Forgotten Place (34 page)

"Years?"

"About a year and a half," the clearly more
competent nurse said.  "I'm Becky, the charge nurse. 
Brenda's right though, Mrs. Ireland is no longer able to speak, and
visitors tend to upset her more than soothe.  Do you have her
daughter's permission to visit?"

"Her daughter is currently in protective
custody of the police," I said.  "Surely you heard about the
stabbing at MSUH on Monday."

Becky's eyes widened.  "That was
Journey?"

Ned nodded.  "You can see why we need
to make sure Mrs. Ireland is safe, whether she can speak to us or
not."

"She's currently living on our secured
unit," Becky said.  "Nobody but Journey comes to visit
her.  Oh, and Mr. Ireland calls a few times a year –"

"Mr. Ireland?" I interrupted.  "As in
her husband David?"  I quickly calculated Becky's age. 
Twenty three?  Twenty four?  The other one, Brenda looked
to be about fifty years old, and certainly should've been aware of
Isabella's history."

"Well, that's what we call him.  He's
the second husband," Brenda said.  "Bless his heart for not
just dumping Izzy after she got sick."

"This is important," I murmured.  "When
was the last time Mrs. Ireland's husband visited her?"

"I don't recall ever seeing him here," Becky
said.  "Bren?"

"Maybe three years ago, after Izzy first
moved in.  He's an older guy, silver hair, nice looking. 
He spent about two minutes with her before she started having one
of her fits and he thought it would be best if he left.  Since
then, he's only called to check on her."

"And he's never been back, not even with
Journey?" I asked.

Brenda frowned.  "You know, I don't
think I've ever heard Journey mention him at all."

I glanced at Ned and Devlin.  They
looked as grim as I felt.

"Brenda, how familiar are you with the
history of Darkwater Bay?"

"I don't get whatcha mean, detective." 
She tore off a hunk of jelly donut between her teeth and left a
sprinkling of powdered sugar on her whiskered chin.  "History
in what way?"

"Like what happened
to
Izzy's
first
husband sixteen years ago."

Brenda grinned.  "Why in the world
would I remember what happened to some old guy when I was seven
years old?"

"Do either of you remember the last time
this second husband of Mrs. Ireland called?" I asked.

"Last Saturday," Becky said.  "I told
him she still isn't talking but that her outbursts aren't nearly as
frequent as they used to be.  He wanted to know when Journey
last visited, and if Isabella got upset when she saw her daughter
too.  I said no, that Isabella is always real calm when
Journey visits her."

"I'd like to see her now, Becky."

She hesitated.  "I'm not so sure,
detective.  I mean, she gets really upset with people she
doesn't know.  We don't have the extra hands around on a
Saturday to manage her if she gets agitated."

"Detective Eriksson is also a psychologist,"
Devlin said.  "I think she knows how to handle someone prone
to agitation."

Yes and no.  It had been years since
I'd dealt with patients suffering from dementia, but Devlin's
reassurance seemed to sway Becky in favor of letting me
visit.  She led us to the locked doors that prevented
elopement of patients at risk of wandering away and punched the
code for the door into a keypad. 

"I'll stay with the men outside her room,"
Becky said.  "She's real sensitive to overstimulation. 
Try to keep your visit short, detective.  If she starts
pounding on the bed with her fists, back off and call for
help.  That's usually what she does before she starts swinging
at people.  She's stronger than she looks."

I stepped inside the room and saw the older
version of Journey Ireland lying on a bed in the small private
room.  Isabella's once ebony hair was streaked with gray and
fell past her shoulders.  Her face was weathered far beyond
the age of fifty-seven years.  Glassy eyes followed me, set
into a flat affect that showed neither anger nor fear at the
presence of a stranger.

"Mrs. Ireland," I stepped close to the bed
and used tactile therapy to convey compassion.  My fingers
stroked the back of her hand slowly.  "My name is Helen
Eriksson.  Can you nod if you understand me?"

She didn't move. 

