? This matter is a can of worms.”
”Box of worms,” Barbara said.
”Can,” Bailey chimed in. ”The expression is 'can of worms.'”
”In our house we keep them in a box,” Barbara said.
Bailey gave her a mean look, and a meaner look at Frank, who was grinning. He finished his drink and stood up. Glancing at Barbara, then turning to Frank, he said, ”Hear that your nephew is coming to visit, exchange room and board for painting the house. Good idea.”
”What the devil are you driving at? I don't have a nephew.”
”I'll furnish him,” Bailey said. ”And he'll be able to paint, starting tomorrow.”
Barbara nodded, and after a moment, Frank nodded also. They were both recalling how easily the security of his house had been breached when a killer had entered with Barbara, holding a gun on her.
”Name?” Frank asked. ”I probably should know his name, just in case anyone asks.”
”Herbert Holloway, thirty-nine years old, from Austin, Texas. He'll show up in the morning.” He turned to Barbara. ”You going to stay there for a while?”
”Not if there's a live-in painter.”
”Yes,” Frank said. ”If I need a live-in painter, so do you.”
Reluctantly she nodded.
After Bailey left, Barbara sat at Frank's desk and read the autopsy report, and Frank continued to read his ma.n.u.script. He was almost finished with the entire thing and was still undecided about asking permission to add a word here and there. He glanced up and saw Barbara gazing into s.p.a.ce with an abstracted look.
”What is it?” he asked.
She pulled herself back from wherever she had been and regarded him. ”They think she overdosed on purpose, don't they?”
”I don't know.”
”No sign of forced entry, muscle relaxant in her blood, prescription medicine at hand and nothing else. What else are they to believe?”
”She didn't overdose on purpose,” he said.
”How do you force someone to take half a dozen pills and not leave a sign of a struggle? That medication isn't an amnesiac, is it? Could she have taken one or two, then forgotten and taken more? I'll find out. Where's her prescription container?”
”In the safe.” Rising, he tried to stifle a groan.
”Oh, G.o.d, Dad! I'm sorry. This can wait until tomorrow or next week. Let's go home.”
”Since I'm up, might as well get it out. And then go home,” he added. He was ready to head out, maybe even take a nap. Or better, soak first, and then a nap. He opened the safe and handed her the plastic bag Milt Hoggarth had left with him, then watched her copy the information from the prescription container.
He was thinking of bath and bed, and she was thinking: Hilde Franz had filled that prescription over two years ago for thirty capsules, and there had been fourteen left for the investigators to sample. Sixteen in more than two years; Hilde certainly had not been addicted to them. She made a mental note to find out what injury or illness Hilde had suffered two years ago, and how many of the capsules she might have taken at that time. The label said, ”As needed for pain, not to exceed four a day.”
And how much was too much in the bloodstream?
15.
After dropping Frank off, Barbara headed out to the Opal Creek Middle School, where Nola Hernandez greeted her with suspicion. She studied Barbara's ID, read the power-of-attorney doc.u.ment, studied Barbara, and finally pointed to a closed door. ”That was her office,” she said. ”I thought the family usually picked up personal things.”
Barbara nodded. ”Thanks. You're right, they usually do. But since they are from out of town, it's a little awkward. My father, as Hilde Franz's attorney, is continuing to work on behalf of her estate. If there is an investigation by the Children's Services Division, he'll represent the interests of her estate.” She walked to the closed door. ”Has anything been removed yet?”
”No. What do you mean, if there's an investigation? Of what?”
”Mr. Marchand threatened to file a formal complaint against the school, you understand. We don't know if he did, and we don't want to stir up a hornet's nest by making inquiries, but if he did, we want to be prepared to fight any charges. I believe he threatened to claim that the school and all the employees here contributed to the delinquency of a minor, and if he actually filed the charge, CSD is obliged under the law to follow through with an investigation.”
The effect of her words was dramatic. Nola's eyes widened, her fists clenched, and her cheeks turned scarlet. ”That b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” she said.
Barbara opened the door and entered the inner office, with Nola at her heels. Then, as Barbara went through the desk drawers, Nola stalked around the office angrily and talked about the trouble they had had with Gus Marchand over the years. Barbara heard about incidents she was already familiar with, and others that were new. Her search of the desk and closet could have ended in ten minutes-there were few personal things to pick up-but she dawdled and encouraged Nola to keep talking.
”Of course,” she said during a brief pause, ”if Ms. Franz's health was bad and she was on a lot of medication, they might conclude that she was not paying much attention to what the students were up to.”
”Her health was fine,” Nola said. ”Diabetes, that's all, and it was controlled by her diet. She followed a diet you wouldn't believe and hardly ever had to take medicine for the diabetes. I don't think she had more than half a dozen sick-leave days in the last five years. She had the flu five or six years ago and didn't even want to take aspirins for that. And when she strained her back a couple of years ago, she took a muscle relaxant for a couple of days and then used it only at bedtime for a week or two. She said she couldn't read a newspaper when she was taking it in the daytime. I tell you, she hated medicine.”
”But she went home the day Mr. Marchand was killed in order to relax and take medicine,” Barbara murmured.
”She was stressed out. We all were. No one knew if Gus would come stamping in screaming and yelling and making a fool of himself during the graduation ceremony. Poor Leona was a wreck. She was the one who should have taken a tranquilizer or something.”
When Barbara left the school, she had a box of Hilde Franz's belongings, the attendance record for Rachel Marchand, a copy of her report card for the past year, a s.e.x-education book, and the name of the boy Rachel had cut cla.s.ses to be with. Plus a defense witness if Alex was accused of stalking. Not a bad haul, she told herself, as she drove to Dr. Minick's house. Today the little waterfall was dry.
Dr. Minick was almost pathetically glad to see her. ”Come in, come in. Coffee? Tea? Wine?”
”Nothing, thanks. I don't want to take up much of your time....”
”Barbara, what I have in excess is time. Every day this house grows a little bit bigger and quieter. I find myself tiptoeing so I won't break the silence.” He ushered her into the living room and motioned toward a chair. ”I have a few more hate bulletins for your collection. I'll get them in a minute. First, tell me what I can do for you.”
”Have you considered moving into Will's house for a few days?”
He shook his head. ”No. They might put on hoods and come in the night to burn down my house. I put the word out that Alex is away, so no one's going to bother me, I think. But an empty house? What a temptation.” He smiled slightly. ”But what I'm concerned about is that I don't think we can keep Alex away much longer. He says he can't draw or think; he misses his hikes in the woods, misses his freedom.”
”You've been together so long, you both must be terribly lonesome,” she said.
”We are. At first when we came here, Alex was totally dependent on me for everything. That's changed over the years, and now I'm very much afraid I'm the dependent one, and he knows that. He's worried about me, about my being here alone. I'm afraid I've done him a grave disservice. Instead of isolating him, s.h.i.+elding him from the world, I should have thrust him out into it. By now he would be used to the stares and the comments and take them in stride.” He drew in a breath, then said, ”By now I would be used to the idea that he's his own person who no longer needs me. You see, I've come to realize that I no longer serve a purpose in his life. That shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was.”
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