“Did anyone else ever visit Shirlee?”
“Not a one, excepting the time she came with you. Only Dr. Ransom, like clockwork. She was the best family to one of those people I ever saw, giving, not getting. I watched her do it steadily up until the day I quit.”
“When was that?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“’Cause they were gonna let me go. Dr. Ransom tipped me off that the place was going to shut down. Said she appreciated all I’d done for Shirlee, was sorry she couldn’t take me with her, but that Shirlee would continue to get good care. She said I’d made a big difference. Then she gave me fifteen hundred dollars cash, to show she meant it. That shows you what she was like. Makes no sense for her to get that low.”
“So she knew Resthaven was going to close.”
“And she was correct. Couple of weeks later, everyone else got form letters, pink slips. Dear employee. A friend of mine was working the wards- I warned her but she didn’t believe me. When it happened she didn’t get any notice, no severance, just bye-bye, Charlie, we’re bankrupt. Out of business and so are you.”
“Do you have any idea where Dr. Ransom took Shirlee?”
“No, but believe me, it had to be somewhere fine- she loved that girl, treated her like a queen.” He stopped, turned grim. “With her dead, who’s gonna take care of the poor thing?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea where she is. No one does.”
“Oh, Lord. This is starting to sound mournful.”
“I’m sure she’s all right,” I said. “The family has money- did she talk much about them?”
“Not to me she didn’t.”
“But you knew she was rich.”
“She was paying the bills at Resthaven, she had to be. Besides, anyone could tell she had money just by looking at her- the way she dressed and carried herself. Being a doctor.”
“Dr. Ransom was paying the bills?”
“That’s what it said right at the top of the chart: All financial correspondence to be directed to Dr. Ransom.”
“What else was in the chart?”
“All the therapy records- PT, OT. For a while Dr. Ransom even had a speech therapist come in but that was a waste of time- Shirlee was nowhere near talking. Same with a Braille teacher. Dr. Ransom tried everything. She loved that girl- I just can’t see her destroying herself and abandoning the poor thing.”
“Was there a medical history in the chart?”
“Just some early stuff and a summary of all the problems written out by Dr. Ransom.”
“Any birth records?”
He shook his head.
“Were any other doctors involved in Shirlee’s care?”
“Just Dr. Ransom.”
“No physicians?”
“What do you think she was?”
“She was a psychologist. Did she tell you she was an M.D.?”
He thought for a while. “Come to think of it, no, she didn’t. But the way she took charge of Shirlee’s case, writing orders for the therapists, I just took it for granted.”
“Shirlee must have had physical complaints. Who handled those?”
“You’d think she would have, but funny thing was, except for all her problems, she was really healthy, had a good strong heart, good blood pressure, clear lungs. All you had to do was turn her, feed her, change her, give her postural drainage, and she’d go on forever.” He gazed up at the sky, shook his head. “Wonder where she is, poor thing.”
“Did Dr. Ransom ever talk about the accident?”
His eyebrows arched. “What accident is that?”
“The drowning that caused all of Shirlee’s problems.”
“Now you lost me.”
“She drowned when she was a small child. Dr. Ransom told me about it, said it was what caused Shirlee’s brain damage.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, because what she told me was something totally different- the poor girl was born that way.”
“Born blind and deaf and crippled?”
“That’s right, all of it. ‘Multiple congenital deformities.’ Lord knows I saw it often enough, staring up from Dr. Ransom’s summary.”
He shook his head. “ ‘Multiple congenital deformities.’ Poor thing started out that way, never any chance at all.”
It was close to noon. I drove to a gas station nearby and used the pay phone to call Olivia’s office. Mrs. Brickerman, I was informed, had returned from Sacramento but wasn’t expected back in the office today. I phoned her home number, let it ring ten times, and was just ready to hang up when she picked it up, breathless.
“Alex! I just got in. Literally. From the airport. Spent the morning taking a power breakfast with Senate aides and trying to get them to give us more money. What a bunch- if any of them had ever owned an idea, they sold it a long time ago. Cheap.”
“Hate to bother you,” I said, “but I was wondering if-”
“The system was back up. Yes, it is, as of this morning. And just to show you how much I love you, I used Sacramento Division’s mainframe to run your Shirlee Ransom through. Sorry, nothing. I did find a person by that name, same spelling. But on the Medi-Cal files. Date of birth 1922, not ’53.”
“Do you have an address on her?”
“No. You told me ’53, I didn’t figure you’d be interested in a senior citizen.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“You are interested?”
“I might be… if it’s not too much of a-”
“All right, all right. Let me change out of this business suit and I’ll call the office, try and get my assistant to overcome her computerphobia. It’ll take a while. Where can I get back to you?”
“I’m calling from a pay phone.”
“Cloak and dagger nonsense? Alex, what are you up to?”
“Digging up bones.”
“Ugh. What’s your number?”
I read it off to her.
“That’s my neighborhood. Where are you calling from?”
“Gas station on Melrose near Fairfax.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you’re two minutes away! Come over and watch me play high-tech detective.”
The Brickermans’ house was small, newly painted white, with a Spanish tile roof. Narrow beds of petunias had been planted along the driveway, which was filled with Olivia’s mammoth Chrysler New Yorker.
She’d left the door unlocked. Albert Brickerman was in the living room, in a bathrobe and slippers, staring at the chessboard. He grunted in response to my greeting. Olivia was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs, wearing a white ruffled blouse and size 18 navy skirt. Her hair was a henna’d frizz, her cheeks plump and rosy. She was in her early sixties but her skin was smooth as a girl’s. She hugged me, crushed me to an upholstered bosom.
“What do you think?” She ran her hands over the skirt.
“Very board-room.”
She laughed, turned down the fire under the eggs. “If my socialist papa could see me now. Do you believe, at my age, being dragged kicking and screaming into the whole yuppie puppie thing?”
“Just keep telling yourself you’re working within the system to change it.”
“Oh, sure.” She motioned me to the kitchen table. Spooned out eggs, set out plates of rye toast and sliced tomatoes, filled mugs with coffee. “I figure I’ve got one more year, maybe two. Then goodbye to all the nonsense and set out for some serious traveling- not that Prince Albert would ever budge, but I’ve got a friend, lost her husband last year. We plan to do Hawaii, Europe, Israel. The works.”
“Sounds great.”
“Sounds great, but you’re antsy to get into the computer.”
“Whenever it’s convenient.”
“I’ll call now. It’ll take a while for Monica to get into the system.”
She phoned her assistant, gave instructions, repeated them, hung up. “Cross your fingers. Meanwhile, let’s eat.”
Both of us were hungry and we wolfed in silence. Just as I’d started on my second serving of eggs, the phone rang.
“Okay, Monica, that’s okay. Yes. Type in SRCH, all capitals. Good. Now type capital M dash capital C capital R, then the RETURN button twice. CAL. C-A-L, also all in caps, four three five six dash zero zero nine. Good. Then capital LA dash capital W dash one dash two three six. Okay? Try again. I’ll wait… good. Now press RETURN one more time, then the HOME button… Under the seven… No, hold down the control button while you do it- over on the left side of the keyboard, CTRL. Yes, good. Now what comes on the screen? Good. Okay, now type in the following name. Ransom, as in kidnapping… what? Nothing, forget it. R-A-N-S-O-M. Comma. Shirlee. With two e’s at the end, instead of an e-y. S-H-I-R-L-E-E… Okay, good. What comes on?… Okay, keep it there, Monica. I’m going to get a pencil and you tell me the birthdate and the address.”