her purse and pressed the geriatrician’s number. She answered on the third ring. “I heard about Leon,” Peyton said. “Did you order an autopsy?”
“No,” she replied. “I didn’t see a need at his age.”
“I’m here with Special Agent Liam Maverick,” Peyton said.
Liam gestured for her to let him have the phone, and she handed it to him. He stepped aside, and she heard him request an autopsy.
“Did Ms. Marley say she saw anything suspicious when she found Leon?” Peyton asked Fred.
Fred twirled a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “Not that I know of. Just that he was lying in the rosebushes when she got there.”
Peyton wanted to talk to Ms. Marley herself. “About those tapes I asked for?”
“I made you a copy.” He pulled an envelope from his desk and handed it to her.
“Agent Maverick will want footage of the rose garden last night and this morning. Can you pull that?”
“Give me a few minutes.” Fred ran a hand through his thinning hair. “What’s going on, Peyton? First you tell me someone broke into your place, now you’re acting like there might be foul play surrounding Leon’s death.”
“I don’t know exactly,” Peyton said. “But Agent Maverick is thorough.” She showed him a picture of Miller Conrad. “Have you seen this man around here?”
Fred adjusted his glasses and peered at the photograph. “That’s Miller. His daddy was here. Died in his room.”
“Have you seen him at the Gardens lately?”
“Sure have. He got real friendly with some of the residents when he visited his daddy. Every now and then he drops by, so they know he still cares.”
Peyton’s breath caught. “Did he visit Leon?”
“Sometimes. They liked to play pinochle together.”
But Leon wasn’t critically ill so a mercy killing wouldn’t fit. And he had no family who might want to cash in on his finances when he died.
Unless he’d seen something, like the man who’d broken into her place. But even if he had witnessed something, he would make an unreliable witness.
A shudder coursed up her spine. He saw Val.
Val had been at the hospital the night Gloria Inman died, too. And the night of the fire.
She shook her head at the thought of her sister hurting Leon or anyone else. Val was a drug addict, had been caught stealing to pay her dealer and feed her habit. But Val wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Would she?
* * *
LIAM WAS SURPRISED the geriatrician hadn’t ordered an autopsy. Granted the residents in the Gardens were older and had health issues, but stories of abuse to the elderly, especially in nursing-care facilities, abounded.
Relatives and friends had to be vigilant about checking on their loved ones.
Although Peyton kept a close eye on her mother and her care, people like Leon had no one to make sure they weren’t being mistreated.
“Dr. Sweetwater, have you noticed unusual bruises or injuries on any of the residents?”
“Nothing that seemed suspicious,” Dr. Sweetwater answered.
“How about complaints about the staff?”
“Agent Maverick, I hate to say this but many of the people have health and memory issues that affect their behavior and thoughts, so yes, they complain. Sometimes dementia changes a person’s personality. They may be agreeable one minute and belligerent the next. Others suffer from delusions and paranoia resulting from their health issues or medication.” She paused. “I hear everything—complaints about how bad the food is, that the cook is trying to poison them, that someone came into their room and stole things, that one of the other residents is trying to kill them. I have to sort it out for the truth, but I can assure you, if I suspected someone was hurting one of my patients, I would report it.” She exhaled. “Now, why are you asking these questions? Do you think Leon Brittles’s death was suspicious?”
“I’m not at liberty to say at the moment, but if you see or hear anything that raises a red flag, please give me a call.”
She agreed, and he returned to Peyton. She handed him a brown envelope. “Tapes from the night of the break-in. I also had Fred pull ones of the garden last night and this morning.”
“Good work.” He thanked Fred, then drove Peyton to her apartment. She was moving slowly, and he’d noticed her wince when she breathed, a sign she’d suffered more in the car crash than she wanted to admit.
“Thanks for driving me back,” she said. “While you were on the phone and Fred was pulling the other tapes, I called my insurance company about my car. I’ll probably have