Cold Comfort (19 page)

"You're right
—
it's a long shot. But we haven't come up with anything resembling a motive here." He shrugged and pushed the folder across the desk to Riley. "Help yourself. Fairly professional. No fingerprints, footprints, or anything else. Likely Doc opened the door himself, but that's not unusual. People showed up there all the time wanting medical help."

"What killed him?" Riley studied the photos. One showed the marks on Clary's face. Anger coursed through him. Why would they attack a harmless old man? What if they'd gotten to Claire? He carefully relaxed his grip on the picture, returned it to Killian.

"A blow to the back of the neck. Could have been a hand. But he'd already been hit several times." He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why him? Clary never hurt anybody. They must have been after something."

"Whoever hit my client used his hand. He hit her from behind. She'd ducked to pick up something. I figure that and the neighbor's barking dog saved her." He described events for the detective, including the scene in Claire's shop. "The police identified him as Joey Fortunato, a low-level Mob enforcer. The other guy got away."

"Who's your client? Why would Organized Crime be interested in her? She must have rubbed some powerful people the wrong way. What is she? A bookie who ran off with the money?"

"Hardly. She's outside breathing fire right now. Put those pictures away, and I'll bring her in to meet you."

"Not necessary. Clary's daughter is at the house now. Get your client, and I'll take you there." Killian slid the photographs back in the folder and shoved it in a drawer, then followed Riley to the parking lot. Riley filled him in about Claire and introduced him when they reached the car. Killian said hello, then got in his car.

Riley pulled out of the parking lot onto Pinckney Street, following Killian's cruiser, and repeated most of his conversation with the deputy to Claire. They stopped in front of a typical low-country bungalow, raised high off the ground on pilings. A spray of white flowers hung on the green front door.

"You don't often see that these days," Claire said—her first words since meeting the deputy.

"What?" Riley glanced at the house. He admired the effect of the green door against the soft salmon of the structure but saw nothing unusual.

"The white flowers on the door. It means a death in the house." Sympathy clouded her face.

He wasn't familiar with the practice, but figured she'd done something similar for her mother
—
those old traditions fit her. He took her hand when she stepped out of the SUV onto the broken-shell path that bordered the narrow road.

Killian waited for them at the bottom of the porch steps with his hands in his pockets. "I called from the car. She's expecting us."

When they reached the porch, the door opened, revealing an attractive woman dressed in black. She nodded to the detective and held out her hand to Claire. "I'm Edith Walters, Dr. Clary's daughter. Please come in."

"I'm so sorry to bother you at a time like this," Claire said. "I think your father delivered me, and I wanted to ask if he remembered anything about it."

Riley explained about Claire. "We think it has something to do with her birth. Would it be possible to see any records your father might have kept?"

"I can't tell if the records are all there. Whoever
—
" She broke off and sniffed, angrily wiped away a tear. "The files have been disturbed. Some were on the floor, as if tossed aside. I can't tell what, if anything, is missing."

The furniture in the living room had been pushed against the wall, and the scrubbed wooden floor smelled of disinfectant. Riley stayed between the door and Claire, blocking her view of what must have been the murder scene. They followed Edith Walters into a small room off the central hallway. Clary used it for his office and treated his patients there. Light from an overhead fixture shone on an old wooden desk. Two chairs sat side by side across from it, and a daybed rested against the wall. In the corner stood an old metal file cabinet, its drawers partially open.

"My father still treated minor cuts and injuries. He referred anything serious to Georgetown or North Charleston." She ran her hand over the surface of the desk. "He was the kindest man I ever knew."

Killian went to the file cabinet. "Okay if I look through this, Edith?"

"Go ahead. They're still confidential, but under the circumstances, I'm sure it's all right." She turned to Claire. "What are you looking for?"

"Anything on Blanche Spencer." Claire told her the date. "All I know is McClellanville. My mother didn't live here, and my father died before I was born." She looked around the little office. "Did Dr. Clary always have his office here?"

"No. He worked in Georgetown, near the hospital there." Edith frowned. "You were born only a few weeks after Dad moved here. Mother and I didn't come until the end of the school year."

"Where did you come from?" Riley thought there must have been a reason for Blanche Spencer to come here for Claire's birth.

"Greenville, in the upstate. He practiced there for years before Mother got him to move here, closer to her family."

"My mother came from Greenville. Maybe they knew each other." Claire turned to Riley, confusion in her eyes. "I wasn't due for three weeks. Do you think she might have been coming to see him?"

"Blanche who? What was her maiden name?"

"Lindsey," Claire said.

"Why, I knew Blanche Lindsey. I was fifteen when we moved here, and Blanche was a good bit older. I knew your aunt, Caroline, better. She used to babysit with me. Our families were friends." She studied Claire's face. "Now that I know, I can see there's a strong family resemblance. Amazing really. You look just like her."

"Thank you. I consider that a compliment." Claire smiled, clearly pleased by the idea.

Riley thought about the pictures he'd seen. Claire and Blanche had mildly similar facial features, but he thought the difference in coloring would have kept anyone from thinking they looked alike, especially after thirty-odd years. Strange. He wished he'd brought the picture of Blanche.

"The only thing I can suggest is to talk to some of the people at the hospital in Georgetown. If it was an emergency, he might have delivered you here and then transferred you to the hospital. If so, they'd have a record of it. But I would have thought he'd have told us since we knew your mother."

Riley let the implication pass without comment but mentally added the word
secrecy
to what he knew of Claire's birth. "Can you give us the names of any of your father's office staff? Nurses?"

