Lorena Vivas’s long dark hair was pulled into a ponytail. Her soft brown eyes gave her face a compassionate and reassuring aspect. Her expression was sober. When she sat across from Muñoz at a table in the Park Manor library, he instantly judged that she could not have murdered anyone. Codella would caution him, Don’t rush to judgment like that. Just gather the facts. She believed he had a tendency to be too trusting and that he relied too heavily on his gut reactions to suspects and witnesses. But he didn’t think that he was naïve. Even as he formed a rapport with someone like Lorena Vivas, another part of him stood outside of the interaction, watching it, evaluating it. Years of hiding his own identify as a gay man beneath a straight façade had taught him how to be simultaneously inside and outside each human interaction. “You’re the day nurse,” he said now. “Is that correct, Ms. Vivas?”
“Lorena.” She nodded.
“And you—and only you—dispense medications during your shift?”
“That’s correct.”
“Let me guess—a lot of Tylenol, baby aspirin, and Benefiber?”
“You’ve got it.” She laughed appreciatively. “And a few residents are on statins. A few take SSRIs. And then, of course, there’s morphine for the hospice patients who are in pain.”
“What about oxycodone?”
She nodded. “But usually only when a resident has had a knee or hip replacement.”
“Is anyone in Nostalgia taking oxycodone right now?”
She shook her head.
“Other than you, who has access to the dispensary in Nostalgia?”
“It’s locked at all times, and the only people who have a key are the nurse on duty and Baiba, the Nostalgia care coordinator. I suppose Ms. Hodges has a key, too, but she hardly ever comes up.”
“Did she come upstairs on Sunday during your shift, Lorena?”
Vivas’s smooth forehead wrinkled in concentration. “I don’t think so.”
“Where do you keep your key while you’re working? Is it with you at all times—like my service revolver is?” He smiled.
“Yes. Always.” She tapped the pocket of her burgundy Park Manor scrubs. “I never put it down. One of our residents, Dr. Evelyn Bruce, thinks she still does rounds at Sloan Kettering. Last year she got into the dispensary—not on my shift—and carted out bottles of medicine. She’s a little crazy. Well, they’re all a little crazy, to be honest,” she acknowledged conspiratorially.
“Like in that book I read once. The one with Nurse Ratched?”
“One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
“That’s it. Not that you’re a Nurse Ratched.”
“I hope not,” she laughed.
“At any time on Sunday, did you leave the dispensary unlocked?”
Vivas opened her mouth to say no and then stopped. Her forehead wrinkled again. Her eyes squinted. Then her whole face cringed. “There was an accident in the dining room at dinner time that evening. A resident fell over a chair and took a pretty hard fall.”
“Who was that?”
“Mrs. Lautner. Dottie Lautner. She has very poor balance.”
“What time did this happen?”
“It must have been between six and six thirty. I was in the dispensary. Mrs. Knight is on antibiotics—she has a UTI—and she takes a pill with dinner. I was preparing that. Baiba called me, so I dropped what I was doing and ran out. I didn’t lock the meds cabinet or the dispensary door.”
“You went to the dining room?”
Vivas nodded.
“How many minutes would you say you were away from the dispensary?”
The day nurse considered. “Somewhere between five and ten minutes, I guess. Probably closer to ten.”
Muñoz jotted notes on his pad. “Was anyone standing near the dispensary when you ran out of it?”
“I don’t think so. Everyone was in the dining room. Residents. Caregivers. Visitors.”
“Visitors? What visitors?”
“Family members. They show up to eat with their loved ones.”
“Which family members were there?”
“I don’t know all their names. I’m sorry. I don’t interact with them that much. But Baiba knows them. And the caregivers, of course. They could definitely tell you.”
“Did you notice anyone in or near the dispensary while you were in the dining room?”
Vivas shook her head. “I wouldn’t have seen. I was on the floor with Mrs. Lautner. She landed on her elbow. It swelled immediately. I was concerned that she might have an olecranon fracture.” Vivas bent her arm and rubbed her own elbow. “That kind of fracture happens when you come down hard on your elbow. As it turned out, she did fracture it. She ended up in surgery yesterday. She’s still in the hospital.”
“Did you notice anyone near the dispensary when you returned there?”
Again, Vivas shook her head. “Just Baiba. Baiba had gone back to her office to call Mrs. Lautner’s daughter—no, niece, I think. Baiba might have seen someone. You should ask her.”
“Thank you, Lorena.” Muñoz stood and handed her his card. “If you think of anything else, please call me immediately.”
Ten minutes later, he got more details from Maybelle Holder. “Mrs. Lautner fall over a chair that wasn’t pushed in.”
“Why wasn’t it pushed in?”
“Same reason as always, I suppose. Somebody pull it out. The visitors, they don’t think about the consequences. They don’t see how hard it is for the residents.”
“Who was near that chair? Who could have pulled it out?”
Holder rubbed her eyes. “Well, let’s see. Charlene were with her, of course. Charlene Sullivan. She’s assigned to Mrs. Lautner. And Julia Merchant was there. But she were sitting. She were feeding Lucy Merchant at the table over. She the one who call out for help.”
“Who else was there?”
“Mrs. Knight’s husband. He come for dinner. First time in a month! He were standing right there snapping his fingers to get Josie’s attention. He want her to get him another coffee.”
“Who else?”
“Mr. Lane. I see him wandering. He always wander during supper. The man don’t know how to sit still. Usually that’s when he go into people’s rooms. He’s a kleptomaniac, you see. But he were in the dining room that night.”
Maybelle Holder was hard to keep focused. “Anyone else?” Muñoz asked patiently.
“Senator Prinz’s granddaughter. She get all upset trying to find a table.”
“And where were you?”
“In the kitchen. I hear the crash and come running.”
Muñoz tried to visualize the scene, but Holder’s details were not coalescing. He tore a piece of paper off his pad and pushed it toward her. “Can you draw me the layout?” He held out his pen, but Holder said she wasn’t good at drawing.
Muñoz made a rectangle. “Let’s say this is the table where Lucy and Julia Merchant were sitting. Where was Lucy?”
Holder tapped her elaborate nail extension on one side of the rectangle. “Lucy always sit here. Julia were kitty corner, there.”
Muñoz jotted their initials where Holder had pointed. “And where was Mrs. Lautner?”
“She were standing in the aisle between them.” Holder pointed, and Muñoz drew a star to represent her.
“And the man who asked for coffee?”
“Mr. Knight. He were standing right by the chair she trip over. Here.”
Muñoz drew another rectangle and wrote the word Knight where Holder indicated. “And the granddaughter you mentioned?”
“Somewhere here.” Holder tapped a spot beside the star. “And Charlene were right behind Mrs. Lautner.”
“So it’s unlikely Charlene could have pulled out the chair before Mrs. Lautner tripped on it.”
“That’s true.”
“So, assuming someone pulled it out, it would have been one of the others—the senator’s granddaughter, Mr. Knight, or Mr. Lane.”
“I put any money on Mr. Knight,” said Holder. “All he care about was his coffee.”