The Innocent

“I haven’t done anything wrong, if that’s what you’re implying. But who comes into banks anymore to do stuff? It’s all online. I’ll be here for about eight hours today and I’ll see maybe two people. How much longer do you think they’re going to pay me to do that? There’s a reason banks have all the money. They’re cheap as hell. Writing’s on the wall. World has changed. And I guess I haven’t changed fast enough. Maybe I will end up carrying a rifle in the desert. What else is there for a guy my age? I can be a fat mercenary. But I’ll die the first day out there.”

“Well, thanks for your help.”

“Yeah,” Siegel said absently.

Robie left him there looking like he’d already received a death sentence.

CHAPTER 83

They pulled into the parking lot of Central Hospice Care twenty minutes later. There were about fifteen cars in the parking lot. As they drove through the lot, Robie examined each one to see if they were occupied.

He pulled into a space and looked at Vance. “You want to do this one or should I?”

Julie said, “I want to go in.”

“Why?” asked Robie.

“She fought with him. Maybe she knew something about my dad.”

“She’s probably not in much condition to talk,” said Vance.

“Then why are we even here?” asked Julie.

Robie said, “I’ll take her in with me. You keep watch.”

“You sure?” asked Vance.

“No, but I’m doing it anyway.”

He and Julie walked into the hospice building, a two-story brick structure with lots of windows and a cheery atmosphere inside. It did not look like a place where people would come to see their lives end. Maybe that was the point.

The flash of Robie’s creds got them escorted back to Elizabeth Van Beuren’s room. It was as cheery as the rest of the place, with flowers grouped on tables and on the windowsill. Light streamed in from outside. A nurse was checking on Van Beuren. When she moved away, Robie’s hopes for any personal information from the critically ill woman sank.

She looked like a skeleton and was on a ventilator, the machine inflating her lungs via a tube inserted down her throat, with another tube bleeding off that to carry away toxic carbon dioxide. There was also a feeding tube inserted into her abdomen, and multiple IV lines running to her. Bags of medication hung from an IV stand.

The nurse turned to them. “Can I help you?”

“We just came to ask Ms. Van Beuren some questions,” said Robie. “But it doesn’t look like that’s possible.”

“She was put on the ventilator six days ago,” said the nurse. “She comes in and out. She’s on heavy painkillers.” The nurse patted her patient’s hand. “She’s a real sweetheart. She was in the Army. It’s just awful it’s come to this.” She paused. “What sort of questions did you have?”

Robie pulled out his creds. “I’m with the DOD. We were just making some inquiries into a military matter and her name came up as a possible source of information.”

“I see. Well, I don’t think she’ll be of much help. She’s in the last stages of her disease.”

Robie studied the ventilator and the monitoring systems hooked up to the shriveled woman lying in the bed. “So the ventilator is helping to keep her alive?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Julie, who was staring at Van Beuren.

“But she’s in hospice,” said Robie.

The nurse looked uncomfortable. “There are many levels of hospice. It’s all in what the patient or their family want.” She looked down at the woman. “But it won’t be long, ventilator or not.”

“So the ventilator is what the family wanted?” asked Robie.

“I’m really not at liberty to say. Those matters are private. And I can’t see what this would have to do with any military inquiry,” she added with some annoyance.

Julie had wandered over to the windowsill and had picked up a photo. “Is this her family?”

The nurse looked curiously at Julie and then at Robie. “You said you were with DOD. But why is she with you?”

“I’m really not at liberty to say,” answered Robie, causing the nurse to purse her lips.

Julie brought the photo around to show Robie. She said to the nurse, “My dad was in the same Army squad as Mrs. Van Beuren. I was hoping to find out some things about his past from her.”

The nurse’s stiff expression vanished. “Oh, I see, sweetie. I didn’t realize. Yes, that’s her and her family. There used to be more pictures in the room. But her daughter and husband have been slowly taking them. They know the end is almost here.”

Robie took the photo. It showed Van Beuren in healthier days. She was in her dress greens, her chest awash in medals. A man was beside her, presumably her husband. And there was a girl about Julie’s age.

“So that’s her husband?” asked Robie.

“Yes. George Van Beuren. And that’s their daughter, Brooke Alexandra. She’s older now, of course. That photo was from a number of years ago. She’s in college now.”

“So you know her?”

“She’s been in to visit her mother quite often. That’s how I know her. Brooke’s a lovely girl. She’s very torn up about her mother.”

“And her husband?”