Sue Grafton - T Is For Trespass

After an exchange of pleasantries, she told me she was filling in for one of the investigators usually assigned to evaluate cases of suspected abuse. As she spoke, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. She went on to say she’d talked to her supervisor who’d asked her to do the preliminary interviews. Any follow-up queries deemed necessary would be referred back to one of the regular investigators.

So far it sounded reasonable, and I was politely nodding away like a bobble-head doggie on an auto dashboard. Then, as though by extrasensory perception, I started hearing sentences she hadn’t actually said. I felt a small thrill of fear. I knew for a pluperfect fact she was going to drop a bomb.

She took a manila folder from her briefcase and opened it on her lap, sorting through her papers. “Now my findings,” she said. “First of all, I want to tell you how much we value the call you made…”

I found myself squinting. “This is bad news, isn’t it?”

Startled, she laughed. “Oh, no. Far from it. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I talked to Mr. Vronsky at length. Our procedure is to make an unannounced visit so the caretaker won’t have an opportunity to set the scene, so to speak. Mr. Vronsky wasn’t ambulatory, but he was alert and forthcoming. He did seem emotionally fragile and in moments, he was disoriented, none of which was surprising in a man of his age. I asked him a number of questions about his relationship with Mrs. Rojas, and he had no complaints. In fact, quite the contrary. I asked him about his bruises…”

“Solana was present through all of this?”

“Oh, no. I asked her to give us time alone. She had work to do so she went about her business while we chatted. Later I talked to her separately as well.”

“But she was in the house?”

“Yes, but not in the same room.”

“That’s happy news. I trust you kept my name out of it.”

“That wasn’t necessary. She said you told her you were the one who called.”

I stared at her. “You’re kidding me, right?”

She hesitated. “You didn’t tell her it was you?”

“No, dear, I didn’t. I’d have to be out of my mind to do such a thing. First words out of her mouth and she’s bullshitting you. That was a fishing expedition. She made an educated guess and looked to you for confirmation. Bingo.”

“I didn’t confirm anything and I certainly didn’t tell her who called. She mentioned your name in the context of the dispute because she wanted to set the record straight.”

“I’m not following.”

“She said the two of you had an argument. She says you distrusted her from the moment she was hired so you were constantly on her case, coming over uninvited to check up on her.”

“That’s crap for starters. I’m the one who did the background investigation that cleared her for the job. What else did she tell you? I’d be fascinated to hear.”

“I probably shouldn’t be repeating this, but she mentioned that the day you saw Mr. Vronsky’s bruises, you accused her of hurting him and threatened to call the authorities to file a complaint.”

“She invented that story to discredit me.”

“Perhaps there was a misunderstanding between the two of you. I’m not here to judge. It’s not our job to mediate in situations like this.”

“Situations such as what?”

“People sometimes call when a question comes up about patient care. Usually it’s a disagreement between family members. In an effort to prevail…”

“Look, there was no disagreement. We never had a conversation on the subject at all.”

“You didn’t go to Mr. Vronsky’s house a week ago to help her get him out of the shower?”

“Yes, but I didn’t accuse her of anything.”

“But wasn’t it after that incident you called the agency?”

“You know when it was. You’re the person I spoke to. You said the call was confidential and then you gave her my name.”

“No, I didn’t. Mrs. Rojas brought it up. She said you told her you were the one who turned her in. I never responded one way or the other. I would never breach confidentiality.”

I slouched down on my spine, my swivel chair squeaking in response. I’d been screwed and I knew it, but I couldn’t keep pounding on the same point. “Skip it. This is dumb. Just get on with it,” I said. “You spoke to Gus and then what?”

“After I spoke with Mr. Vronsky, I had a conversation with Mrs. Rojas and she gave me some of the specifics of his medical status. She talked about his bruises in particular. His anemia was diagnosed when he was in the hospital, and while his blood count’s improved, he’s still prone to bruising. She showed me the lab reports, which were consistent with her claim.”

“So you don’t believe he’s being physically abused.”

“If you’ll bear with me, I’m getting to that. I also talked to Mr. Vronsky’s primary-care physician and the orthopedist who treated him for his shoulder injury. They say his physical condition’s stable, but he’s frail and unable to manage on his own. Mrs. Rojas said when she was hired, he was living in such filth she had to get a Dumpster…”

“What’s that have to do with it?”

“There are also questions about his mental competence. He hasn’t paid his bills in months and his doctors both feel he lacks the capacity to give informed consent for his medical treatment. He’s also unable to see to his daily needs.”

“Which is why she’s able to take advantage of him. Don’t you get that?”

Her expression became prim, nearly stern. “Please let me finish.” She shifted some papers uneasily. Her earnestness returned as though she were moving on to a far brighter note. “What I hadn’t realized, and you may not have been aware of this yourself, is that Mr. Vronsky’s situation has already come to the attention of the court.”

“The court? I don’t understand.”

“A petition for appointment of a temporary conservator was filed a week ago, and after an emergency hearing a private professional conservator was assigned to manage his affairs.”

“A ‘conservator’?” I felt like a half-witted parrot, repeating her words, but I was too astonished to do much else. I sat upright and leaned toward her, gripping the edge of the desk. “A conservator? Are you nuts?”

I could tell she was flustered because half of the papers slid from her manila folder and spilled out across the floor. In haste, she bent down and swept them into a pile, trying to talk while she gathered everything together. “It’s like a legal guardian, someone to oversee his health care and his finances…”

“I know what the word means. I’m asking you who? And if you tell me it’s Solana Rojas, I’ll blow my brains out.”

“No, no. Not at all. I have the woman’s name right here.” She looked down at her notes, her hands shaking as she turned pages right side up and arranged them in rough order. She licked an index finger and sorted through the file until she found what she was looking for. She picked up the paper and turned it toward me as she read the name. “Cristina Tasinato.”

“Who?”

“Cristina Tasinato? She’s a private professional…”

“You said that! When did this happen?”

“Late last week. I’ve seen the paperwork myself and it was properly executed. Ms. Tasinato worked through an attorney and she put up a bond, which she’s required to do by law.”

“Gus doesn’t need some stranger stepping in to take charge of his life. He has a niece in New York. Didn’t anyone talk to her? She must have some rights in this.”

“Of course. Under probate law, a relative has priority when it comes to an appointment as conservator. Mrs. Rojas mentioned the niece. Evidently, she spoke to her on three separate occasions, describing his condition and begging her to help. Ms. Oberlin couldn’t spare the time. Mrs. Rojas felt a conservator was imperative to Mr. Vronsky’s well-being…”