I sighed and sat in the chair beside her
bed.  What could I say?  The woman's life had devolved
into a loop of never ending tragedy.  "I'm so sorry this
happened to you, Isabella.  I want you to know that we're
going to take care of Journey.  We'll protect her, you have my
word."

Isabella's fingers curled around mine in a
death grip.  Something sparked in her eyes. 

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Mrs.
Ireland?"

She jerked my hand suddenly, pulled me off
balance and toward her.  Wild eyes met mine.  The low
hiss from her lips startled me, until I realized they were actually
words.

"
Honor thy father.
"

Chapter 30

Rather than keep my focus on the case,
Isabella's nonsensical message pushed me deep into a funk where
thoughts of my father made me sullen and mute.  The rational
part of my brain knew and understood that Isabella Ireland had
merely parroted the last thing she ever said.  I missed the
significance of the fact that she was in fact still capable of
speaking. 

My response to the whole thing had been to
jerk my hand away and rush out of the room.  Devlin and Ned
assumed she made the thread Becky predicted, and all I could think
about was Wendell, rotting away in prison without so much as a word
from his daughter that he was loved, and yes, honored, if only in
my memory.

Devlin and Ned's discussion about dumping
phone records for the convalescent home last Saturday was distant
and muffled in my ears.  I had a vague awareness that my input
was requested and nodded.

"Good," Devlin said.  "I'll call and
get it processed.  How fast do you think we can get the
records?  I'd imagine a place like that gets more than a
hundred calls a day.  It's gonna take some time to sift
through them and figure out which ones can't be attributed to
legitimate calls for information or to speak to the residents."

Ned chuckled.  "You're looking for
excuses to bail on the festivities tonight, aren't you?"

"I've been here a month," Devlin
complained.  "Nobody would notice if I'm there or not."

His reluctance to attend the event snapped
me out of my mood, at least for a moment.  "I've only been
here six months, and worked exactly two cases to resolution. 
If anybody wouldn't be missed, it's me.  I'm with Dev,
Ned.  I say we bail on the monkey suits and keep pushing ahead
on this case."

He chuckled.  "Now,
I
know
that's not
gonna happen.  We're going to this party tonight, and there
are very few things that would prevent it."

"Tell me what they are and I'll move heaven
and earth to see them happen," I muttered.

"We could miraculously find Riley
Storm.  Or, Danny Datello could decide to walk in and confess
to his crimes.  Either of those scenarios would justify our
absence, I'm sure."

"Where are we on the search for Riley?"

Devlin made a half turn in his seat. 
"We've got teams watching the country club where he apparently
spends most of his time, and his house.  So far, he's been
conspicuously absent.  The guy's got to come home sometime,
Helen.  We'll find him."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that.  If
Danny was worried that Riley would talk, God only knows what
happened to him."

Ned parked in front of the courtyard in the
circle driveway.  "We're home.  Dev and I are gonna head
out and get ready for this party now, Helen.  Johnny said to
remind you that Zack is picking you up at five thirty."

I groaned softly.  "I haven't even
given two second's thought to what I'll wear tonight."

Ned grinned at me in the rearview
mirror.  "He didn't tell you?"

"Who didn't tell me what?"

"Johnny," he said.  "Go check your
closet, Helen.  I think he left a little surprise in there for
you."

I modulated my gait until I was safely
inside the house, away from eyes that could see me rush to the
closet to find what Johnny had left me, far removed from their
knowing chuckles that my curiosity would no doubt elicit.

The white garment bag hung behind the door,
probably why I hadn't noticed it before Ned pointed it out to
me.  I unzipped the opaque plastic and gasped at the elegant,
but simple dress.  The color was a shimmering silvery-lavender
satin.  The cut was simple, high collar that would hide my
bony clavicles and the scar on my chest from the entry wound. 
The back of the gown was gathered in a simple fishnet bustle, not
too big, not too poufy but enough volume to add the appearance of
pounds to my rather emaciated frame.  The crème wool and
cashmere jacket was cropped short, but long enough to cover my rib
cage, with slightly gathered long sleeves that would deemphasize
the lack of tone and definition in my arms.

