CHAPTER THREE

SCOOBIE EXERCISES PATIENCE

AS I PREPARED FOR THE DAY'S first patient, I thought about Aunt Madge. Her early morning sojourn had me really worried. She is the family rock, always the nonjudgmental ear. If she was seeing nonexistent people in laundry bins, it was a bigger issue than if somebody like Melvin was. He already acted as if an x-ray machine gave him a radiation overdose.

Saturdays were quiet at the hospital, usually only emergency patients. The next patient was scheduled, but because of a special request from his doctor.

I glanced at the note in the electronic chart. He was at the hospital because the doctor couldn't figure out why he had regular nosebleeds. They started when he'd been hanging upside down on his father's chin-up bar a few days ago.

The door opened and six-year old Samuel Eugene L. Meyer walked in. He was tall for his age, with tight black curls. He wore a hospital gown over blue jeans and carried a rolled leather belt. His dark brown eyes said the swagger was probably to hide a serious case of nerves.

"Hello, Samuel." I gestured to one of two plastic chairs. "Have a seat for a second."

His mom looked more nervous than he was. I nodded at her and gestured to a spot along the wall as I pulled up the second chair and sat almost knee-to-knee with Samuel. "Heard your nose is misbehaving."

That earned a slight smile. "Yep."

"I'm going to help your doc figure out why. It won't hurt. An x-ray lets the doctor see if the bones in your face are lined up just right."

"No needles?" he asked.

"Not a one." I looked at his mom. "You're welcome to stay, but if you want to sit outside, it's okay, too."

She was very thin, with a worried expression that looked permanent. "I'll step outside and call…" she looked at Samuel, "your dad, to let him know where we are."

Samuel nodded, and she left. He looked at me. "Like he doesn't know."

"Moms are in charge of worrying."

He looked glum. "Mine sure is."

I stood and pointed to the x-ray table. "You'll hop on that table, and I'll put a hard piece under your head. It's the x-ray film."

He glanced at the table and gave me a dubious look. "Table already looks hard."

"It is, but you'll only lie on the table, and the film, for a couple of minutes." I pointed to the x-ray machine itself, which sat above the table. "I'll move that close to your face and…"

"Are you sure it's up there tight?"

I grinned and pointed an index finger at him. "Yep. Bolts are bigger than my finger. Are we good?"

He nodded and stood.

I put a stool next to the table so he could climb on. "Okay, so lie on your back, and I'll put this under your head." I had already placed the film on the table, and gently raised his head and positioned the stiff film plate.

I looked down at him and straightened Samuel's shoulder a little. "What's the L for?"

He sighed. "Leviticus."

"Some people with that name go by Levi."

"When I'm eighteen, I'm getting my name changed."

"Mortimer?"

He grinned. "You're weird."

"Yep. So, remember not to move. I'll step behind that wall and push a button. You'll hear a buzz, and then I'll tell you it's okay to move."

I did several x-rays of various parts of Samuel's skull, two of his face, one focused largely on the bones around his sinus cavity. When I was done, I walked back to him and moved the machine from over his head. "You can sit up while I make sure I did these right, then I'll spring you."

"Do I get to see 'em?"

"Sorry, not from me. My boss looks at them and then sends the results to your doctor."

Once I looked at the third digital picture, I knew Samuel's problem without having to see if my boss agreed. The tiny safety pin had probably been up there since Samuel first started to crawl. Kids usually aim for their mouths but, heck, any orifice works when you're nine months old and exploring.

 

I GOT OFF WORK at three, and had promised Melvin I'd stop by Markle's Market to pick up a few groceries. Then I would visit with Madge. I wanted to hear about the vanishing corpse in her own words.

This time Melvin buzzed me up, but he didn't open his door when I knocked. "C'mon, Melvin. Open up." Shuffling footsteps told me Melvin was close enough to peer through the peep hole. "You know it's me, you old goat."

The door opened. "Don't talk to your professor like that."

As I first walked into his apartment, I thought Melvin looked better. He had on a loose-fitting orange tee-shirt and grey sweat pants. Nothing he had to button or zip. Then I noticed his arm was in a makeshift sling. If you can call two paisley ties knotted together and tied around a person's neck a sling.

"What's up? Doctor Knight wrapped you tight because you told her yesterday you didn't want a sling. And you look kind of like you hurt more."

"Put the damn milk away and I'll tell you."

I loosened the cap on the milk and placed several cans of soup and a box of crackers on the counter next to the fridge. Melvin was sitting on his brown sofa, hand resting on a chartreuse throw pillow, when I walked into his living room/dining room combo.

I stood still to stare at him. "Doctor Knight put a splint on that finger and now it's loose."

He frowned. "I mighta done something stupid."

Gee, ya think? "Why did you loosen it?"

"It was in the way."

"Melvin, you can take a leak without taking off a splint."

"So you say."