"Yes, I think so, but he closed the office about fifteen years ago. I don't know where they are or what they might be doing now." Edith indicated the files where Killian stood listening to their conversation while he flipped through the records.

"There are no Spencers or Lindseys here. What I can tell you is the S's are the most disturbed of the files. They've been crammed in out of order and they're crooked. I think we found Smith and Steadman on the floor. I can't remember them all." He stepped away and made room for Edith at the cabinet.

She opened the bottom drawer and searched through the contents. "Whoever did this searched this drawer, too." Finally she withdrew a thick file, tapped the disturbed papers back down, and handed it to the detective. "All the staff information should be in here. I'll leave it in your hands, Ed."

"I'll take care of it." The deputy glanced through the contents of the folder and said to Riley, "Why don't you drop by my office in an hour or so. I'll have a list of names and addresses for you, and it will give me time to see if I can find any more current information on these people."

"Fine. We're staying at Marsh Winds, out near the Intracoastal Waterway on the Santee River."

"I know the place. Nice. The Durhams did some major work after Hugo, but it looks just like it did before." The deputy tucked the file under his arm and started for the door. "Edith, thanks for letting us come by. I'll let you know if anything turns up."

"Of course. I hope it will help," she said. "Claire, I'm so glad to have met you. Remember me to your family."

"Thank you, but I'm the only one left. My mother passed away a year ago."

Riley noticed her pallor. He wanted to get her out of this place, away from the pungent smell of disinfectant and death. She hadn't said anything, probably because of Edith Walters, but he knew she'd seen the freshly scrubbed floor in the living room.

* * *

Riley took Claire back to their cottage to wait for Killian's information. He stretched out on the sofa while Claire paced.

"Don't worry. We'll find someone who knew the doctor back then," he said.

"Why would they have killed him? What harm could he have done?"

"Probably what he knew. Or maybe just being home at the wrong time. I don't have the answers, but I will find them." She made him dizzy, striding back and forth in the small cottage. Circles ringed her eyes. Dr. Clary's death and the little they learned from his daughter only added to her confusion. He wondered about Blanche. If Claire looked like her mother, then the woman in the pictures wasn't her mother. Claire either hadn't figured it out or refused to accept it, but he knew she would soon. Maybe the mystery wasn't only about Claire, but Blanche too. Edith Walters had been quite certain about the family resemblance.

Claire needed a distraction, however brief. He pushed himself off the couch and crossed to the window. "Let's go outside."

"Okay. I could use the fresh air."

He opened the cottage door to the tiny veranda, and they stepped out into the wind. The air held the scent of rain, and clouds hung low and heavy. "We're going to get wet."

"I like rain." She leaned against a column, gazing out over the marsh.

The waterway, a dull gray today, lay to the east. A pelican, barely visible from this distance, squatted on one of the pilings.

"Are these the kinds of lands you want to protect?" He nodded toward the waving grass.

"Yes, although this area is pretty well covered by national forest. Our coastal lands in Virginia are truly endangered. When Christmas is over, we'll start working on passage of the wetlands bill again." She waved her hand at the grassy vista. "Can you believe people would destroy this to build subdivisions?"

"Unfortunately, I can. What about the Clean Water Act? Doesn't it protect these areas?"

"Section 404 is the problem. It isn't really clear about what material can be added to a wetland, and it says nothing about removal. The Army Corps of Engineers provided a definition in the early nineties, called the Tulloch rule, but since then, a close decision by the Supreme Court weakened it further."

She warmed to her theme, shedding her melancholy mood. Riley listened, encouraging her to talk.

"The new definition was clear, but a man in Michigan challenged it, saying the Clean Water Act itself should be changed by Congress if the EPA doesn't like it. That's why Senator Jennings's bill is so important."

"I thought everyone was big on protecting the wetlands. Why can't they change the law?"

"Home building is one of the biggest industries in the country. They have an army of lobbyists, and besides, in many cases the local governments are dominated by business interests and just look the other way, issuing almost every permit request that comes to them." She stopped and gave him a rueful smile. "Once I get on my soapbox...." She checked the time. "We should go."

He kept pace with her to the Tahoe and unlocked the passenger door. "You know a lot about it. My place is about ten acres on the James River. I'll hang on to if I can."

"It's a lovely spot
—
don't ever sell it." Her appreciative gaze took in the marsh. "Look."

He followed her direction to a hawk soaring overhead. Riley studied her as he started the truck. Her smile reached her eyes, and her face brightened considerably. He knew it would change soon enough. He just hoped they could find someone who'd been around when Claire was born, someone who remembered.

Chapter 13

Killian was out but left the list on his desk for them. Claire picked it up and skimmed the names. "I'll read while you drive."

As they turned north onto the highway, she said, "He's circled one of the names, MaryDell Baker, and written Georgetown Hospital by it with a question mark. She must have gone to work there after Dr. Clary retired."

"Good. We'll have someone to ask for. And she may lead us to someone else."

In Georgetown, Claire locked her hands in her lap to keep from chewing her nails. Riley easily found Black River Road and the hospital, a stolid brick structure. A man at the front desk directed them to the business offices. Claire let Riley do the talking.

They found the room, and he showed his identification to a woman sitting behind a desk. "We're looking for a MaryDell Baker. Does she work here?"

"I'll have to check." The woman excused herself and hurried into another office. She came back minutes later with a file folder in her hand. "I found her records, officer, but she retired several years ago."