Valerie Wolzien - Death In Duplicate

“Chrissy is trying to keep their stuff from taking over the house.”

Susan smiled. “Fat chance.”

Shannon didn’t return her smile. “Why are you letting me stay here if you knew about P.I.C.C.?”

“You’re such a good nurse. And I don’t believe you’re the murderer.”

“Yesterday you said you have discovered the identity of murderers in the past.”

“Yes,” Susan answered modestly.

“So you can tell who is a killer and who isn’t-that’s why you trust me?”

“No. I’m not psychic or anything. I just… I can figure things out. It started years ago-there was a murder inthe PTA. The police began an investigation immediately, of course. But they didn’t know anyone involved or the various groups or how things work in town. You could say I had inside information.”

“Like you have now. I mean, you knew Nadine and she told you about me.”

“Yes, I knew Nadine but not all that well. She only moved to town a few months ago.”

“And you’ve really found murderers.”

Susan nodded.

“It’s too bad you don’t live out on Perry. My life would be different if someone had figured out who killed our residents. And not just my life, the lives of others as well,” she added sadly.

The water began to simmer and Susan put the bottles in to warm. Ethan started to grizzle so she took him from Shannon ’s arms. Tucking his head underneath her chin, she began to walk about the room. Just as this movement had consoled her babies decades ago, Ethan settled down immediately. “What exactly happened on Perry Island? I remember hearing about some deaths in the nursing home there, but not many of the details.” She decided it was not the time to tell her that she had visited Perry Island only yesterday.

Shannon gently wiped a line of drool off Rosie’s chin before answering. “It’s hard to know where to begin.”

“At the beginning.” Susan was always willing to use a cliché if the circumstances required it.

“That’s just it. I’m not sure when the murders began or who was the first person to be killed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nursing homes aren’t like other places. The residents of nursing homes are old and many of them will die there, so when there is a death, no one thinks of murder. Death is just not all that unusual.”

Susan tried out the formula on her wrist before handing one bottle to Shannon and sitting down to offer the other to Ethan. “I understood that three people were killed.”

“Well, there were deaths that the coroner called murder, but there was one death right after I began working there that struck me as odd-well, not when it happened, but later when we knew about the other three. You see, the murders were all different. More than one method was used. That’s the reason no one knew what was happening at first. There was no pattern.”

Susan smiled down at the baby in her arms and thought how nice it was that he was too young to understand even one word of their conversation. “What do you remember about each death?”

“Everything!”

“Could you tell me about them?”

“I suppose… yes.”

“Why don’t you begin with the one that you didn’t realize was a murder at the time?” Susan said.

“Okay. It was Mr. Roper; we used to call him Mr. Reporter. That’s what he had been. He worked on a paper in California -I don’t remember which one-and he loved to talk about it. The good old days. You know, lots of the residents felt that way about the past and we tried to humor them.”

“Like calling him Mr. Reporter.”

“Exactly.”

“How did he die?”

“He was diabetic and his blood sugar got out of control and he went into shock. After he died, empty bourbon bottles were found in his locked drawer. Each resident had a locked dresser drawer although we never had any problems with theft, at least not while I was working there. Anyway, after they found the bottles, everyone assumed that he had drunk himself to death-not a terribly difficult thing to do if you have diabetes, a serious heart condition, and you’re almost a hundred years old.”

“But you didn’t believe that was the cause of his death?”

“I… it didn’t make sense. See, one night we-some of the younger staff-were having a little celebration for another nurse who had just gotten engaged. We had champagne and little cakes, but we weren’t getting drunk or anything. It was just a toast and a bite to eat and back to work. Anyway, Mr. Reporter was having trouble sleeping and he wandered down the hallway so we asked him to join us. And he did, but he refused any champagne or anything to eat. He said he hadn’t gotten to be as old as he was by ignoring doctor’s orders.”

“So you don’t think he drank?”

“Oh, it’s possible. I know that some alcoholics refuse to indulge in public and will drink only when they’re alone. But… well, everyone was surprised when the bottles were found. And we took good care of our residents. I don’t think something like that could have gone unnoticed.”

“How could he have died then?”

“It would have been possible for someone on the staff to either give him the wrong medication or withhold the proper meds and cause a serious imbalance in his blood sugar levels.”

“And then plant the bottles in his locked drawer?”

“Yes.”

“What about the lock?”

“There was a master key. It was kept in the office. Almost anyone could have gotten hold of it if they had wanted to.”

“Anyone on the staff or anyone at all?”

“Oh, I think just the staff…” She paused and rearranged Rosie’s arms, much to the baby’s dismay. “I guess… I mean, no one ever thought it might be a resident.”

“Why not? Were they so incapacitated that they couldn’t have killed someone, or taken the key and stashed empty bottles in that drawer?”

“No. We had residents who were quite…” She paused as if searching for the correct word.

“Spry?” Susan suggested.

“Spry and more. Most of the residents were elderly and many were incapacitated, but a few were perfectly able to… to do what you just described.”

“Were the residents ever considered suspects?”

“Not that I know of. Not seriously. The police questioned them of course, but one was the result of a lethal injection, one was suffocation, and… and another was pushed off the top of the building.” She shuddered. “That was Mrs. Hershman. I found her.”

“Was she the next person to die after Mr. Roper?” Susan asked.

“No, she was the last. The next person was Mr. Blake. He suffocated.”

“So everyone knew it was murder right away.”

“No, an accident. He was found tangled in his blankets. It sounds odd, but it could have been just one of those things-an old man thrashing around in the night. Anyway, no one thought of murder until Miss Breen died the very next day. She was a lovely lady, a retired school teacher-Latin. She had lived all over the world teaching in unusual places and she knew so many interesting people. P.I.C.C. was pretty out of the way, but she had lots of visitors, people she had taught mainly. Two of her students are now professors at Yale and it was one of them who went to the police and insisted on an investigation. If he had done it earlier, it might have stopped the murderer.”

“She was the one who died because of an injection?”

“Yes… There was no reason for her to have been given it at all, so once it was found in the body, everyone knew something was wrong. But the results of the autopsy didn’t get back until the afternoon of the day I found Mrs. Hershman.”

“Tell me about that.”

Shannon sighed. “She… She was… It was awful. It was late morning and I went outside to get some fresh air. P.I.C.C. was clean and it certainly didn’t smell the way some nursing homes do, but it was hot. Many of our residents had circulation problems of some sort and they all got chilled easily so the thermostats were always turned up way too high. Anyway, I went out to cool off and I found her. She was lying on the ground. Her arms and legs were in a weird position, but I just thought she had fallen down. I called to her and touched her gently on the shoulder, but she didn’t move. I thought maybe she was in shock so I took off my sweater and put it around her and ran back inside to get help. She was dead and… and it was obvious right away that she hadn’t just tripped and fallen down.”