“Charming an old lady out of her money and possessions,” Duckworth said. “Maybe you can work on that story, too.” He smiled. “Be back in a bit.”
He headed back across the street. As he started up the driveway to the Gaffney house, Constance Gaffney emerged, grim-faced, from a side door of the garage behind the house.
“Hello, Detective,” she said, trying to break into a welcoming smile.
He tipped his head. “Mrs. Gaffney.”
“Brian’s not here,” she said quickly. “My husband’s not here, either. Sorry. Do you want to come back later?”
“Where’s Brian?” he asked.
“He’s back in the hospital,” she said.
“Back?” Duckworth asked. “You mean he was discharged, but he was readmitted?”
She blinked. “Um, he left yesterday. Like, on his own. He just walked out. He shouldn’t have, but he did. And then he got hurt, so—”
“Brian got hurt?”
Constance Gaffney opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.
“Mrs. Gaffney? You said Brian got hurt.”
“It was nothing. I just meant, his back hurts. You know, from all the needles or whatever went into it.”
“It sounded like you were going to say he got hurt when he left the hospital.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head furiously. “No, no. I meant he was hurting himself by leaving the hospital.”
Duckworth nodded slowly. He was thinking he didn’t need to have been a cop for as long as he had to spot when someone was lying. A patrolman his first day on the job could see that Constance Gaffney wasn’t telling the truth.
“I guess I’ll drop by the hospital, then,” he said.
“Okay,” she said.
“Though I might as well ask you what I was going to ask him,” he added.
“I’m sure I won’t know,” Constance said.
“You might want to wait until I’ve asked the question.”
“Well, yes, okay. What is it?”
“You ever heard the name Cory Calder?”
“Cory who?”
“Calder.”
“Who’s that?”
“Do you recognize the name?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t. Should I?”
“Not necessarily,” he said.
“Who is he?”
“I’d really like to ask your husband if he’s heard of him.”
“Well, if I haven’t heard of him, I’m sure my husband hasn’t.”
That prompted a grin from Duckworth. “You’re sort of mentally connected, are you?”
She laughed nervously. “No, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t know who he is.”
“Mrs. Gaffney, are you okay?”
“Am I okay?”
Duckworth nodded.
“Of course I’m not okay,” she said, suddenly indignant. “How could I be okay when Brian is in the hospital, when someone has done something so horrible to him? How could anyone be okay at a time like this? And how are we going to get that mess off his back? I’ve heard they can remove those things, but it must be awfully painful. They use lasers or something. I was looking it up on the Internet. It’s horrible, just horrible.”
She stopped abruptly, as though something had just occurred to her.
“What was the name again?”
“Cory Calder.”
“Do you — are you thinking he’s the man who did it?”
“We want to talk to him,” Duckworth said.
“What does that mean? Does that mean you suspect him? Is that what that means?”
“He’s what we would call a person of interest.”
Constance’s hands were shaking. She linked them together to make them stop. “Are you sure there wasn’t another name? Another person of interest?”
“That’s the only name I have at the moment. Why? Were you expecting me to mention someone else?”
“No!” she said. “Why would I? It’s just, this person of interest, as you call him, he might not have acted alone. He might have had help.”
“That’s possible. As I said, I’d like to bounce that name off your husband, too,” Duckworth said.
“I told you, he’s not here.”
“Does he carry a phone?”
“Why don’t I ask him about this Cal Colby when he gets home, and if he recognizes the name, I’ll have him call you.”
“Cory Calder,” Duckworth said. “Not Cal Colby.”
A nervous titter escaped her lips. “Right.” She was looking over Duckworth’s shoulder at the house opposite. “I guess Mrs. Beecham’s moving out,” she said. “Maybe she’s going into a nursing home.”
“I wonder,” Duckworth said. He was about to turn and look across the street when something else caught his eye.
“Mrs. Gaffney, are you sure your husband isn’t home?”
“Hmm?”
“I thought I saw someone in that window.” He pointed to one of the small, square windows set into the garage door.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I was just in there. I took out the trash.” She forced a laugh. “I think if he’d been in there I would have seen him. Soon as I go into the house, I’ll call him, find out where he is, and have him call you. Would that be okay?”
Duckworth said slowly, “I guess that would be fine, Mrs. Gaffney. I appreciate your—”
That was when they both heard the shrieking. Not from the garage, but from across the street. Eleanor Beecham, struggling to support herself in the doorway of her home, was crying, “No! No! What are you doing? Stop it! Stop it!”
Harvey Spratt and the other man emerged from the back of the van, heading back to the house. Mrs. Beecham had both hands on one side of the doorframe, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from sliding down. Norma appeared behind her.
Duckworth said, “Shit.” He glanced both ways before running across the street, reaching into his jacket for his phone along the way.
When Harvey saw the detective, he went slack-jawed. He said something to the other man that Duckworth couldn’t hear. Norma was struggling to get the woman to her feet, saying, “For God’s sake, Mrs. Beecham, didn’t I tell you to stay downstairs?”
Duckworth, panting, said into his phone, “It’s Detective Duckworth, Promise Falls Police. I need an ambulance.” He barked out the address, resisted any further questions, and was slipping the phone back into his pocket as he reached the front door.
“Mrs. Beecham,” he said.
“She’s fine!” Norma said, pulling the elderly woman to her feet, holding her under the arms. “There’s nothing going on here!”
“Who’s that?” the old woman asked, pointing a leathery finger at the man who’d been helping Harvey load furniture.
The man said, “Hey, I’m just buyin’ some stuff.”
Duckworth said to Mrs. Beecham, “Did you give these people permission to sell your things?”
“No! I heard all this racket and I climbed up the stairs and everything’s gone!”
“She doesn’t understand,” Norma said.
“Why don’t you explain it to me?” Duckworth asked her.
“We’re helping her,” the woman insisted. “We’re getting her ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Norma ran her tongue over her lip. “To go to the facility.”
“What facility?” the old woman asked.
“Yeah, what facility?” Duckworth echoed.
“It’s in Albany,” Norma said. “Pine Acres.”
“Show me the paperwork.”
“Paperwork?”
“Give me a name,” Duckworth said. “Whoever does the admissions.” When Norma hesitated, he said, “Okay, I see what’s going on here.”
“Can I load this stuff or what?” the man asked.
Duckworth said to him, “What’d you pay for all these things you’re taking?”
“Two grand,” he said.
Duckworth said to Harvey, “Give him his money back.”
“No way,” Harvey said. “You got no business interfering in a private transaction.”