One Grave Too Many (27 page)

“I imagine to the head nurse or to the hospital administrators.”

As the woman started out the door, Diane called after her, “Star needs help,” but the aide didn’t look back.

Diane walked out the door to the policeman, who spoke before Diane had a chance to say anything. “I just guard the door—I don’t change bedpans.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Diane with her best sweet voice. “And you shouldn’t have to. But I need you to undo her restraints so she can go to the bathroom and clean up.”

He sighed and rose, putting his book down again. Diane noticed it was a Western. He stepped into the room long enough to unlock the restraints. Diane thanked him and helped Star out of bed. There was a large wet place on the sheets and the back of her gown.

“So you’re Uncle Frank’s girlfriend,” said Star as she went into the bathroom.

“We date,” said Diane.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“None of your business,” said Diane pleasantly and heard Star give a faint laugh.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

“Should you get your bandages wet?” asked Diane.

“I’ll just turn on the shower and rinse off my body. I won’t get them wet. God forbid that bitch should have to change them for me.”

“You have some more pajamas?”

“In the dresser drawer. Some underwear too.”

Diane was glad that Star was concerned with cleanliness and dignity. People in despair give up their pride first—“pride goeth before the fall,” a meaning of the aphorism that made more sense to Diane than the one more often attributed to it.

Of course, Star might not have meant her injuries to be life threatening. She could have only wanted to get out of jail or to get attention. But Diane noted that her bandages covered half of her forearm, a serious sign. Often people bent on suicide slit their wrists lengthwise up the arm, along the vein, to insure a bleed out. That looked like what Star did.
She must be in tremendous emotional pain to have done that with a dull cutting tool,
Diane thought.

Diane retrieved a pair of cotton pajamas and panties and stood outside the door. An orderly entered with clean sheets and began stripping the bed. Diane watched him take off the soiled sheets, clean the plastic mattress cover and remake the bed. He worked quickly and said nothing, merely nodding at Diane on the way out. By the time he finished, Star was ready for her clothes and reached out the door for them.

When Frank arrived, Diane had Star tucked into a clean bed and the policeman reentered to lock her restraints.

“Why don’t you leave those off, as long as we’re here?” asked Frank.

“They told me not to,” he said and went back to his post.

Frank shook his head. “When this is over . . .” He was interrupted by a nurse entering the room.

Diane expected another angry nurse, but this woman was friendly. Slim, in her early thirties, with light brown skin and short hair, she looked efficient and spoke to Star like she cared. Her name tag said LORAINE WASHINGTON, and she was a registered nurse, not an aide.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she took Star’s blood pressure and pulse.

“I’m okay,” said Star.

“Your blood pressure’s a little low.” The RN took her temperature. “And you’re a little hot. The next time you have to go, I want you to collect some urine for me.” She set a specimen cup on the nightstand.

“I’m OK, really,” said Star. “It’s just that when I have to go, I have to go.”

“How many times have you been kept waiting?”

Star shrugged. “Just in the evenings. That nurse doesn’t like me. In the daytime, or when Uncle Frank is here, things are all right.”

“They’ll be all right from now on. I want you to drink lots of water.”

“That’ll just make things worse.”

“No, it’ll make things better.”

“Then you think you can talk that policeman into coming in every thirty minutes and giving me a sip?” Star tried to lift her arms against the restraints.

Nurse Washington smiled. “I see what you mean. Someone will come and check on you more often and give you a drink. Do you like juice?”

“Orange juice.”

“How about cranberry?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll see you get some of that too. It’ll be good for your bladder.” She patted her arm and left.

“Well, Uncle Frank, you must have ripped somebody a new one.”

“I had some words with a few people. I don’t think this was the first complaint about that particular aide.” He reached over and grasped her foot through the covers and shook it. “You doing OK?”

“Sure. I did a number on my arms and they hurt and itch like hell, I’ve just peed all over myself, my family is dead and the whole world thinks I killed them.”

“Not the whole world,” said Frank.

“They said they was going to try me as an adult. All my life people’s been telling me I’m just a kid, and now they decide I’m an adult because that makes me in worse trouble.”

“I doubt it will even get to trial. We’ll find out who really did it before then,” said Frank with such conviction that Diane believed him.

“Will it matter?” said Star. “They’ll still be dead, and people like that bitch nurse will still believe I did it.”

“It turns out that the nurse’s aide is a friend of Crystal’s,” said Frank. “I thought I’d seen her before.”

Star rolled her eyes. “That explains a lot—for starters, why she’s as dumb as dirt.”

“How have you been treating the people around here?” asked Frank.

“Better’n they treat me.”

“Why don’t you try just being polite to the people here and not cursing. You don’t have to make friends with them, a little politeness will do—after all, they’re armed with needles.”

Star gave Frank a half smile and turned to Diane. “Frank tells me you met Crystal and her husband. Aren’t they a kick? Crystal’s so proud of Gilroy the boy toy. He’s about fifty years younger than she is, you know.”

“More like fifteen,” Frank said.

“She parades him around like he’s some prize she won. If he was the big prize, I’d hate to have come in second in that contest.”

Diane had to laugh at Star. So did Frank. She could be a charmer. Diane tried to visualize her in a killing frenzy, but couldn’t imagine her doing what it took to kill her parents.

“I heard on the TV that Dean gave himself up. Did he really?”

“He had help,” said Frank.

“That figures. How was he?”

“In need of a good meal and a place to sleep,” said Frank.

“Serves him right. He ran out on me, you know. As soon as he heard about my parents, he got scared, even tried to steal my coin collection. We was supposed to go to California. He said he knows somebody that could get us on as movie extras. You know, people in a crowd. That would be fun.”

“Star,” said Frank. “Can you tell us anything about Jay’s friends?”

