“They’re just hallucinations. Part of the disease. If you see them, I know you’re having a flare-up, so it’s important to tell me, and we can talk about them. That’s how we work with it. I heard you yelling at something. Figured it was them.”
“No, I’m telling you, they’re real.”
“Okay.”
James finished his meal in relative silence. His mind tried to absorb all the new information he’d been given, but by the time he was done with his plate, a lot of the particulars had already been lost. He knew he had an incurable disease. He knew he was living with this woman instead of in a nursing home, and he knew she’d told him her name, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was. Cathy? Christy? The rest of it was lost in the fog.
“That noise,” he said, pointing toward the high windows. “That’s Manhattan.”
“West Village,” the woman replied. “Christopher Street.”
“Can we go outside?”
“Maybe tomorrow. It’s raining pretty hard out right now.”
James watched as the woman packed up the tray, rose from the couch, and made her way toward the stairs. She stopped and turned back to him.
“I’ll get you that detergent.”
“We’re all out.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t do the laundry without it.”
“I know.”
After the door to the main floor closed and returned him to the silence of his surroundings, James spun the chair around and backed himself into the corner next to the television so he could scan the room beyond the stairs that held darkness and shadow. That was where the ghosts would be, watching him, reminding him of things that even his disease wouldn’t allow him to forget. Things he wanted to forget.
Things any person would beg to forget.
7
Two patrol cars were parked in front of Maxine Hill’s small bungalow on the corner of Grove Street in Mount Vernon. They were empty, which meant the troopers were already inside. Susan climbed the four brick steps and knocked on the front door.
A younger man, late thirties perhaps, answered. He was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and jeans. Susan recognized him from the photograph in Rebecca’s apartment.
“I’m Investigator Adler from the state police,” she said, holding up the shield that was hanging around her neck. “I need to see Mrs. Hill.”
“I’m her son, David,” the man replied, opening the door wider. “Come in. The other officers said you were coming by.”
Susan followed David into a small living room that held a tattered love seat, an armchair, and a coffee table. Maxine was sitting in the armchair. Her frame was pretty much skin and bones. She looked sick.
The two troopers were monitoring Maxine and David and fielding any phone calls that came in. News of Rebecca’s involvement in the police homicide earlier that morning hadn’t been released to the press yet, so the activity in and around the home was minimal. Just a few nosy neighbors who’d stopped by when they saw the patrol cars out front.
Susan introduced herself and said she was there to talk about Rebecca.
Maxine let her head fall back on the chair as she looked toward the ceiling. “My baby didn’t kill no cop,” she said. “She doesn’t have it in her. Rebecca’s a good girl. She’s a nurse. She helps people. No way she would ever do something like that. Her job is saving lives, not taking them.”
“We’re just trying to figure out what happened at this point. We need to find her.”
“Yes, you do.”
Susan took out her notepad and pen. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Two days ago,” Maxine replied. “Called to check up on me like she always does. She’s a good girl.”
“How did she sound?”
“Normal. We talked about my cirrhosis and how I was feeling. Had a bout in the hospital, so she wanted to make sure I was okay. We talked about our Netflix shows. She said she was going to stop by and see me this weekend.”
“How was she doing at work?” Susan asked. “Everything okay there?”
Maxine shrugged. “Don’t know. She didn’t say anything particular, and I didn’t ask. I don’t pry. If my kids wanna talk, they know where to find me. Otherwise, we just enjoy each other’s company.”
Susan nodded as she wrote. “I understand you and David meet with Rebecca frequently. For dinner and visits?”
“That’s right. Try to do it every week, but with this liver of mine, sometimes we can’t make it happen. But we always make it a point to spend time together. After my husband died, we realized how little we saw of each other. Rebecca wanted to change that, and she did. We reconnected after Earl passed, and it was the best thing to come of his death. Get to see my children on the regular again.”
“Does she discuss her patients?”
“Not really,” Maxine replied. “Like I said, I don’t pry. Sometimes she tells us little stories about the man she’s taking care of, Mr. James. She talks about helping him get about or tells us how she takes him food shopping or something mundane like that. I can’t think of anything she’s told me that would help you find her. You should ask Mr. James. See what he knows.”
Susan pointed to David. “How about you? Rebecca ever tell you anything more about James Darville?”
“No,” David replied, shaking his head. “Like Mom said, just little stories here and there. I know she likes him. They get along.”
Susan turned her attention back to Maxine. “Do you know if Rebecca is seeing anyone romantically?”
The old woman chuckled and shook her head. “Just Mr. James. Of course, I’m being facetious, but my daughter only has time for that man and no other. I should be up to my neck in grandbabies by now, but neither of my children are much in the romance department. My Rebecca is married to her patients, and this one is married to his writing career. What can I say?”
“You’re a writer?” Susan asked David.
“I write for an online magazine, and I’m working on a book.”
“Working on that book for a decade,” Maxine quipped. “Never quite finished.”
Susan turned back to Maxine. “How about close friends? Rebecca have any?”
“Not that I know of,” Maxine said. “She’s always been a shy girl. Never knew her to have friends like you and I might think of it.” She looked up at her son. “You know any of Rebecca’s friends?”
“No,” David replied. “Sorry.”
Susan closed her notepad and leaned forward. “Mrs. Hill, a state trooper was bludgeoned to death on the side of the road this morning. He had a wife who was four months pregnant and a little boy who’s three years old. He was a son, a grandson, a husband, a father, a brother, a cousin, and a friend to more people than I can count. His life was stolen, and all he was trying to do was his job. I need to know anything and everything you can think of that might help us find your daughter and find out what happened on the side of that road. Please. Think.”
Maxine looked at her as her thin lips pursed and her brow furrowed. “My baby’s no killer. You can keep your men here to listen to every phone call that comes in, and they can answer my door every time someone comes knocking, but you’ll never find an explanation that involves my Rebecca because there isn’t one. My baby’s a good soul. She wouldn’t hurt nobody, and she certainly wouldn’t kill nobody. I want you to find her as much as you do because I believe she’s in trouble. We need to get to the bottom of what happened. Rebecca is innocent. I just pray to God she’s still alive. Now go find her. Go.”