Something told me he took it off for a more physical activity. I took some newspapers off an ottoman and sat to look him in the eye. "I don't really have time to take you back today. Is there someone you can call?" I could make the time, but I didn't want to be Melvin's taxi service just because he'd done something dumb. It could get to be a regular thing.

"Can't huh? I guess I can call my son. Kinda makes him mad when I ask for stuff." His expression was hopeful.

"You can afford a cab. Will Doctor Knight see you?"

"Yeah, her office is closed, but she's meeting me at the prompt care clinic at the hospital at four-thirty. She's not happy about it." He stood. "What do I owe you for the grub?"

"It was only seven bucks. Consider it a get-well present." I had my hand on the door knob and turned to face him. "If you leave it on tight for a few days it'll start to feel a lot better."

He gave me a sour look and waved me out with his good hand.

I jogged across the parking lot, smelling dampness in the air. I hoped it would stay warm enough for droplets to fall as rain rather than sleet. The white stuff is pretty in December, but not for driving, especially when the temperature goes above and below freezing so regularly.

Aunt Madge's apartment door was open, so I rapped and went in. She was in her recliner, casted foot on a pillow and arm only loosely in its sling.

"How's the one-armed driving going?"

She gently waved the casted wrist at me. "Hardly any pain, so I can rest this on the handle bars. I push the lever with the other hand."

I grabbed a dinette chair and swung it to face her. "I stopped at the director's office on the way in. They say they haven't gotten info on what the cameras picked up."

She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them. "Thank you."

"For…?"

"For believing me."

I shrugged. "For my money, there could be several explanations, but one could definitely be someone was in that bin. Somebody not dead, who got out when you left."

She nodded. "That's what I've been thinking."

"With luck, the cameras'll pick up something. Even if they don't, they can't cover every inch every minute."

She leaned slightly toward me, her good elbow on the arm of the recliner. "The person didn't have to go far."

"Seems about fifty yards or so to the closest emergency exit. Did it buzz?"

"They didn't have to get out of the building, just had to hide in someone's apartment."

"Hmm. Yeah, unlocked doors, I guess." This did not sound likely, but I supposed someone could have stayed hidden long enough to leave after the police did. If they stayed out of sight for an hour or so, no one would look at a camera for the time period when the intruder, if there had been one, snuck out.

"I smell rubber burning," Madge said.

I grinned. "I prefer to think of my thoughts as kindling to brilliance."

She smiled, then sobered. "So what should we do?"

We? "Can we do anything before we hear from the security guys reviewing the film?"

"If I go down to the laundry room, people will think I'm nuts."

"And what, it doesn't matter if I go because they already know I am?"

She raised an eyebrow at me, and I stood. "Not sure what to look for, but I'll go. Which hallway?"

"This one. Midway down."

I saluted her and walked into the hall. No one was walking up or down it, so I moved to the middle. The laundry room door was the only one that didn't lead to an apartment.

I knew from the tour Silver Times staff gave Harry and me that there were several industrial-sized washers and dryers at the far end of the building. Staff did laundry for residents, and they used the washer and dryer in the room here to do loads of delicate clothes. Residents weren't supposed to use the machines, but the room wasn't locked. In fact, the knob had no lock.

When the door opened, a light came on automatically. I stepped in and shut the door. Directly ahead were the machines and a small laundry tub. A glance said the water didn't drain into it, so it was mostly a convenience for hand washing, probably. The bin sat in an area straight ahead, but angled into a recess in the wall. Not really an alcove, just a big dent, probably to accommodate heating ducts or pipes.

The room didn't give off any sinister vibes. I glanced behind the washer and dryer. They were too close to the wall for anyone more than Samuel's size to fit there. No tell-tale matchbook dropped by a fleeing almost-dead guy.

I peered into the laundry bin, which was only about three-and-a-half feet high, and wrinkled my nose. The smell of urine was strong, and a slight discoloration was evident at the bottom of the bin. Any staff member would have cleaned that immediately. However, if they and the police had simply glanced in the room in the wee hours, they might not have stuck their nose near the bin.

Maybe someone had been so scared they peed their pants.

When I walked in, Aunt Madge looked at me with an expectant expression. "Well?"

I sat on the loveseat by her recliner. It was angled so visitors would face her. "Know anyone who's incontinent but still spry enough to hop in a laundry bin?"

"If it was just the first part of your question, half of the residents. Why?"

I explained what I'd found, and finished with, "My guess is the stain is as fresh as last night or it would have been cleaned up."

"Definitely a man," she mused.

"Why do you say that?"

"A woman would have gone back to scrub it by now."

I grinned. "A little sexist today, are we?" When she didn't respond, I added, "I think it means someone was in there, but unless we can get the police to check for fingerprints or the person smiled for a camera, it'll be hard to prove."

She shook her head. "I don't want to ask anyone to look harder. I'm trying to remember what I always tell Jolie."

"Mind your own business?"

She laughed. "That's a given. No, just that we can't always know the answers. If someone was in there, they've left. No one has mentioned having anything stolen, so it doesn't matter if I never know."

I stood. "Jolie would never buy into that."