Loitering with Intent

25

BILL EGGERS DROVE across the Harlem River Bridge and headed north, toward Connecticut. He was going there against his better judgment, but his conscience had been bothering him. Stone had been making a lot of sense, and as far as he could tell, he was the only person who could do anything about this. Harry Keating was dead and Evan Keating had dropped out of sight again, so who else was left?

Two hours later Eggers arrived in Torrington, and he consulted the map his secretary had printed out from the Internet. It took him another fifteen minutes to find the nursing home, out on the east side of town, toward Hartford.

The Happy Hills Care Center was perched, true to its name, on a low hilltop. There were big oak trees on the front lawn and the building, with its colonial columns, was freshly painted. The reception area was newly decorated, with comfortable chairs. All of this was encouraging. He began to feel better. He approached the front desk, where a well-coifed middle-aged woman gave him a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she said. “May I help you?”

“Good morning. My name is William Eggers, and I’d like to visit with Mr. Eli Keating.”

The woman turned to her computer and tapped a few keys. “I’m sorry, Mr. Eggers, but your name isn’t on the authorized visitors list. Are you a family member?”

“No,” Eggers said, producing his business card, “I am Mr. Keating’s attorney.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, still smiling sweetly, “I cannot allow anyone who is not on the authorized visitors list to see a patient without a written order from Mr. Keating’s guardian.”

“Guardian? And who might that be?”

She consulted her computer screen. “Mr. Warren Keating.”

“Who is the director of this institution?” Eggers inquired.

“The medical director or the administrative director?”

“Who’s in charge?”

“One moment, please.” She picked up the phone and tapped in an extension. “Mr. Parker? There’s a gentleman at the front desk who insists on speaking with someone in authority. Could you come out here right away, please? Thank you so much.” She hung up. “Mr. Parker will be right with you,” she said.

“And what is Mr. Parker’s position here?”

“Mr. Parker is the administrative director.”

“And who is the medical director?”

“That would be Dr. Parker.”

“Would Mr. Parker be the son of Dr. Parker?”

“That would be correct.”

“Ah, a family business.” Eggers was too agitated to sit down, so he paced. After a few minutes a skinny young man in an ill-fi tting blue suit appeared.

“I’m Mr. Parker,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“Mr. Parker, I am the attorney for Mr. Eli Keating, who is an inmate of your institution.”

“A patient,” Parker said.

“We’ll see. I wish to see Mr. Keating at once.”

“He’s not on Mr. Keating’s visitors list,” the receptionist said.

“Then I’m afraid it will not be possible for you to see Mr. Keating,” young Parker said.

“Mr. Parker, you’d better get your daddy out here right now,”

Eggers said in a low voice, “and I mean right now.”

The young man’s eyes widened slightly, and he turned to the receptionist. “Call Dr. Parker, code three.”

The receptionist called another extension and repeated the message. Half a minute later, a gray-haired, gray-skinned man in a starched white lab coat presented himself at the front desk.

“This man wants to see Mr. Keating,” young Parker said to his father. “I’ve explained that that is not possible, since he is not on the visitors list.”

“Who are you?” Dr. Parker asked.

“I am Mr. Keating’s attorney,” Eggers said, digging out another card, “and I have a pretyped court order in my pocket that I can have Judge Carter’s signature on in ten minutes, so my advice to you would be to present Mr. Keating now. ”

Dr. Parker regarded him for a slow count of about fi ve, then picked up a phone and tapped in an extension. “This is Dr. Parker. Give Mr. Keating his medication and bring him to the dayroom immediately.”

“If you medicate that man, I’m calling the police as well as the judge,” Eggers said.

“Never mind the medication,” Parker said into the phone, then he hung up. “The dayroom is right over there,” he said, pointing to a double door. “You may have five minutes with Mr. Keating, no more.”

“I’ll take as long as I like,” Eggers said, then he turned and strode toward the doors. The dayroom was as pleasant as the rest of the place, and Eggers took a seat. Ten minutes passed, and he was about to go looking for Dr. Parker when a door swung open and a beefy orderly pushed a wheelchair into the room.

Eli Keating looked thinner than when Eggers had seen him at the funeral, and his stare was vacant. Eggers stood up. “Eli, it’s Bill Eggers. How are you?”

“All right,” Keating said sleepily. “I think.”

Eggers turned to the orderly. “We won’t be needing you.”

“I got my instructions,” the orderly said.

Eggers drew himself to his full six feet, four inches and took a step toward the orderly. “Get out.”

The man blinked a couple of times, then retreated the way he had come, and began staring through a glass panel in the door. Eggers sat down. “Eli, why are you here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Keating said in a manner more himself. “You’d have to ask my son.”

“Listen carefully to me. What is my name?”

“Bill Eggers.”

“Who am I?”

“You’re my lawyer, or at least you were. Where the hell have you been?”

“When did you hire me?”

“When you joined Woodman and Weld. I knew your daddy.”

“How old are you?”

“ Eighty-two next week.”

“What are your sons’ names?”

“Harry and Warren. I’ve got a grandson, too, Evan. Harry’s dead, and I don’t know where the hell Evan is. I wish he’d come and get me out of here.”

“Would you like to leave this place now?”

“You’re goddamned right I would. I want to go back to my house and see my own doctor.”

Eggers pulled out his cell phone and pressed the speed-dial button for his secretary. “It’s Eggers,” he said. “Plan B now.” He hung up. “You just sit tight, Eli, and I’ll have you out of here in less than an hour. My secretary is making a call to a lawyer in Torrington, who is ready to have a court order signed. Do you need an ambulance, or would you rather ride with me in my car?”

“Bill,” Eli said, “if you can stop them from giving me another one of those injections, I’ll drive you. ”