Along the neck and border of the jacket were
tiny sterling rosebuds embroidered into the fabric.

It was the most beautiful dress I'd ever
seen, even though it was not something I'd have ever chosen to
wear.  It wasn't in my favored color scheme of black, navy or
gray.  It came as no surprise that Johnny would choose this
color, the symbolism that the sterling rose held in our recent
history.

I removed the garment bag and discovered
another one behind it, this one containing a soft white fir
wrap.  "You thought of everything, didn't you Johnny? 
You're always three steps ahead of me."

A long soak in a hot bubble bath improved my
mood more than I realized.  Dread of the evening was replaced
by a constant flutter of excitement in my chest.  No matter
how much I tried to mute what Johnny's thoughtful gesture meant, my
heart couldn't dismiss what I wanted it to mean. 

Zack's compliments fell on deaf ears. 
I didn't care how healthy the dress made me look.  My thoughts
were focused on one thing.  He said he knew me.  He said
he understood what made me tick.  All Johnny Orion had ever
done was patiently wait for me to see that he was telling the
truth.  Now, I couldn't wait to see him, to tell him that I
believed him.

The throng of officers from Central Division
and Downey distracted me temporarily.  Charlie Haverston was
the first to accost me on entering the banquet hall.  He set
an unwelcome precedent by grabbing me and hugging tightly. 
"I'm so glad you're here, Helen.  You look fantastic."

He tugged his wife Rose up to his side and
introduced her with a proud grin.  A parade of others with
whom I'd had contact during my short tenure in Darkwater Bay –
before the shooting – from desk sergeants to civilian employees
came to greet me.  The pawing and constant pressing of the
flesh started to make my skin crawl.  Out of the corner of my
eye, I spotted Chief Weber.

Graciously, I excused myself to have a word
with him.  Nobody objected, assuming perhaps that I wanted to
offer my dismay at his abrupt announcement of retirement. 
True, I wanted to chat with him about any repercussions that had
cropped up from his decision, but I needed an excuse to get away
from too much attention.

Dad always warned me to keep a low
profile.  The consequences of rejecting that advice, whether
conscious or not, could not have been more apparent than they were
in a room filled with hundreds of people who knew my name and
reputation.

"Helen," Don shook my hand and maintained
socially appropriate distance.  "You look stunning. 
We're delighted that you were able to come tonight. 
Lieutenant Finkelstein said she feared you might not feel up to
attending our annual gala tonight.  I so hoped we wouldn't
have to honor you in some quiet way after you returned to active
duty."

The murmur that rippled through the crowd
distracted me from Weber's odd remark.  I turned and watched
the head and shoulders that stood taller than most bob through the
crowd.  My heart quickened.

Johnny Orion had arrived. 

It was odd to sense the
split in opinion in the room.  Probably thirty percent of
attendees bristled at his presence. 
Interesting,
I thought. 
I wonder if these are people susceptible to the
wooing of Danny Datello's checkbook.
 
It brought my thoughts back to Weber and why I wanted a private
word.

"Sir," I said, "might I have a moment with
you in private?"

"This is a party, Helen.  I'd rather
not discuss the unpleasantries of work tonight."

"I was curious if you heard anything
interesting after making your announcement Wednesday morning."

Don shook his head and chuckled.  "You
are tenacious, aren't you?"

"If you mean I haven't given up on getting
to the source of your problem, the answer is no.  I won't give
up, even after your replacement is hired and you're retired doing
whatever it is that makes you happy, Chief Weber."

"Oh, Helen.  I appreciate your
commitment to seeking the truth, but I don't see how its necessary
now that I've announced my intention to retire."

I gripped his arm.  "What if this
person decides to go after your replacement?  Show me one
person in this room that doesn't have a secret they'd rather not
become fodder for the rampant gossip mill in this city.  I
cannot allow anyone else to be compromised, to suffer what you've
endured all these years.  And for what, chief?  Because
you love someone that the rest of the world might not
understand?"