Chapter Twenty-Four: They're Gone

 

I start panicking, realizing that all the pills I thought I had never taken and that were under my mattress are gone. I sweep my hand all over and find nothing. Did my nephew take them? And then I recall that the doctor told me I had too much medication in my system. But how did my nephew find them? And why didn’t I notice they were missing? I wouldn’t have noticed they were gone unless he only took one. But when would he have done that? And then it hits me: my shower! Every morning, I shower at 7:30. He must have come in and taken one under my mattress and then brought me juice with one of the pills in the bottle. He knew I wasn’t taking them, so he opened the capsules and poured them into my drink. Then, another realization – he would bring me a glass of juice in the morning before work, briefly at lunch, and then at dinner.

Now, the million-dollar question – how did he not know I wasn’t taking them? Maybe I will get more answers from Chief Errington.

I go downstairs and see the house has been cleaned and gasp. I wasn’t gone more than 10 minutes. “Oh, wow, I wasn’t expecting you to make it spotless,” I say as she’s putting away the vacuum. I glance around at the clean tables and floors and smell a lemony scent. Did she use Pledge? I don’t know much about her, but I do know she cleans pretty good.

“Oh, no bother. My mother used to clean our house until it shined. She had OCD, so she would clean it, sometimes three times a day, and taught us kids how to deeply clean a home. My husband certainly appreciates it.” She turns around. “You look nice. I like the lipstick choice,” she smiles. I love red, but I don’t put it on too much, but today, I felt like wearing it. It’s not a bright red, more like a ruby, so it doesn’t stand out. I put a little more color on my cheeks too. My nephew never liked me wearing makeup, told me I looked like I was trying too hard to look younger. I wanted to tell him that just because I was older didn’t mean I was dead.

After asking if I was ready, we head out. I lock the door and grab the mail from the attached box next to it; I flip through the pieces and notice a letter addressed to my nephew, but no returned address. I slip it in my purse, vowing to read it later.

It’s starting to rain, and I take it in, loving the smell.  I hear thunderclaps getting closer, and before long, the wind picks up, and heavy rain pelts the windshield. Thankfully, the police station is only a few miles away.  

“Sorry, I don’t have an umbrella,” Officer Lopez says when she stops the car in the parking lot. I grab my purse and pull out one.

“I do. It’s compact enough to fit in this thing.”

She laughs. “I need to get me one of those.”

When I get out, I open it up and come around to where she’s at, and we both walk quickly into the station.

After shaking the water off, I close the umbrella. I have been in this police station more times in the last two days than ever.

A flurry of activity is once again filling the room. At least five police officers are at their desks, and a few people who got arrested are sitting in chairs, handcuffed. I look down, not wanting to draw attention and walk into Chief Errington’s office. He looks up.

“Hey, glad you’re here. Sit down and give me a minute and we can get to some questions.” Before I speak, he gets up and goes out of the room. “Lopez, follow me.” After they’re both gone, I sit and wait – what I feel like I’ve been doing all week. I see his Police Academy Certificate framed on the wall behind his desk and another one of him shaking hands with Mayor Peterson. A large calendar is on the other side of the wall, littered with notes and circled dates. At least one other person uses a calendar. I figure if it’s staring me in the face every day I go into the kitchen, I’m not having to remember it in my phone. I know, call me old school, but sometimes technology sucks.

A few minutes later, both come back in. “Okay, Chief Errington says, sitting down at his desk. Officer Lopez pulls up another chair and sits in it. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and Officer Lopez is going to write down your answers. Don’t be nervous. We’re just trying to understand the relationship between you and your nephew.”

I look down, fidgeting with my blouse. How much do I tell him? “Okay,” I say, trying to quiet my shaking knees.

“Just answer to the best of your ability.” He looks down at his pad of paper. “Which side of the family is your nephew on, yours or your late husband’s?

“Mine. He’s my brother’s son.”

“Okay. And how long has he been living with you?”

“About a year now. He moved in when my brother passed. His wife kicked him out, and he had no place to go. I felt bad, so let him live with me until he could get back on his feet.” It sounds silly now, as I say it. The man is 34 years old, and he’s living with his aunt.

“Got it. Now, I understand from your doctor that you both went to see him for anxiety last year, right?” I hesitate to answer him. I can’t lie to him.

“Well, that’s what he told the doctor, but he told me a week later, after my blood tests came back, that the doctor thought I had dementia because he noticed my memory was slipping and yada yada, so the doctor prescribed pills that would help. He has Power of Attorney and Medical Power of Attorney, so they believed him.

