Buffalo jump

CHAPTER 13

The mission statement of the Vista Mar Care Group was heavy on saccharine but vague on specifics. Vista Mar had thirteen facilities across Ontario, according to its Internet home page. There were photos of each, along with links to testimonials from satisfied families. Meadowvale was by far the largest of the Vista Mar homes and the most recently acquired.

Along the home page’s top banner were two icons: “About Us” and “Contact Us.” I tried “About Us” first. I found the bio of the president and chief executive officer, one Steven Stone, aged thirty-two. He had earned a B. Comm. at York University, then took his MBA at the Richard Ivey School of Business at the University of Western Ontario. He founded Vista Mar a year after graduating.

Two years younger than me and the CEO of a sprawling corporation, while my current claim to corporate fame was being sole proprietor of an ass in a sling.

Also listed was the company’s medical director, Paul Bader. Since earning his medical degree at McMaster University in Hamilton, he had worked at a number of geriatric facilities. Quite a number, in fact, given the year he had completed his studies. He had moved around a lot before joining Vista Mar.

When I clicked “Contact Us,” an electronic business card popped up on screen: Alice Stockwell, director of administration and corporate secretary. I dialled her number and listened to it ring several times, hoping it would go to voice mail so I could hang up and pass the baton back to Franny. It was time for him to pull his head out of his ass and do his own work so I could turn my attention back to Jay Silver.

But on the fourth ring a woman answered in a cool, professional tone. “Alice Stockwell here.”

“Good morning,” I said. “My name is Jonah Geller and I’m an investigator with Beacon Security. I’d like to ask you a few questions about a case we’re working on.”

“Just a moment.” I was put on hold for about a minute before she returned. I wondered if she had had to ask permission to talk to me, or perhaps had set up a recording. She said, “All right, Mr. Geller. What’s this about?”

“We were engaged by someone who placed a family member in a Vista Mar nursing home. The family member died and the client has concerns.”

“What kind of concerns?”

“It would fall in the area of malpractice.”

“Well, I hope your client can prove it in court.”

“No one is talking about court-”

“Because Meadowvale has an outstanding record of patient care. There has never been a finding of negligence or malpractice as long as I’ve worked here.”

“I never said it was at Meadowvale. I said one of your homes.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, Meadowvale is the largest and our corporate offices are housed here so-”

“How long?”

“What?”

“You said ‘as long as I’ve worked here.’ How long?”

“Three years. But-”

“Did you know Steven before that?”

“Steven? What are you-”

“Stone. Steven Stone. He started it four years ago, you joined soon after…”

“Mr. Geller, your questions are all over the map and I-”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Will you stop, please! Just stop.”

I stopped. I was dying to hear what she’d say when she collected herself.

“It’s normal for people to feel that way,” she said.

“What way?”

“Guilty. When their loved ones die. We see it every day. They need someone other than themselves to blame and they choose us. Between you and me, I think your client is wasting your time.” Singing from the same hymnbook as Darlene Tunney, almost to the word. I wondered if they had rehearsed.

Stockwell told me to submit any further queries by email and hung up. I left Franny a note about my conversations with Tunney and Stockwell. I suggested he get one of Beacon’s forensic auditors to dig into the corporate structure of Vista Mar Care Group. And that was that. Let him pick up the thread when he got back from breakfast, or trying to tickle LaReine’s cervix with his eyelashes, or whatever he was doing besides dumping his work on me.

If Jay Silver had ever been in trouble professionally, there was no record of it on the Registered Pharmacists’ Association of Ontario website. An archive of news releases going back to the year 2000 included an alarming number of recalls of drugs found to be unsafe or counterfeit. A handful dealt with Internet sales to the United States and actions taken against Ontario pharmacists who had violated new rules against them.

There was no mention anywhere of Jay Silver. If he had ever given someone the wrong drug, adulterated drugs, copped them for his own use or showed up to work naked, it hadn’t been in the new millennium.

Elsewhere on the RPAO site was a staff directory. I scrolled through it and called the office of Winston Chan, director of investigations. “I’m not sure there’s much I can tell you,” he said. “Our confidentiality regulations are very strict.” But he did agree to see me at ten the next morning.

The phone rang seconds after we ended the call and I wondered if Chan had changed his mind. But it was Franny. “Thanks for the message,” he said. “Now I only got one more favour to ask.”

“Aw, fuck, Franny.”

“Last one, I swear. Go out to this Meadowvale place and look it over.”

“You’re kidding. It’s way the hell and gone out Kingston Road.”

“Well, I’m in the west end now so you’re closer.”

“I have things to do.”

“What? The newspapers? You didn’t clip them already? Clint said you were available to help.”

He had me. I couldn’t say anything about the Silvers or even hint I had something going on outside of work. “Helping you is one thing. Doing all your work is another.”

“You think I wouldn’t do it for you?”

“It’s never come up.”

“Listen, Jonah, you want me to tell Clint what a great help you been, or that you bitch every time I ask?”

I sighed into the phone and hung up. Sighing wouldn’t change anything but it didn’t hurt either. I was pondering the best route to Meadowvale when Jenn flopped at her desk and dropped her knapsack at her feet. She was glistening with sweat. Her cheeks were bright red and strands of her hair were pasted to her neck.

“Where’ve you been?” I asked.

“Outside,” she panted. “Since five this morning. No A/C. Just heat. Humidity. Smog. Misery.”

“What were you doing?”

“Kelly Pride called in sick.”

“Again? She’s threatening Franny’s record.”

“Girl gives pride a bad name. She usually saves it for Fridays,” Jenn said. “But she’s too smart to work outside on a day like this.”

“Where does that leave you?” I teased.

She fixed me with a glare.

“Sorry. What’s the assignment?”

“You know that place out by Cherry Beach where they tore down the old refinery?”

“Where the new sports complex is being built?”

“Yup. Construction doesn’t start until August,” she said. “Meanwhile, someone has been dumping barrels of PCBs and other toxic waste there. We’re trying to catch whoever’s doing it so the owner can sue their ass and recover the cost of cleaning it up. I’ve been hidden in a little blind in the brush that overlooks the site, baking, sneezing and donating blood to mosquitoes.” She pulled a bottle of spring water from her knapsack and drained it. “At least I’m not doing the night shift,” she said. “Bugs’ll be ten times worse.”

“Why don’t you go down to the gym and grab a shower.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I offending you?”

“Only if you still smell like that when I take you to lunch.”

“Ooh, lunch,” she crooned. “My other favourite L-word.”

“Well, a fast lunch, anyway, and then a drive.”

“Where to?”

“Deepest darkest Scarborough.”

“What’s there?”

“A place called Meadowvale.”

“Sounds cool and shady.”

“How shady is the question,” I said.