S. Tooley - When the dead speak

“Naw. Can’t say that I do. He would have been the supervisor on the case.”

“Why does it say revise on the top page?” He flipped through the back pages. “Where’s the original?”

“Should be in there.”

Jake checked the file again. Only the revised report was there. “What about the two men who investigated the incident?”

“Simms and Beransky?” Charlie rubbed his dimpled chin. “Simms I believe was killed in a high speed chase several years after that. Beransky quit the force not too soon after. Beransky had been driving the squad car.”

“Could you make two copies of this sheet for me?” Jake handed the file back to Charlie with the page to be copied on top. He wanted one of the copies for Carl.

“You’re lucky you came today, Sam,” Benny said as he opened the door to the smaller examining room. “We’re shipping the body to his sister in D.C. this afternoon.”

“So soon?”

“I’ve delayed it for too long as it is.” Benny looked through the glass window to his office where an assistant stood with a stack of papers for him to sign. “You have fun. Let me know when you’re through.”

Once Benny left, Sam took her necklace off and looked down at the mummified remains that now lay on a metal gurney. Hap probably had been filled with a lot of hope when he had spoken with her father. If that truck driver hadn’t hit the overpass, Hap’s body might never have been found.

She pushed the necklace into Hap’s hand, the one that had held Hap’s pin. Immediately a sea of lightning bolt shapes floated in her mind. All shapes and sizes. She sensed fear. Hap’s fear. Then bodies, falling in succession. She heard footsteps running, ragged panting. She saw the smiling face in the picture, Hap’s face. She saw a man’s hands, lifting her onto his lap. She saw the shapes again, and this time, a hand drawing them. A small hand. A child’s hand. Her hand.

“I wish you had called first, Detective.” Mrs. Leland led Frank down the tiled hallway to Parker Smith’s room. Her uniform fit snugly over her robust figure. Frank could hear the sound of her nylons rubbing together as her inner thigh’s collided.

“I did call. The front desk told me Parker Smith was a resident here at Shady Pine Nursing Home.”

She made a face that said likely story. “If you had asked his condition, we would have told you Mr. Smith had a stroke three years ago. He hasn’t spoken a word. I don’t know how you plan to question him.”

They stepped into the sterile room. A poor attempt had been made to give the room some semblance of home… floral paintings, potted plants, a quilt thrown over a rocker. Nurse Leland walked over to the picture window and turned the wand on the mini-blinds to let in more sunlight.

“I don’t know why the nurse’s aide closes these blinds. Sunlight rejuvenates a person.” She motioned with her arms as though pumping iron. “Now, Mr. Smith. How are you doing today?” Her voice had increased in volume when she spoke. Walking over to the frail figure lying on the bed, she said, “You have color in your cheeks. Yes, you do.” She plumped up his pillow, cranked his bed to where he was more upright. “You have a visitor.” She motioned toward Frank.

Parker Smith showed no response. His glassy eyes stared straight ahead. The thin blanket covering him rose and fell with each breath.

“He’s not on a respirator?” Frank asked. He saw the wires leading to a machine that registered his heart rate and blood pressure.

“He eats, breathes. We’ve had a therapist work with him on speech, but, no luck. He does have some movement in his right hand. Recognizes his daughter… some days.” Looking down at Parker, Nurse Leland said, “I’m going to leave you with Detective Travis for a little bit.” She patted Parker’s arm and left the room.

Frank studied the man in front of him. The skin lay in folds where his muscles used to fill out his form. His gray hair was cut short. Pale blue eyes seemed bright against his pallid face.

Frank pulled up a chair and introduced himself. He watched for telltale reaction as he mentioned Hap Wilson’s name and Mushima Valley. There wasn’t a twitch, no flicker behind his vacant stare, no hint that Parker was understanding, much less hearing, what Frank was saying.

A cart rolled along the corridor stopping in front of the room. Visitors talked quietly as they passed, some pushing relatives in wheelchairs.

Frank stood up and pulled Hap’s pin out of his pocket. He held it up in front of Parker’s eyes, let the sunlight glisten off the shiny metal.

“Have you ever seen this pin, Mr. Smith?”

He thought he saw Parker’s right finger twitch. The monitor on the cart next to the bed showed an increase in Parker’s heart rate.

Second’s later, Nurse Leland came running in. “Is everything okay in here?”

Frank slipped the pin back into his pocket. “Sure. I did notice a change in his heart rate.”

“You betcha. The damn machine lit up like a Christmas tree.” She watched the monitor. “I don’t like the way his blood pressure is rising, though. I think you better leave now. This is a little too much excitement for one day.”

Moments after Frank left, Nurse Leland watched in awe as Parker started to cry uncontrollably. He emitted no sounds. His good arm shook, his hand clenched the side of the bed. His heart rate reached one hundred and ten. She made a frantic call to Doctor Chan, who prescribed a mild sedative.

An hour later when Nurse Leland checked on Parker Smith, she noticed he had pulled a pen off the nightstand and scrawled a simple note on his bed sheet. It said,

“Shhh, don’t say a word. Promise?”

The long cedar-colored tail whipped across the front seat. The Irish Setter cocked its head at Jake and padded restlessly across the front seat of Jake’s Buick Riviera. Strands of copper hair clung to the burgundy and gray cloth seats.

“Thanks,” Jake said picking up some of the hairs and flinging them out the window. “Now you’ll force me to clean my car.”

Jake snapped the leash on the dog and led it from the car. From the trunk, Jake hefted a bag of dog food. The Irish Setter sniffed along the driveway and the walkway toward the patio.

The sun was setting behind the tall willow trees. In the distance, Jake saw Alex kneeling in the grass fixing the brick edging around the birdbath. The dog spotted Alex at the same time and started pulling on the leash.

“You promised to remain quiet.” Jake unsnapped the leash. The dog took off.

“Hey, Poco.” Alex fell back on his rear as the dog jumped on him. “Where did you come from?”

Jake dropped the twenty-five pound bag of dog food on the ground. “She’s my thank you for doctoring my head.”

Alex looked toward the house. “Does Sam know?”

“It will probably be a week before she even discovers the dog.”

Alex rubbed the back of Poco’s neck as her tail whipped the air furiously. He looked up at Jake’s head, the gash that was starting to scab over.

“It is healing nicely.” Alex looked at Poco, then Jake. Jake detected a grunt as Alex turned to leave. Alex mumbled something about “now I get to clean up all the crap in the yard. Lucky me.” But it didn’t stop Alex from reaching down to pat Poco on the head as they walked away.

Jake smiled. Alex wasn’t exactly showering him with accolades or glowing in brotherly love. But it was a start.

Sam paced the length of the dining room table. Time on her hands, too much time. Tim was still working on the password. Frank hadn’t called from Elkhart and it was close to seven o’clock in the evening. She had no idea where Jake was, and Hap Wilson’s body was on its way back to D.C.