Dying Wishes (24 page)

Bert
continued to look somber, but humor glinted in his eyes. “Not bad for an
amateur psychologist, and I thought I was the resident expert. Maybe you could
go into practice part-time and put up your shingle in the lobby. You know, Kate
Lawrence, Vista View sales rep. Armchair analysis while you wait.”

I
made a face at him. “Okay, okay. I told you it was just a guess. Do you have a
better explanation?”

Again, the thoughtful expression.
This time his silence lasted longer, and I frowned. “What is it, Bert?”

“Actually,
I think you’re right on the money about Ginny Preston. As I said before, it’s a
damned shame, but unlike you, I’m in a position to offer you a solution.”

I
stared at him. “What would that be?”

His
eyes slid to a small zipper case in the chaise next to him and returned to my
face. “I can tell you the truth, or rather, I can show you.” He picked up the
case, unzipped it and removed a flat plastic container, the kind that holds a
CD or DVD. “I remember a while back you did some research on an organization
called the Citizens for Compassionate Decisions. You recognized a couple of
names on the major donors list in their annual report, as I recall.”

I
nodded, my eyes glued to the plastic case in his hand.

“It’s
a big group,” he continued. “It has a lot of supporters and gains more every
day, but they only have to list those donating very large sums. That wouldn’t
include me on my fixed income. Still, I believe absolutely in their mission so
I help out on a volunteer basis from time to time.”

I
looked at him directly, my hands clenching in my lap. “Doing what, Bert?” I
asked, not at all sure I wanted to hear his answer.

He
glanced at the case in his hands and back at me. “The laws being as
unenlightened as they still are in most of the country, it’s important to have
conclusive records of these events in case of official inquiries. We document
the deceased’s voluntary actions and the total lack of influence exerted by
those around her. We make an unassailable record of her dying
wishes,
you should excuse the very bad pun.”

I
didn’t return his tentative smile. “How do you do that exactly?”

“By
videotaping the event from start to finish with no breaks, no edits. Mind you,
the recording isn’t meant to be viewed. It’s strictly a precautionary measure
to protect those peripherally involved in case it becomes necessary to defend
themselves against false accusations. I think we may be on the verge of that
here, Ms. Preston being as obsessed as she seems to be. I don’t believe for a
minute that she’s letting go of this thing.”

I
looked at the case again. “Margaret Butler?”

He
nodded and held out the case to me. “Albert Rosenthal, chief videographer and
loyal friend of the deceased.”

I
accepted it reluctantly. A small label on the spine read merely MARGARET
BUTLER.

“
You’re trusting
me with this?”

“That’s
exactly what I’m doing, Gorgeous, trusting you to learn the truth and do the
right thing with it to put your friend Ginny’s mind at ease. At some point the
needs of the living have to take precedence over the wishes of the dead.”

I
held the DVD with distaste. How had I been pulled back into the middle of this
yet again? “But I don’t want to watch it.”

He
nodded. “I know you don’t, but you will, and honestly, you don’t need to be
afraid or worried about it. If anything, I think you’ll find it reassuring.”

“Why can’t you just tell me what’s on it?”

“I
can, but in a court of law that would just be hearsay. You need to have direct
knowledge of the event in order to testify in anyone’s defense.”

I
felt trapped. “I don’t need direct knowledge, Ginny does. How is my watching
this going to give her the truth she craves? Shouldn’t she be the one to see
this?”

He
shook his head. “She trusts you, and if you tell her you’ve watched this
recording and nothing illegal happens on it, she’ll believe you. If we’re
lucky, that will be the end of that. But if she sees it herself, given her
extreme sense of morality rooted in her religious beliefs, she’ll feel
compelled to act on her knowledge. Believe me, no good will come of that.”

I
glared at him. How dare he back me into a corner like this? Ginny Preston had a
colossal nerve dragging me into this mess in the first place. And how could
Margaret … what? I glanced around and noted that the solarium had emptied while
Bert and I had been talking. Still, I knew all too well that the walls can have
ears. I hitched my chair closer to Bert’s chaise.

“What
happens on this DVD?” I hissed at him.

“Nothing illegal and, in my opinion, nothing immoral.
A terminally ill woman delivers herself gently and quickly from a fate quite
literally worse than death.”

I
blinked. “Which would be what?”

“The final stages of liver cancer.
It’s a very bad way to go, debilitating, disfiguring and ultimately agonizing.
There’s no treatment for it. Radiation and chemotherapy won’t touch it. All
they could do was remove the mass surgically and hope they got it all, but they
didn’t get lucky this time.”

“That’s
good enough for me,” I said, trying to hand the DVD back to him, but he
wouldn’t take it.

“Sorry,
Gorgeous, but that won’t cut it. You need to take it now, and when you’re done
with it, get it back to the CCD. What with one thing and another,” he tapped
his chest over his heart, “I might not be around to produce it if it’s needed
for the protection of the others.”

“What
others?” I asked wearily. “Who else is on this recording, Bert?”

He
glanced around cautiously before replying. “Friends of the deceased,” he said
finally. “You won’t see any of them, but I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out
who we are.”

~

By
the time I arrived at Gerald
MacRae’s
office, I was
spoiling for a fight. I had barely known Margaret Butler. I’d had nothing
whatsoever to do with her so-called self-deliverance, and I refused to be the
keeper of the facts surrounding her demise.
MacRae
had been her friend and her attorney, so he could take custody of the damned
DVD.

I
stomped right past poor Shirley and into
MacRae’s
inner
sanctum, shutting the door firmly behind me.
MacRae
was studying documents spread out on his desk and looked up in surprise. I
dropped into one of the chairs in front of his desk and placed the DVD squarely
in front of him. He examined the label and looked at me.

