“About a month ago.”
“And your husband has his own government contracting firm?”
Ellie nodded. “Walter Dabney and Associates. It’s located in Reston. Everything they work on is pretty much classified. It started out with just my husband, but now about seventy people work there. He has partners at the firm, but Walter is president and owns a controlling interest.” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I guess I’ll own it now.” She looked in alarm at Jamison. “Does that mean I’ll have to run it? I don’t know anything about his business. I don’t even have a security clearance.”
Jamison gripped her hand. “I don’t think you need to worry about those details right now, Mrs. Dabney.”
Ellie relaxed and looked back at her husband. “What was the person’s name again? That Walter…? They told me, but I can’t remember. Everything is just a blur right now.”
“Anne Berkshire. She was a substitute teacher at a Catholic high school in Fairfax. Do you know her?”
Ellie shook her head. “I never heard of her. And I don’t know why Walt would know her either. High school teacher? Walt and I had our children fairly early. Jules, our oldest, is thirty-seven. And our oldest grandkid is only in first grade. And they don’t even live in Virginia anyway. And we’re not Catholic. We’re Presbyterian.”
“Right. Well, thank you for the information. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Will I need to get a lawyer?” Ellie blurted out.
Jamison looked uncomfortable. “I’m really not the one to advise you about that. If you or your husband used a lawyer or know one, you should check with that person.”
Ellie nodded dumbly and then reached through the rails and gripped her husband’s hand once more.
A minute later Bogart came back in. “It’s all taken care of, Mrs. Dabney,” he said. “According to your daughter, everyone except Natalie will be in by tonight.”
“Natalie lives in Paris. I tried to phone her but no one answered. And it wasn’t…it wasn’t something I could leave on a voicemail or tell her by email.”
“Your daughter Jules reached her and told her the situation. She’s trying to get a flight here as soon as possible.”
“I really can’t believe this is happening,” said Ellie. “When Walt left this morning everything was…perfect. And now?” She looked up at them. “It’s all gone. Just like that.”
Just like that, thought Jamison.
CHAPTER
4
THEY HAD TRAVELED from a place filled with dead bodies to a place filled with dying people.
After making inquiries at the front desk, Decker and Milligan had been given over to the director of Dominion Hospice, Sally Palmer. The woman was shocked to hear of Anne Berkshire’s death.
“She was just here this morning,” she said as she faced them from across the desk in her small, cramped office.
“That’s what we understand,” said Decker. “And it’s why we’re here. We saw that her hand was stamped with the name of the hospice.”
“Yes, we do that as part of our security procedure.”
“Does this place need much security?” asked Milligan.
Palmer looked at him sternly. “Our patients are weak and on heavy medications. They can hardly protect themselves. It falls to us to do that, and we take that matter very seriously. All visitors are checked in through the front entrance. The hand stamp is easily seen and we change the color every day. That way at a glance our staff knows if a visitor has been properly cleared through or not.”
Decker asked, “Did Berkshire have a family member who’s a patient here? Is that why she was here this morning?”
“Oh, no. Anne was a volunteer. She would come and spend time with certain patients. Oftentimes the patient’s family may not live in the immediate area, and visits aren’t so frequent. We have volunteers, carefully vetted of course, who come in and talk to the patients, read to them, or just sit with them. It’s not easy dying. And it’s even harder dying alone.”
“Did Berkshire talk to anyone in particular today?” asked Milligan.
“I can certainly find out. Excuse me for a minute.”
Palmer rose and left.
Milligan took out his phone and checked messages. “Dabney’s wife is at the hospital with her husband. Alex says he hasn’t regained consciousness and probably won’t.”
“Did the wife tell them anything?”
“She didn’t know Anne Berkshire and was pretty sure her husband didn’t either. She also knew nothing about her husband’s business and had no idea why he would do what he did. But Alex texted again. Mrs. Dabney said her husband had taken an unexplained trip about a month ago and that he didn’t seem the same afterwards.”
“Not the same how?”
“Different mood apparently. And he wouldn’t tell her where he went.”
“Okay.”
Milligan looked around the small office. “Do you really think we’re going to get a lead from this place?”
“People are killed by strangers, but most people know the one who kills them.”
“Well, that’s always comforting,” said Milligan dourly.
The men lapsed into silence until Palmer returned a few minutes later.
“She met with three patients early this morning. Dorothy Vitters, Joey Scott, and Albert Drews.”
“Were they people she normally would visit?” asked Decker.
“Yes.”
“You said she came in early this morning. Did she usually come in at that time?”
“Well, no, come to think of it. She usually came in around noon. Our patients are generally more alert then.”
“Can we speak with them?” asked Decker.
Palmer looked taken aback. “I’m not sure what they can tell you. They’re very ill. And weak.”
Decker rose. “I appreciate that, but Anne Berkshire was murdered this morning and it’s our job to find out why. And if she came here at an unusual time shortly before she went downtown and was killed, then we have to run that possible lead down. I hope you can understand that.”
Milligan added quickly, “We’ll be as gentle as possible.”
“Do you have to tell them that Anne was killed? That will be extremely upsetting for them.”
Milligan said, “We’ll do our best to avoid that.”
Decker said nothing. His eyes were already on the hallway.
Dorothy Vitters was in her late eighties, frail and shrunken in the last bed she would occupy. Because of patient confidentiality, Palmer had not told them what specific illness she might have. She left them in the doorway and walked back to her office.
Decker stood in the doorway and looked around at the small, sparsely furnished space.
“You okay?” said Milligan in a low voice.
Decker was not okay, not really.
What he was seeing here wasn’t the flash of electric blue he associated with death but rather navy blue. That was a first for him. But when he looked at the terminally ill Vitters he could understand why. Near death was apparently represented in his mind simply by another shade of blue.