“YOU LOOK MISERABLE,” said Jamison.
She was driving and looking over at Decker, who was scrunched in the passenger seat.
“I’m not miserable, just in pain. I’m going to help you buy a new car, Alex. I can’t take too much more of this. I think I’m getting blood clots in my legs.”
“Remember when you used to take the seat out and just sit in the back?”
“Not really practical since it takes four tools and an hour to do that.”
“What kind of car?” she said animatedly.
“I don’t care so long as it’s at least twice the size of this one, with decent legroom.”
The rain was pestering them again, snarling traffic and making gloomy thoughts seem even gloomier. Decker closed his eyes.
“So you said Melvin got to meet Joey Scott?”
Decker opened his eyes and nodded. “When I told him that Melvin nearly won the Heisman and would have been in the Hall of Fame, I thought Joey was going to burst with excitement.”
“I’m sure. That makes it even more awful that Berkshire would have used Joey like that. I mean, it would be heartless with any terminally ill patient, but Joey was the only kid in the whole place. And she sat and read to him just so she could use that book to communicate stolen classified information.”
Decker’s response to this was extraordinary: “Alex, turn the car around. We’re heading to Virginia.”
“Virginia? Where?”
“The hospice.”
* * *
Sally Palmer was still in her office. She explained that with the disappearance of Alvin Jenkins, she was having to work longer hours until he could be replaced.
“I can’t imagine why he ran off like that. And the police won’t tell me anything,” she said crossly as she sat across from them in her office. “I suppose you can’t either,” she added.
“You would suppose right,” said Decker. “Alvin Jenkins, when did he start working here?”
“Alvin, um, only about two months ago.”
“And when did Anne Berkshire start volunteering here?”
Palmer thought about this. “Around the same time, actually.”
“And when did Joey Scott come here as a patient?”
For this Palmer had to consult her computer. “That’s funny.”
“What?” asked Decker sharply.
“Well, Joey came here nine weeks ago. That means all three of them around the same time. What a coincidence.”
“I don’t think it was a coincidence,” said Decker.
Palmer looked at him strangely, but Decker ignored this and plunged on. “When we first met, you said that Joey was going to be adopted but the couple pulled out when he got sick.”
“That’s right. Disgusting.”
“How did you come by that information?”
“Come by it?”
“Who told you?”
“Oh. It was the caseworker that came with Joey when he was admitted here. She told me. She was as upset by it as I was.”
“So the story is that Joey was going to be adopted but then the adoptive parents found out he was terminal and decided against adopting him.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have Joey’s medical file?”
“Yes.”
“I know you can’t share the details with us, per se. But can you tell us when he was diagnosed with leukemia?”
Palmer looked uncomfortable with this, but consulted her computer. Once more her face displayed amazement. “I don’t understand. This doesn’t make any sense. I’m surprised I didn’t put two and two together before.”
“About what?” said Jamison.
Decker answered, “Anyone with cancer is going to go through treatment, especially a child who could conceivably have his whole life ahead of him. With Joey’s form of leukemia he probably had been diagnosed years ago, had the whole spectrum of treatments until it was determined that nothing else could be done. Then he came here. So the couple that wanted to ‘adopt’ Joey would have known all of this long ago. They would have had no reason to ‘unadopt’ him.”
Palmer said emphatically, “That’s right. That’s exactly right.”
Decker looked around. “This is a nice hospice. A private hospice. How can an orphan like Joey afford this place?”
“Oh, well, the couple I was talking about, they had some goodness in them. They’ve been paying the bills here for Joey.”
“So they’re paying the hospice bills of a kid they ‘unadopted’ and never come to visit,” said Jamison. “How does that make sense?”
Decker said, “It doesn’t at one level. But it does at another. How did Joey end up coming to this place?” he asked Palmer.
“It was the couple. They paid the bills and so they got to pick the place.”
“So Berkshire and Jenkins both started coming here after Joey was here.”
“Yes, that’s right. Shortly thereafter, but Joey was here first.”
“And Berkshire asked to read to Joey?”
“Yes.”
“How did she know he was even here?”
This puzzled Palmer. “I’m not sure. I do remember her coming in and asking if we had any children. She said she wanted to bolster their spirits.”
“I’m sure. And the only young child you had at the time was Joey?”
“Why, yes. It’s unusual for a little boy or girl to be in a hospice. But it does happen, unfortunately.”
“Right,” said Decker.
“As I said, I thought their paying his bills made up a little for them abandoning Joey.”
“Yeah, well, you can stop thinking that.”
“What?” said a startled Palmer.
“Do you have their name and address?’
“That’s confidential.”
“And I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ve been using your hospice to pass stolen classified information to enemies of this country. If that doesn’t work for you, we can always get a warrant and surround this place with a SWAT team. Your call.”