“I
need some legal advice,” I said without preamble. “I was given this recording
by a member of the Citizens for Compassionate Decisions and asked to watch it.
Ginny Preston, who is the business manager of Vista View, as you know, has some
serious questions about the circumstances of Margaret Butler’s death and needs
assurance that nothing illegal occurred on the premises on her watch. I’m told
that this DVD will show me exactly what happened on October 9
^th
, and
I should watch it and decide for myself whether anything illegal—that is,
assisted suicide—took place. Then I can tell Ginny the truth. She’ll believe
me, because she trusts me.”

MacRae
regarded
me calmly. “That seems clear enough. What do you need my advice about?”

“I
need to know what my choices are here if I do see something illegal. Do I
follow the letter of the law and inflict what I personally believe would be an
enormous injustice, or do I serve justice, in my opinion, and take my chances
with the law by not reporting what I know to be true?”

“You
may not have to do either, Kate. You may not see evidence of anything illegal
on this DVD, in which case there will be no decision to make. If you do see
what you believe to be an assisted or coerced suicide, then you’ll have to
decide between the law and your sense of justice, bearing in mind that any
illegality is purely a matter of geography.”

“I’d
prefer that you watch it,” I told him.

“I
can’t do that. Let me try to make you understand. As a lay person, you have a
choice. I, who am sworn to uphold the law whether or not I happen to agree with
it, do not. If I see someone other than a client of mine doing something that
is illegal in the state of Connecticut, as an officer of the court I would be
obliged to report it.”

I
stared at him, frustrated, and dealt my last card. “What if that person is your
wife?” It was a nasty swipe, but
MacRae
didn’t even
blink.

“A
husband cannot be compelled to testify against his wife,” he said shortly.
Check and mate. “You already know what’s on the DVD, don’t you?”

I
met his gaze steadily. “Yes, I believe I do, but I haven’t seen it for myself.
Until I do, I can’t know for sure.”

“Why
do you need to know?” he asked.

“Because I do!”
I almost
shouted at him. “I’ve been yanked this way and that for weeks now by people
demanding to know the truth about Margaret Butler’s death and possibly Angela
Roncaro’s
, as well. I’ve been harassed and vandalized and
misdirected, and I’ve upset a lot of innocent people with my persistent
inquiries. Despite everything, I’ve done my best to get to the bottom of this
situation for the sake of a friend I think may be having a nervous breakdown,
but until now, all I’ve gathered is a lot of half-truths and innuendoes. I’m
finally in a position to learn the truth, and learn it, I will. I need to know
who I can trust, Gerald.”

He
picked up the DVD and stood tapping the plastic case against his thumbnail.
“Then watch this,” he said, holding it out to me.

I
dropped the case into my purse and headed for the door as he returned to his
desk and his perusal of the papers on it. “If you have any questions after
you’ve seen it, I’ll be around,” he said. He didn’t look up as I let myself
out.

When
I arrived home, I was surprised to find Armando’s car already in the garage. I
was even more surprised to find him in the kitchen, adding seasonings to the
stew I had left in the crock pot that morning. At the sight of him, my eyes
filled with tears.

He
replaced the lid and came to give me a hug. “What is it,
Cara
?”

“Can
you wait a little longer for your dinner?” I sniffled. “I need you to watch
something with me.”

Eighteen

Margaret Butler moved into the frame
and seated herself. She was a petite brunette, stylishly coiffed and made up,
and wore elegantly embroidered lounging pajamas of turquoise silk. She was,
quite simply, stunning, and she smiled into the camera as if she knew it.

“My name is Margaret Marie Butler,
and I requested that this recording be made at my apartment at the Vista View
Retirement Community on October 9, 2011.” She rattled off her date of birth and
Social Security number. “It is my hope that no one will ever need to view this
recording, but should it become necessary, I want to assure you that I am of
sound mind. At least that’s what my physician and my attorney have stated in
the notarized document that is in the possession of Gerald R.
MacRae
, Esquire, of Wethersfield, Connecticut, along with
my last will and testament and certain other instructions regarding the
disposal of this body that is failing me so appallingly,” she smiled wryly,
“and one or two private gifts that I have asked him to distribute two weeks after
the reading of my will.”

She paused to collect her thoughts.
“I know this must seem somewhat bizarre to you, a staged final appearance in
front of a video camera, but I’m a planner by profession and by nature, and I
simply cannot leave to chance the possibility that my loyal, generous friends
who are standing by me even as I speak might suffer any consequences as a
result of my actions.” She smiled off to one side and blew a kiss.

“What is happening here tonight is a
bon voyage celebration that has been orchestrated entirely by me before I make
my final journey. It has been months in the planning. Allow me to give you a
little history.”

She paused to consult an index card,
holding it up to the light.

“A year ago November, I experienced
acute abdominal pain unlike anything I had felt before. Until that time I had
enjoyed excellent health and took care to keep myself fit, so I was alarmed.
Rightly so, as it happened.
A CT scan revealed a large mass
attached to my liver that turned out to be cancerous. Radiation and
chemotherapy were not viable treatment options, and that left only surgery to
remove the mass. For a while after that, it looked as if I might have dodged the
bullet, but then the cancer returned even more aggressively.”

At this point Margaret gazed bleakly
into the camera. “I would prefer not to die just yet, but my only alternative
is to become grossly distorted by accumulating fluid, be entirely bedridden within
weeks, and die in agony despite being kept incoherent or unconscious on massive
doses of morphine. Already the pain comes fiercely and more
frequently,
and I’m told I’ll soon lose control of my bodily functions.” She leaned forward
and confessed, “As my friends know all too well, I’m far too vain to tolerate
that. How many women do you know who would actually have their hair and makeup
done professionally to look good for the coroner’s staff? I do miss my diamond
studs, though.”