She turned her head away and stared out the window at the night sky.

Diane took her hand. “Star, we need your help, if you can give it. We want very much to find the person who did this to your family.”

Star shifted her gaze to Diane. “You don’t believe I did it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Frank believes you, and I trust his judgment—and you aren’t tall enough.”

Frank jerked his head around to Diane. Star’s eyes grew round. “Not tall enough? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The person who shot your brother was taller than either you or Dean.”

“How do you know?” asked Star.

“The trajectory of the bullet. It was from a taller person, and you couldn’t have been standing uphill, because there isn’t a rise in the vicinity where Jay was shot.”

“If you know that, why don’t the police?” asked Star.

“Because right now, they don’t want to, and they will no doubt try to explain away the discrepancy. However, it’s there. Star, I can’t give you any words of comfort about the loss of your family. It’s a terrible thing that’s happened to you, but you can get though it and have a life. It’ll be slow progress and hard, but you have to keep your sights on the things you loved about them, not their deaths.”

Star looked away again, but Diane took her chin and turned her face back.

“Frank’s right—we’ll find out who did this. And even if you have to go to trial before we discover the real killer, you won’t be convicted. The detective made too many mistakes. She allowed the crime scene to be compromised and she’s overlooked important information. All they have is the fact that you took your mother’s gun a year ago and you had some coins in your possession, and that can be explained.”

“They were mine. You know that, don’t you, Uncle Frank?”

Frank nodded. “Your parents were holding them for your education. But yes, they were yours.”

Star’s face brightened. “They don’t really have anything, do they? I mean, the coins are mine and I took them weeks ago. Crystal’s lying about me like she always does. The gun too. Mom and Dad took the gun back a year ago and they locked it up.”

“No, they don’t have anything. But we need to ask you a few questions so we can help you. Will you answer them?”

Star nodded.

“Star,” said Frank. “We need to know why Jay was out that night. Do you know any friends he may have been meeting?”

Star frowned. “I don’t understand him being out either. He didn’t do things like that. He was mad at me because, since I was always the one in trouble, the burden was on him to be good. None of his friends that I know of would have been out either. But . . .”

“But what?” asked Frank.

“Jay liked to hang around older boys. He was really impressed by them. I mean, what kid isn’t? He may have friends that none of us knew about. I just don’t know. He was in the Scouts, he went to school, to church, and played soccer. His friends were in those places.”

“Jay never confided in you about who he liked to hang around with?” prodded Frank.

“I wasn’t around much lately to confide in. He liked to hunt and go camping. That kind of thing. Maybe his friends will talk to you.”

“If you think of anything, let me know,” said Frank.

A disembodied voice announced the end of visiting hours. Frank kissed Star on the cheek, and he and Diane left.

“You didn’t mention before about the height of the perp,” said Frank.

“It just dawned on me. I guess I’m slipping. I remember seeing the trajectory information on the autopsy report, and the lay of the land around the body suddenly dawned on me. Neither Star nor Dean is tall enough to have fired the shot that killed Jay.”

They left the hospital and Frank drove Diane back to her car at the museum. As she moved to open the door to get out, Frank leaned over and kissed her. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow evening. They’ll be taking Star back to the jail. And, well, both of us need a break.”

“That sounds good. Let’s wait and see how things go at the pit tomorrow. Maybe we can order in a pizza and watch TV or something.”

He kissed her again. “That sounds good too—maybe better.”

Diane got in her car and drove to her apartment and pulled into a parking space in front of the entrance. She got out, feeling like she’d left something undone at the museum and wondering how she was going to explain to the board about this current museum project. Community relations, perhaps. The thought made her smile. As she approached the steps and took out her key, she was hit hard in the stomach.

Diane fell to the ground, gasping for air. She tried to rise to her hands and knees and simultaneously catch her breath. A blur of motion carrying a heavy shoe with it kicked her hard in the side. Lightning pain shot through her body and the force knocked her backward off the sidewalk. She fell helplessly into a roll down the grassy slope into the dark. She couldn’t stop the momentum of her fall, tumbling until she crashed into bushes. Pushing herself to her feet, she tried to yell out. Her voice wouldn’t come out of her throat. Desperation and fear rushed over her as the sound of muffled footfalls ran toward her in the dark. She was consumed by the overwhelmingly urgent need to get away, to run—anywhere.

Two steps, she stumbled and rolled farther down the hill. Footsteps coming faster toward her. She pulled herself to her feet again and started running, looking for a weapon, anything, but it was too dark to see. Running, trying to go faster; something caught her clothes from behind, jerked her backward. Her legs collapsed under her. A strong arm slipped around her throat. She pushed up, kicked the legs behind her and grabbed at the arm around her neck, pulling at thick gloved fingers, prying them loose. She heard a muffled cry of pain close to her ear as she pulled a finger back hard. She tried clawing at eyes, but got only a handful of wool. She held on to it, hoping to blind him. She kicked and stomped at the legs behind her, twisting and turning, trying to free herself. She hit her mark half a dozen times and heard suppressed yelps. She bit down hard on the arm and got punched in the back.

A car door slammed—twice. Witnesses. Help. She tried to scream for help but was pushed to the ground, her face held hard in the grass for five seconds . . . ten . . . Then he was off her after one last knee in her ribs, and running away.

She staggered to her feet, almost blinded by pain, but ran after him, watching him run past parked cars, down the street, and turn up another street before she could resist the pain no more.

Help. She needed to find help. She stayed in the light and made her way, stumbling, holding her arms tightly folded across her stomach, back to her apartment building.

She made it to the door. Climbing the stairs, trying to get to her apartment, she realized her keys were in her purse and it was gone. Damn that son of a bitch. Her cell phone was gone with it. She stepped, half stumbling, back down the stairs to the first floor and banged on the landlady’s door.