But my memory is fine, probably better than most people’s, and the medication was making me feel tired, dizzy, and not like myself. So, I stopped taking them. When he gave them to me, I would pretend to swallow but keep the pills to the side of my mouth; they were pretty small, so I could conceal them – or so I thought. When he left, I took it out and stuffed it under the mattress.” I stop, wrestling with whether to tell him they’re gone. But, if he already knows everything else, I have to tell him this too.

“I checked just before we came here and they’re gone, so he had to have been finding them and putting the capsules into my juice or milk daily.”

Chief Errington sat back and stroked his chin. “Yes, that would make sense and why your levels were so high. Do you have a life insurance policy?”

“Yes. I think the last I checked it was $200,000.”

“Yeah, that’s a good amount. It sounds like your nephew was trying to kill you, but make it look like the dementia was. I’ve seen this before and read numerous cases on this. If someone has a Medical Power of Attorney, they can make all the decisions on someone’s behalf, which can be dangerous.”

I knew that but the warning about harming my family was emotional blackmail to keep my mouth shut.

“I talked to your doctor at length, and he said you are healthy, except for some anxiety you had when your husband passed away and which flares occasionally. Your blood pressure is a little low, but he prescribed the beta-blocker only because your nephew said the panic attacks could get debilitating and even Xanax wasn’t calming you down.”

Hearing this shocks me. If I take Xanax, I’m out for hours. No wonder I’ve been so lethargic and out of it. And at night, after he dosed my drink, I felt tired and went to sleep early. He wanted to keep me so drugged that the excessive dosages would eventually cause a heart attack or stroke.

“Anyway, when he was questioned, he made a bunch of excuses about how he didn’t know giving you more would hurt because he felt you needed a higher dose and that since he opened them and put them in your juice it might lessen the effects. With this new information you’re giving us, it sounds like he was doing it behind your back because he knew you weren’t taking them, and so to ensure you were still getting them, he put his own plan in place.”

“What a jackass,” I hear Officer Lopez blurt out. The Chief shot her a warning look. “I know, but how he’s been treating her is unacceptable. He needs jail time.”

I agree, and I know what would put him away for a long time, but was I ready to confess that I know he’s the one who killed Troy? With the person who put the hit out on him still out there and the smoke grenade, I’m still very scared of retaliation, even though I don’t have 100% knowledge of who actually hired my nephew to do it. No, I need to keep quiet – for now.

“Well, now I need to know. Do you want to press charges for what he did to you?” I knew this was coming. If I say no, it will look bad; if I say yes, what would happen? Would he be charged a fee, spend 90 days in jail, and then get out and exact his revenge? I’m torn, and the look on my face shows it because the Chief sighs deeply.

“I know this is a tough decision, but if you are being threatened or if he’s purposefully harming you, he needs to be stopped.”

“Listen, I get you’re scared, but if your nephew isn’t charged, who’s to say he doesn’t do something even worse?” Officer Lopez makes eye contact with the Chief, and he nods.

“What will happen if I do press charges?”

“Well, that’s up to a judge to decide, but if it’s proven his overdosing was done out of malcontent, he will be charged a hefty fee and could be sentenced to prison for a time or have probation. It all depends on if the judge thinks this was intent to kill since he, in essence, was poisoning you,” Chief Errington opens up his desk drawer and pulls out a pad of sticky notes. He jots down a name and number. He then pushes it in front of me. “This is someone I think you should talk to – she’s a counselor who deals with abusive family members, especially in the elderly. I don’t want to pressure you, but we can only hold him for 72 hours. If, after that, he isn’t charged, we will have no choice but to let him go. If you can talk to this counselor before then, she can help you decide what’s best for you. How does that sound?”

I think about it. It would be nice to get a counselor’s opinion on what I should do. This is not something I’ve ever had to deal with. It couldn’t hurt.

“Okay, I’ll call her.”

“I’ve already let her know to expect your call if you agree, so the sooner you get into see her, the better,” Chief Errington gets up. “In the meantime, Officer Lopez will be staying with you. If you do decide to charge your nephew, he will be in the county jail until his hearing. That could be days or weeks. I want you to be protected, so if that occurs, we need to make more accommodations to ensure your safety.”

“This time, since I knew I would be staying at your home, I brought my suitcase, so it’s in my car, and we can head back to your place right now. You can call this counselor and get an appointment scheduled.” Officer Lopez gets up from her chair, and we all walk out of the police station.

“Let me know your decision no later than Friday Morning,” Chief Errington says. It was Tuesday now. I have less than 72 hours to make my decision.

Do I press charges or let my nephew go free, knowing that he could plan something worse, and I would never know it.

It’s time for another riddle.