I grimaced. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here. I have a damned yuppie neighbor who somehow got himself appointed the lady’s guardian, and in an amazing hurry.”
Steve’s thick brows disappeared under his hair. “That was a superhurry. She only came in on Monday night, right? Seems almost indecent. She leaving him something in her will?”
“Rabies, if she thought about it. The boy got the county to kill her dogs. Her life pretty much revolved around them; I don’t know how she’s going to react if she learns they’re dead.”
Steve looked at his watch. “Elaine is giving the kids breakfast and making sure they’re dressed. Let me just give her a call to let her know I’m running late—I want to see Mrs. Frizell myself. We can decide then the best way to tell her about the dogs.”
We went back up the hall. Steve tops my five-eight by five or six inches. He tried to shorten his stride, but I still had to jog to keep up. He ducked abruptly into a doorway and started up some stairs.
“Elevators,” he said briefly. “Only one is working today on this side of the building. I’m afraid we’re up five stories, but it’s really faster, believe me.”
I was panting slightly when we got to his office, but he didn’t seem at all winded. He phoned his wife, picked up a clipboard, and relocked the door all in one movement.
“Elaine sends her love. We go back down two flights and over to the orthopedic corridor. I called Nelle McDowell—she’s the charge nurse over there. She’s cool, she’ll let us talk to Mrs. Frizell.”
We met Nelle McDowell at the nurses’ station, a cubbyhole near the end of the corridor. A tall, squarely built black woman, she acknowledged Steve and me with a nod, but kept up a conversation with two nurses and an orderly. They were reviewing the previous night’s newcomers and trying to juggle the workload. We waited in the hall outside until they’d finished—the tiny room barely held the four people already in it.
When the meeting broke up, McDowell beckoned us in. Steve introduced me. “Vic wants to talk to Harriet Frizell. Is she in shape to see anyone?”
McDowell made a face. “She’s not the most coherent person on the ward right now. What do you want to see her about?”
I told my tale once again, about finding Mrs. Frizell Monday night, and then about Todd Pichea, the dogs, and why I cared.
McDowell looked me over like a captain eyeing a dubious new subaltern. “You know who Bruce is, Vic?”
“Bruce is—was—Mrs. Frizell’s number-one dog, a big black Lab.”
“She keeps moaning his name. I thought maybe he was her husband, maybe a kid. But her dog?” The head nurse pursed her lips and shook her head. “She’s not in good shape—she doesn’t answer questions and that dog’s name is about all she’s said since they brought her in. They couldn’t get any relative’s name out of her on Monday night—the docs finally had to sign her consent form for her. We tried finding a Bruce Frizell in the city and suburbs—if it’s a dog, that explains why we didn’t have any luck. If he’s dead, she’s not going to hold up too well. I’d rather not tell her until I’m sure she’s strong enough to survive.”
“I want to talk to her, Nelle,” Steve said. “Try to make an evaluation. One of our babies was there for the attorney hearing on Thursday, but I’d like to make up my own mind.”
McDowell threw up her hands. “Be my guest, Steve. And take the detective with you—I’ve got no problem with that. But don’t go doing anything to put her in a frenzy. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re shorthanded in this ward.”
She pulled out a chart with Frizell written along the side. “One thing maybe you can tell me—why the rush to get her a guardian? The times we’ve needed one appointed in here it’s taken us months of rigamarole just to get to court. But Thursday morning there’s a guardian ad litem as big as life, talking to the lady without a by-your-leave. I got security up, and they pulled him away until we hustled someone from the psych team in, along with that kid from your office”—she nodded at Steve—“but it made me plenty mad.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand it myself, except I know Pichea was itching to get rid of those dogs. I talked to her son myself on Monday night. He lives in California and had about as much interest in what was happening to his mother as I do in my cockroaches. I expect when Pichea called him he was ecstatic at being able to make Mrs. Frizell someone else’s problem.”