Chapter 4

“It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken advantage of it.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Scandal in Bohemia

I clutched the plastic bag stamped with the hospital logo. My knees were trembling as I opened it. Tom’s socks and shoes were piled on top of his bloody pants, shirt and underwear. Underneath those were his glasses, wallet and watch. My eyes teared as I looked at the familiar watch with the brown leather strap and gold-toned case. He’d gotten it recently and boasted that it was water resistant up to 130 feet. We’d shared a good laugh when I’d inquired how he intended to use that particular feature in his bookshop.

At the bottom of the bag was his Graf Von Faber-Castell pen, a present from a grateful client. It was worth over two thousand dollars, and he’d be glad to know it hadn’t been stolen. Lastly I found his van keys and transferred them along with his wallet to my purse.

Wincing at the bloodstains, I checked his clothing. You never know what you’re going to find in a man’s pockets, but his phone and Grange’s diary were not there. I wondered where they were.

In the waiting room, I approached the cops and asked what had happened to Tom.

There was a long pause during which they both stared at me the way cops do when they’re processing whether you’re on the Most Wanted List. Then one of them checked his notebook and said, “Here’s what we know so far. A 911 call came in at 14:55 hours from a person named McGil...”

“That’s me,” I told them.

“Okay, you’re McGil. You suspected a Mr. Tom Joyce might be hurt at the David Joyce Grange estate. Phone line went dead. Patrol and ambulance dispatched immediately and arrived in minutes to destination 4600 block of Woodlawn. A white male, Mr. Thomas Joyce, was found unconscious, bleeding, and badly bruised at the second floor landing of a spiral staircase. Police at the scene were unable to get any details. EMT’s put him on a stretcher and brought him here. Hasn’t said a word since.”

The second cop said, “We’re waiting to interview him when he comes to. Meanwhile maybe you, being his sister, could tell us something more about what happened.”

“Officers, I wish I could. The only thing I know is that on the call, the last thing he said was that someone was trying to kill him.”

“I’ll put that in my notes,” Officer Bob said. “Says in the report that the victim was unconscious when they picked up and when they delivered to Billings.”

I held up the bag with Tom’s effects. “Officers, I looked through his stuff and his cell phone’s not there.”

Officer Bob took hold of his lapel and started talking into the clip-on police radio as he moved to another area in the lobby.

“We’ll try to get a hold of those EMT’s and check out if they picked up a cell phone,” Officer Jim said, pursing his lips.

“Maybe you can tell us what your brother was doing at the Grange mansion?”

“He was hired to appraise the Grange book collection.”

“Who hired him?”

“I’m not sure. He mentioned the executors of the estate.”

“Know of any enemies your brother has?”

I wondered whether someone else knew about the Grange diary he’d found in the hidden compartment. And I wondered if they knew about the Doyle notes and The White Company manuscript. If I said anything, I’d be getting Tom in deep trouble with his employer. Professionally, it could be ruinous.

“No. No enemies I know of,” I told them. “He’s very well liked.”

“But you’re saying he said someone was trying to kill him, right?”

“Yes. I think he was pushed down those stairs. But I have no idea who might have done it.”

“Who else is at this place - this Grange estate - where the incident happened?”

“Tom didn’t tell me. He’s only been there a few days. But it has to be somebody at the mansion who pushed him.”

Officer Bob stopped talking into his police radio and walked toward us, shaking his head. “Seems those EMT’s are already out on another call. Have to wait until they report back.”

Officer Jim clicked his pen a few times. “We’d like to contact other members of your family. Maybe they’ll know more about what your brother was doing and possible enemies. We’ll need some names, numbers and addresses.”

“My mother...” I stopped, coughed, and swallowed hard. I’d almost given him my own mother’s name and phone before I realized they wanted Tom’s family, not mine. Of course they thought I was his sister. Another lie was necessary. I desperately tried to think of a way to avoid this question.

I coughed again, trying to stall. I realized I’d put myself in a trap of my own making. I’d have to own up to lying. They were sure to find out sooner or later - specifically sooner. I was positive that even now other cops were at Tom’s apartment, rummaging through his stuff. They’d unearth his address book faster than a teenybopper tracks a bargain at the mall. Then they’d zero in on me instead of whoever did this to Tom. I couldn’t let that happen.

“There’s something I should tell you,” I said feebly. “Technically, I’m not Tom’s sister.”

“Technically?” Officer Bob frowned mightily.

“How does that work exactly?” Officer Jim’s eyebrows raised.

“They said you had to be a relative to get in to see him,” I explained.

“So... you’re saying you lied?”

“You’re not the sister?”

“I’m like a sister to him,” I insisted. “We’re close friends. And I told you there’s no one else.”

Officer Jim put his hands on his hips. “So, technically, who the hell are you Miss McGil?”

“I’m looking her up now, Jim.” Officer Bob typed furiously into his small computer. “Oh shit! She’s an insurance investigator.”

“Technically, yes, but that’s not the reason I’m here,” I interjected.

They both stared at me. Officer Jim said, “We have to inform the staff. You won’t be allowed to see him, you realize.”

“Please don’t do that. Let me explain.”

“And if you’re not a relative, we’ll have to take his things from you.” One of them snatched the bag from my grasp.

I let it go. I’d only make it worse if I mentioned the keys and wallet I’d removed.

“For whatever reason, you did lie to us,” Officer Bob said icily. “We’ll want to question you further, so where can we get in touch with you Miss McGil?”

I told them I was going to stay at the hospital because I was worried about Tom. “If he was right,” I persisted, “and someone did push him down the stairs and try to kill him, shouldn’t a guard be posted at his door? He’s lying there helpless.”

“We’ll sort that out before we take the next step,” Officer Jim said.

My shoulders sank. I felt totally helpless. I hadn’t succeeded in finding out what had happened, in establishing Tom’s condition, or in getting them to guard Tom to prevent further incidents. I sure was one great investigator, and Tom was bearing the brunt of my incompetence.