David Baldacci - The Forgotten

“Why only three days a week?”

“Betsy wanted to retain her independence, I guess. And a full-time caregiver isn’t cheap. And Medicare really doesn’t cover that unless you’re in far worse shape than Betsy was, and even then they don’t cover the entire expense. Betsy never seemed to be hurting for money, but folks of our generation, we’re frugal. Jane also helps me as well. Twice a week.”

“You look pretty independent.”

“She runs errands, takes care of Sadie when I’m gone. She’s a great physical therapist and all those years of baking left me a permanent pretzel, particularly in my hands.”

“You have her contact info?”

Cookie presented him with another business card. “I have hundreds of them. People in Florida pass them out like candy. The elderly are a service industry’s best customers. We all have stuff that we can’t do ourselves anymore, but that still needs doing.”

“Okay, so back to that morning?”

“I walked to the fence between our properties and called out her name. I didn’t get an answer, so I left my backyard, walked over, and knocked on her front door. I didn’t expect her to get up and race to the door if she was in bed, but I thought maybe she might call out. Her bedroom is on the first floor.”

“I know,” said Puller. “Go on.”

“Well, there was no answer at the front door, so I decided to go into her backyard and get into the house that way. I was hoping nothing had happened to her, but in our neighborhood we’ve had people die before and they haven’t been found for some time. At our ages, your ticker can just stop and down you go.”

“I guess that’s true,” said Puller. He kept his gaze on the man, willing him to pick up the pace and get to what he really needed to know.

“I managed to open the gate latch and stepped into the backyard. I was looking at the door as I came around the corner of the house. I almost didn’t look in the direction of her little fountain pool, but luckily I did. I couldn’t see it from where my deck is situated, you see. But now I could.”

Puller stopped him there. “Okay, if you could just take it one step at a time. Tell me everything you saw, smelled, heard.”

Puller had taken out a notebook and Cookie looked at it anxiously. “The police told me it was an accident.”

“The police might be right. Then again, they might be wrong.”

“So you came down to investigate?”

“I came down to see my aunt. When I found out she was dead, I paid my respects. Then I switched to investigation mode to make sure she didn’t leave this world against her wishes.”

Cookie gave a little shudder and continued. “I saw her lying in the fountain pool. It’s only about two feet deep. You’d think no one could drown in it. But she was facedown, her entire head was underwater.”

“Which way was she facing?”

“Her head was pointed toward the house.” “Arms outstretched or by her side?”

Cookie considered this for a few moments, obviously trying to picture the scene in his mind. “Right arm outstretched and over top of the stone surround. Her left arm was by her side.” “Her legs?”

“Splayed.”

“Her walker?”

“On the ground on the right side of the pool.” “What did you do next?”

“I ran over to her. At that point I didn’t know if she was dead or alive. I kicked off my sandals and walked directly into the water. I grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her head out of the water.”

Puller thought about this. Cookie had wrecked the crime scene. He had to do it, because like he’d said, he didn’t know if Betsy was still alive. Crime scenes could be legitimately tainted by first responders trying to save lives. That trumped even preserving evidence. In this case, unfortunately, it had been for naught.

“But she wasn’t?”

Cookie shook his head. “I’ve seen a few dead people in my life. Not just at funerals and such. Smoke inhalation killed my little sister over fifty years ago. One of my best friends drowned in a pond when we were teenagers. Betsy’s face was deathly white. Her eyes were open, her mouth hung loosely. There was no pulse, no sign of life.” “Foam around the mouth?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Were her limbs stiff or supple?”

“They seemed a little stiff.”

“But just a little?”

“Yes.”

“Upper arms stiff or supple?”

“Stiff. But her hands seemed normal, if cold.” “What did you do then?”

“I set her back down exactly as I had found her. I watch a lot of CSI and NCIS. I know you’re not supposed to mess with the area where a body is found. Then I went back to my house and called the police. They showed up about five minutes later. A man and a woman.”

“Landry and Hooper?”

“Yes, that’s right. How did you know that?” “Long story. Were you around when they went over the scene?”

“No. They took my statement and then asked me to go back to my house, and to stay there in case they had any other questions. Other police cars showed up and then I saw a woman with a medical bag drive up, get out, and go into the backyard.”

“Medical examiner,” said Puller.

“Right. Then a black hearse arrived a few hours later. I watched them bring Betsy out on a gurney with a white sheet over her. They put her in the hearse and it drove off.”

Cookie sat back, obviously exhausted and saddened by retelling the story. “I’m really going to miss her.”

“Did she still drive? I saw the car in the garage.”

“Not really. I mean, I hadn’t seen her out in the car in a while.”

“But she was still capable of driving?”

“I would say no. Her legs were weak and her reflexes were shot. Her spine was bent. I’m not sure how she dealt with the pain.” He paused. “Come to think of it, she did go out the day before I found her. I saw Jerry drive up.”

“Jerry?”

“Jerry Evans. He has a car service. I’ve used him. He picked Betsy up around six in the evening and she was back around thirty minutes later.”

“Short trip. Any idea where she went?”

“Yep. I asked Jerry. He said to mail a letter.” Puller knew it was the letter. “Why not just put it in the mailbox out front?”

“Our mail comes early here. Jerry said the box she used had a later pickup. It would go out that night.”

Puller thought , She mailed a letter. And a bit later she was dead.

Before Puller could even ask, Cookie handed him a business card with Jerry’s name and number on it.

“Thanks. Did she often go into the backyard at night by herself?”

“She liked to sit on the bench by the fountain pool. Usually during the day. To catch the sunlight. I’m not the best person to ask about what she did later at night. She normally went to bed long before I did. I like to get out and about. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but anyone in their seventies is considered a ‘young’un’ down here. We’re supposed to go out at night and party hearty.”

“Did you notice anything suspicious the night before you found her? People, sounds, anything?”

“I was out visiting friends across town so I probably wouldn’t have seen anything. I got home late. Everything seemed normal.”

“Was she dressed in her pajamas or regular clothes?”

“Regular clothes.”

“So the probability was she died the night before. She hadn’t been to bed.”

Cookie nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Over the last few days leading up to my aunt’s death, did she talk to you about anything she was concerned about?”

“Like what?” Cookie asked, looking curious. “Anything out of the ordinary. Did she mention a person? An event? Something she’d seen, perhaps at night?”