“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.
Well, that is interesting. My altered mind keeps throwing me curves.
He didn’t want to be here when Vitters died, because he didn’t want the navy to abruptly change to electric blue.
“I’m good,” he finally said.
He walked into the room, pulled up a chair, and sat next to the bed. Milligan stood next to him.
“Mrs. Vitters, I’m Amos Decker and this is Todd Milligan. We’re here to talk to you about Anne Berkshire. She was in to see you this morning, we understand.”
Vitters looked up at him from deeply sunken eyes. Her skin was a pale gray, her eyes watery and her breathing shallow. Decker could see the port near her clavicle where her pain meds were administered.
“Anne was here,” she said slowly. “I was surprised because it was earlier than usual.”
“Do you remember what you talked about?”
“Who are you?”
Decker was about to take out his creds when Milligan stopped him. Milligan said, “We’re friends of Anne’s. She asked us to stop in today because she wanted to come back and keep talking to you but then found out she couldn’t make it.”
Vitters smiled grimly. “Put in a good word for me with the man upstairs.”
As they left, Milligan whispered, “Hey, Decker, you need to go a little easy with these folks, okay? They’re dying.”
He passed by Decker, who turned and looked back at Vitters lying in the bed, her eyes now closed. He walked back over to her and looked down. The navy blue image in his mind was starting to turn electric blue. Decker didn’t believe he could foresee someone’s death, but his mind was obviously making the logical leap with the terminally ill Vitters.
He reached down and adjusted the woman’s pillow to make her head rest more comfortably. His hand grazed over the white hair and then he said in a low voice, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vitters.”
He didn’t see Milligan watching him from the doorway. The FBI agent hurried off before Decker turned around.