The Med-E-Mart was one of half a dozen big-box retail stores in a power centre on Laird south of Eglinton. There was also a supermarket, a sporting goods store, an office supplies emporium, a hardware giant and a government liquor store. Jay got out at the curb in front of his store and leaned in to say something to Lucas, then held out his palm for a low five. He didn’t get one. After a long moment, he withdrew his hand and straightened with a look on his face that struggled between contrition and anger.
As his wife pulled away from the curb, I watched Jay Silver put on his heavy brown jacket, perhaps to cover the sweat stains on his shirt, and trudge into his place of business.
CHAPTER 12
B eacon’s business-services database showed that Jay Silver was the sole owner of Med-E-Mart. No partners to want him dead. It didn’t seem he had ever gone bankrupt or stiffed anyone. What could he have done to deserve the horrible death someone intended for him, this civilian in a clean white smock? Given someone the wrong medication? Diluted it, like the one who’d been caught in Kansas? Could someone have died because of a mistake he’d made?
“Hey, Jonah, quit breathing so goddamn loud.” I turned to see Franny cruising in at ten to ten, looking worse than he had the day before. “I got twenty guys in my head with jack-hammers going. You got something for a headache?”
Yesterday’s shirt had a few new wrinkles and a brownish stain just under the collar. His pompadour was at less than its majestic best. I said, “Sorry. Ask Jenn when she gets back.”
“My notes typed yet?”
“Been home yet?”
Franny winked. “What’s home, eh, but the place I lay my head? Chalice, I’d rather be where I can lay LaReine. That woman could crush coal between her thighs and turn out diamonds.”
“That would account for your headache.”
“Very funny. Listen, do me a favour.”
I handed Franny the transcript of his interview with Errol Boyko. “Another one, you mean.”
“Don’t worry, when you start getting cases again I’m gonna be there for you, you’ll see.”
“What now?”
He scribbled a note on a scratch pad, tore it off and handed it to me. “This is the lady from the ministry who recommended Meadowvale to Boyko.”
“Darlene Tunney.”
“Yeah, like the fighter. Ask her if they’ve been in trouble before.”
“I thought you were looking into that part.”
“I was going to, only I have a breakfast meeting.”
“Looking like that?”
“It’s with LaReine, she won’t care.”
“Franny, you just got in.”
“Exactly my point. Who’s had time for breakfast?”
Darlene Tunney answered her phone in a thin, nasal voice that carried that air of unfounded authority favoured by provincial bureaucrats.
“Ms. Tunney, this is Jonah Geller from Beacon Security. I’m looking for information about a nursing home in Ontario.”
“Have you tried our website? It has everything you need to help you choose the right home for your loved one.”
“I’m not looking to place anyone.”
“No?”
“We’ve been asked to look into the death of a resident at a nursing home called Meadowvale.”
“We?”
“Yes. Beacon Security.”
“By whom?”
“That’s confidential.”
“So are our files, I’m afraid.”
“But you’re familiar with Meadowvale?”
“I know the place.”
“Our client suspects a resident was mistreated in some way.”
“How?”
“Possibly deprived of her medication.”
“Intentionally?”
“Yes.”
“That’s an extraordinary allegation. Has he filed a complaint?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Well, I thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mister…”
“Geller. Jonah Geller.”
“And the name of your firm again?”
“Beacon Security.”
“Well, thank you again and I will forward a note immediately to our investigations unit.”
“Can you copy me on that?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Copy me on the memo. For our files.”
“I’m sorry, we don’t share that type of communications externally.”
“Can you at least tell me if any similar complaints about Meadowvale have been filed.”
“No.”
“No you can’t tell me, or no there haven’t been any?”
“No, I can’t tell you about any complaint unless it has been formally resolved.”
“So have any been resolved regarding Meadowvale in the past?”
“No. I was just looking at their file and I would have noted any infractions or substantiated complaints.”
“Why?”
“Why would I have noted them?”
“Why were you looking at the file?”
“Mr. Geller, this is an office of the government of Ontario, not some shoeshine stand where detectives pick up tips. If your client is prepared to file a complaint, we will look into it.”
“You said you were going to look into it anyway.”
“And I will. Good after-”
“A woman died,” I cut in.
“An elderly woman,” Tunney said. “In a nursing home. It happens every day. And when it does, the people who placed them there feel guilty. They look for someone to blame. Between you and me, I think your client is wasting your time.”
“It’s his time. He paid for it.”
“Well, it’s my time too, and we’re very busy here,” she said. “Everyone’s taking summer holidays and we’re severely understaffed.”
“Could you at least tell me why you recommend Meadowvale to clients?”
She sighed impatiently. “Meadowvale is one of many facilities I recommend, depending on the client’s needs. Now either file a complaint or don’t. Until then I have nothing else to say.”
Her voice was replaced by a dialtone. For warmth and humanity, it had her beat by a mile.
CHAPTER 13
The mission statement of the Vista Mar Care Group was heavy on saccharine but vague on specifics. Vista Mar had thirteen facilities across Ontario, according to its Internet home page. There were photos of each, along with links to testimonials from satisfied families. Meadowvale was by far the largest of the Vista Mar homes and the most recently acquired.
Along the home page’s top banner were two icons: “About Us” and “Contact Us.” I tried “About Us” first. I found the bio of the president and chief executive officer, one Steven Stone, aged thirty-two. He had earned a B. Comm. at York University, then took his MBA at the Richard Ivey School of Business at the University of Western Ontario. He founded Vista Mar a year after graduating.
Two years younger than me and the CEO of a sprawling corporation, while my current claim to corporate fame was being sole proprietor of an ass in a sling.
Also listed was the company’s medical director, Paul Bader. Since earning his medical degree at McMaster University in Hamilton, he had worked at a number of geriatric facilities. Quite a number, in fact, given the year he had completed his studies. He had moved around a lot before joining Vista Mar.
When I clicked “Contact Us,” an electronic business card popped up on screen: Alice Stockwell, director of administration and corporate secretary. I dialled her number and listened to it ring several times, hoping it would go to voice mail so I could hang up and pass the baton back to Franny. It was time for him to pull his head out of his ass and do his own work so I could turn my attention back to Jay Silver.
But on the fourth ring a woman answered in a cool, professional tone. “Alice Stockwell here.”
“Good morning,” I said. “My name is Jonah Geller and I’m an investigator with Beacon Security. I’d like to ask you a few questions about a case we’re working on.”
“Just a moment.” I was put on hold for about a minute before she returned. I wondered if she had had to ask permission to talk to me, or perhaps had set up a recording. She said, “All right, Mr. Geller. What’s this about?”