He looked me up and down, nodded condescendingly, and went back to his own office. Ms. Hammerfield told me where to find Alvina Northlake—back down the stairs to corridor B. “I’ll tell her you’re coming.”
When I reached Northlake’s office, it was to discover she was in a meeting that would run another hour. Her office was a step down from Waxman’s in every way. It was on the ground floor, with beat-up furniture, and an antechamber that held not just the group secretary but four other desks. A woman sat at one of them, going over a file with someone on the phone; the other three desks were also covered with papers, but the owners were away.
The group secretary said that Lily Hammerfield had called to warn them I was on my way; why did I want to talk to Alvina Northlake?
“I really want to talk to the person who worked with Leydon Ashford,” I said. “I don’t need to disturb Ms. Northlake.”
“And why is that?”
“Ms. Ashford thought she was being stalked while she was out here. I need to find out if there’s any truth to that.”
The other woman hung up the phone and said, in unison with the secretary, “We can’t give out any confidential information.”
“I know. This is a difficult situation. Ms. Ashford was badly injured in a fall two days ago; it’s not clear whether she’ll live.”
There was a shocked intake of breath. “Did she—is there any evidence—”
“I think she was pushed,” I said. “But I can’t prove it. And I can’t prove it’s connected to the man she thought was stalking her. But I thought if I showed her social worker, or maybe the advanced practice nurse on the ward, his picture, someone could tell me if he’d been out here, and if his business had been with Ms. Ashford.”
The second woman got to her feet. “I’m Tania Metzger, one of the social workers here, and by coincidence, I was Leydon’s caseworker during her stay.”
“V. I. Warshawski,” I said. “Are you related to the Metzgers hanging in the front hallway?”
Tania Metzger laughed. “That’s such an odd-sounding way of putting it, but yes, they were my great-grandparents. They died long before I was born, of course, but I knew from my dad how passionate they felt about this place, and I suppose that guided my decision to go into social work. Now, let’s see what you want to know, why you want to know it, and what I can tell you without violating confidentiality laws. Chantal here might be able to help, so let’s just go into the conference room.”
I followed her into a small side room where a table and six chairs had been fitted, leaving just enough space for a not-very-wide person to get in. I slid into a chair. Chantal, who was on the substantial side, grimaced and lifted a chair over her head in order to get close enough to the table to sit.
“It’s terrible space,” Tania apologized, “but we won’t get any privacy if we stay in the hub.”
The huddle, the hub, oh, the portentous names organizations give their workplaces. I would have to start calling my own office the command module.
Something in Metzger’s manner made me decide to be frank with her. “I am an investigator and a lawyer, but I’m also a friend of Leydon’s, going back to when we were in law school together. She—she was a challenging friend and I’m afraid I wasn’t up to the challenge the last few years; I let the relationship slide.”
I went on to describe Leydon’s phone call, our date, and where I found her. “It was because of Miles Wuchnik that she wanted to talk to me. At least, I’m ninety percent sure it was—she wouldn’t spell it out in so many words on the phone.”
Metzger nodded. “Yes, she’s brilliant, as you said, and maddening as well. My last name means ‘butcher’ in German, and she knew that; our sessions together often devolved into wordplays on whom or what I might be slaughtering.” She put a hand over her mouth in dismay. “Even that much information is off-limits. I’d better just listen to you.”
Metzger and Chantal both had followed the news about Wuchnik’s death. It was so melodramatic that almost everyone in the six counties knew most of the details.
“Leydon thought her brother had hired Wuchnik to spy on her out here,” I said. “I found Wuchnik’s mileage records. He did come out six times while Leydon was a patient here. The question is, was he really spying on her?”
I spread out a sheaf of photos that I’d printed from my LifeStory report on Wuchnik, and the two women looked at them.
“He was here,” Chantal said. “He came in one afternoon to ask questions about a patient, but it wasn’t about Leydon.”
“What did you tell him?” Tania asked.
“I told him he had to speak to Alvina. She wouldn’t give him the time of day, of course. But I saw him later talking to one of the orderlies from the forensic wing.”
The place for people found not guilty by reason of insanity or mental incompetence. If medication couldn’t make arrestees fit to plead, they might end up serving a de facto life sentence.