The smell, even stronger up here. The generic chemical reek, mixed with vomitus, fecal stench, sick sweat, and a host of odors he couldn’t identify.
His skin had turned clammy, and another attack of imbalance nearly doubled him over. He stopped midway up the corridor, pressed a palm against the fuzzy wallpaper, breathed in, out, in, out. Felt light-headed but a little better, and kept going to 214.
Open door. He went in and closed it behind him. The man on the bed had tubes running in and out of his nose and arms. A bank of monitors above his pillow proved he was alive. Catheter hosing trailed from under the sheets to a bottle on the floor filled with amber fluid.
The Navy said CPO Donald Arthur Murphy (ret.) was sixty-nine years old but this guy looked a hundred.
Stahl checked the patient’s wrist bracelet. D.A. MURPHY, the correct birth date.
His own heart pounding, he forced his way past the anxiety and studied the man on the bed. Erna’s father had a withered, triangular face topped by dry, wild white hair. A few of the hairs bore the remnants of their original color: a faint ginger at the roots. Murphy’s hands were large and thick and liver-spotted. His nose was a mass of gin blossoms. His toothless mouth had collapsed.
Eyes closed. Still as a mummy. No respiration Stahl could make out, but the monitors said otherwise.
He said, “Mr. Murphy?”
No reaction from the body on the bed or the equipment.
All the effort for nothing. He stood there, wondering who to talk to when another wave of vertigo hit him and a full-body sweat washed over him like hard surf- too strong to control, shit, this one was going to get him.
He spotted a chair. Made it over just in time. Closed his eyes…
A foghorn brought him out of it.
“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing here?”
Stahl’s eyes opened, traveled to the clock above the medical monitors. He’d been out for just a few minutes.
“Answer me,” demanded the same voice. Brassy, female- a blaring tuba of a voice.
He turned, faced the source.
Older woman- mid to late sixties. Big, broad-shouldered, heavyset.
Her face was a near-perfect sphere, topped by a puffy, sprayed bulb of champagne-colored waves. Made up heavily, way too much rouge and eye shadow. Burgundy lipstick did little to enhance her rubbery lips. She wore a grass green knit suit that had to be expensive, with big crystal buttons and white piping on the lapels. Too tight for her linebacker’s frame, she seemed to be bursting out of it. Matching shoes and purse. Crocodile purse with massive rhinestone clasp. The rock on her sausagelike ring finger was no rhinestone. Blinding white, humongous. Diamond earrings, a pair of stones in each. A string of huge black pearls encircled a turkey-ringed neck.
“Well?” she blared. Glaring down at him as she planted both hands on barn-wide hips. Another massive ring sparkled from her right hand. Emerald solitaire even bigger than the diamond. Enough jewelry on her to finance Stahl’s retirement several times over.
“I’m going to call Security, right now.” Her jowls shook, and her bosoms expressed sympathy.
Stahl’s head hurt; the sound of that merciless voice was ground glass in an open sore. He fumbled in his pocket, flashed the badge.
“You’re the police?” she said. “Then what in blazes were you doing sleeping in Donald’s room?”
“Sorry, ma’am. Not feeling well. I sat down to catch my breath, must’ve passed out for a second-”
“If you’re sick, then you certainly shouldn’t be here. Donald’s very ill. You’d better not have given him anything. This is outrageous!”
Stahl got to his feet. No more vertigo. Annoyance at having to deal with this battle-ax had vanquished his anxiety.
Interesting…
He said, “What relationship do you and Mr. Murphy have?”
“No, no, no.” A finger wagged. Diamonds glinted. “You tell me why you’re here.”
“Mr. Murphy’s daughter was murdered,” said Stahl.
“Erna?”
“You knew her?”
“Knew her? I’m her aunt. Donald’s baby sister. What happened to her?” Irritated, demanding, not a trace of sympathy. Or shock.
“You’re not surprised?” said Stahl.
“Young man, Ernadine was psychiatrically disturbed, had been for years. Donald had no contact with her, nor had I. No one in the family had.” She regarded the man on the bed. “As you can see, there’s no point in bothering Donald.”
“How long has he been this way?”
Her expression said, What’s it to you? “Months, young man, months.”
“Coma?”
The woman laughed. “You must be a detective.”
“What’s wrong with him, Ms…”
“Mrs. Trueblood. Alma F. Trueblood.”
Murphy’s baby sister. Stahl couldn’t imagine this one ever being small.
He said, “Ma’am, is there anything you can tell me about-”
“No,” snapped Alma Trueblood.
“Ma’am, you didn’t hear the question.”
“Don’t need to. There’s nothing I can tell you about Ernadine. As I just said, she’s been disturbed for years. Her death was a long time coming, if you ask me. Living on the street, like that. Donald hadn’t seen her in years. You’ll just have to take my word on that.”
“How many years?”
“Many. They lost contact.”
“You say her death was a long time coming?”
“I certainly do. Ernadine refused help, went her own way. Lived on the streets. She was always a strange little girl. Wild, sullen, odd habits- strange eating habits- chalk, dirt, spoiled food. She picked at her hair, walked around in circles talking to herself. Drew pictures all day but had not a whit of talent.”
Alma Trueblood drew herself up. “I never liked having her around. She was a bad influence on my children and I must tell you, Officer, I won’t have the family drawn into anything sordid.”
“Wow,” said Stahl.
“What is that supposed to mean, young man?”
“You seem pretty angry.”
“I am not angry! I am protective. My brother needs protection-look at him. First his heart, then his liver and his kidneys. Everything’s failing. I’m footing the bill for this place, and, believe me, it adds up to a pretty penny. If I wasn’t, Donald would end up in some Veterans Affairs hospital. No, I won’t hear of that. The Good Lord’s been kind to me, and my big brother will rest here for however long it takes. Now, don’t think me cruel. I regret hearing about Ernadine. However, she left the family years ago, and I won’t have her ruining things.”
“Ruining things by dying?”
“By… associating us with whatever sordid life she led. We- my husband and I, William T. Trueblood- are well respected in the community. We endow many worthy causes, and I won’t have Mr. Trueblood’s name dragged into anything unsavory. Is that clear?”
“Very.”
“I’ll thank you to leave, then.” Alma Trueblood popped the clasp on the green croc purse, offering Stahl a view of the contents. Lots of stuff inside, but everything neatly arranged- parcels wrapped in filmy tissue paper. First time he’d seen a purse that organized.
“Ever spend time in the military, Mrs. Trueblood?”
“Why would you ask that? Ridiculous.” Thick fingers probed the bottom of the purse, found a small gold case that she opened. Out came a cream-colored calling card. “Have someone inform me as to Ernadine’s burial arrangements. I’ll be footing the bill. Of course. Good day, young man.”