Family Honor

Chapter 37

John Otis called my new answering machine and left a message that if I wished to talk with him, he’d meet me in the lobby of New England Baptist Hospital. I arrived at the appointed time and sat down. There were half a dozen people in the lobby, including the woman at the information desk. New England Baptist specialized in orthopedics and a lot of people came and went on canes and crutches and walking casts. At about ten minutes past the hour, John Otis came in. It took me a moment to spot him without his white butler’s coat. He looked carefully around the room before he walked over.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “My mother lives with my brother just down the hill, and I usually visit her on my day off.”

“This is fine,” I said.

“Can we go talk in the cafeteria,” Otis said. “I haven’t eaten.”

We went down to the hospital cafeteria. I got some coffee and John Otis got a container of milk and a tuna sandwich.

“My mother always tries to feed me, but it’s so unhealthy,” he said. “Lot of fried stuff.”

“Did Billie tell you why I wanted to talk with you?”

“About Millie,” he said and smiled. “Millie and Billie. Sounds like a sitcom.”

He sounded vaguely British. There was no hint of a black accent. Probably a condition of butlerhood.

“Billie says that man named Cathal Kragan came to the house.”

“Yes.”

“With another man.”

“Once.”

“You know the other man’s name?”

John Otis was very neat. He ate his sandwich with small neat bites, dabbing at his lips neatly after every bite with a paper napkin. He drank his milk from the cardboard container with a straw.

“No. He only came once.”

“When?”

“About a month ago.”

“Do you remember the car that they came in?”

“Mr. Kragan, when he came, would normally drive a Dodge sedan. You know the funny cab forward kind.”

“I’ve seen the ads. How about when he came with the other man?”

“Came in a limousine.”

“Did you happen to get the license plate number?”

“Yes. Special license plate. Crowley-8.”

“Crowley limos?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The big Boston outfit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sunny. Please call me Sunny.”

“The driver waited for them and drove them home.”

“Did Kragan use a limo often?”

“No. Just that time.”

“Did anybody else come in limos?”

Otis chewed his small bite of sandwich and swallowed and drank a small sip of milk through his straw and put the milk back down, and looked at me for a time without any expression. His eyes were black. His dark smooth face had no expression.

Finally he said, “Why do you ask?”

“It’s all I could think of,” I said.

“The women came in Crowley limousines.”

“Women?”

“Mr. Patton would often entertain women,” he said. “They always came in the same limo, Crowley-8. That’s why I remember.”

“Did Mrs. Patton join her husband,” I said, “when he entertained these women?”

Otis’s smooth face didn’t change, but somehow I knew he was repressing a smile.

“Not that I know of.”

We were quiet for a time. Otis finished his sandwich. Doctors and nurses and ambulatory patients and visitors passed us as we sat.

“My wife says you’ve promised not to reveal that we’ve talked to you.”

“Not unless I must.”

“No one would hire us if they thought we talked about our employer.”

“So why take the risk?” I said.

“We feel badly for the little girl,” he said.