Robert B. Parker’s Damned If You Do

4

The Golden Horizons Retirement Village was not, in fact, a village, but a two-building residential complex situated on a large knoll, parallel to Paradise Highway.

The twin red-brick buildings were constructed during the real estate boom of the early eighties. Initially they filled the housing needs of the burgeoning population of newly arrived workers who preferred to live closer to the coast and didn’t mind the commute.

Over time, as a result of the slowing economy, occupancy declined. Ownership of the buildings changed hands and the new management sought to revitalize the space by reconceiving it as a multipurpose retirement community, one that offered residents a choice of newly renovated apartments, assisted living accommodations, and a special care program for those in need of more intensive supervisory attention.

A menu of luxury options was made available to all of the residences. Three meals a day were served in an upscale dining facility, and a variety of meal plans were marketed. Supervised recreational activities were promoted, offering personalized training and exercise regimens. Medical personnel were regularly on-site, and trained orderlies supervised the village twenty-four/seven. Movies were screened nightly, and live entertainment was occasionally presented.

Donnie Jacobs had originally been housed in an assisted living apartment, but due to his deteriorating state of mind, Emma had recently moved him to the special care unit.

Jesse parked in front of the main building. He helped Donnie out of the cruiser and they went inside.

They walked through the lobby and past the sunroom, where a number of residents were gathered, either alone or in groups, involved in various games or activities. Visible through floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a group of residents outside was engaged in a yoga class.

Donnie spotted one man in particular, sitting alone, staring blankly into space.

“If that’s who I turn into,” he said to Jesse, “I want you to promise to put me immediately out of my misery.”

“Have you a preferred method for such a course of action?”

“I’m serious, Jesse. Don’t let me turn into a vegetable.”

The office of the director, Dr. Benedict Morrow, was located a few steps from the sunroom. Jesse and Donnie entered the outer office and were greeted by Dr. Morrow’s assistant, Barry Weiss.

“Donald,” Weiss said when he saw the two men enter.

Barry Weiss was an affable man of considerable girth, reflective of someone who had never successfully disciplined himself when it came to food.

“You found him,” he said to Jesse. “That’s a load off.”

Weiss picked up the phone, punched in a number, and spoke a few hushed words into it. Then he put the phone down.

He stood and extended his hand to Jesse.

“Barry Weiss,” he said.

“Jesse Stone.”

“Where was he?”

“At his house.”

“His house?”

“Where he used to live.”

“Well, he lives here now. Perhaps I could escort him to his room and arrange for him to be cleaned up.”

“Would you like that, Donnie,” Jesse said.

“Would I like what?”

“Mr. Weiss has offered to take you back to your room.”

“Come with me, Donald,” Weiss said.

He reached out and took Donnie’s arm. Donnie looked at Jesse for a moment, then he lowered his eyes and went out with Barry Weiss.

As he was leaving, Weiss said, “Dr. Morrow will be along shortly. Hopefully we’ll see you before you leave.”

Jesse watched them go. He was filled with an ineffable sadness. He breathed the conflicting odors of antiseptic and decay.

Dr. Benedict Morrow emerged from his office. He was wearing a full-length white lab coat with his name stitched on the chest.

“Chief Stone,” he said. “Benedict Morrow.”

“Dr. Morrow,” Jesse said.

“Call me Binky. Everyone does.”

“Binky.”

“I confess to the fact that I’m British. Displaced, perhaps, but still English to the core.”

Morrow was middle-aged, soft looking, and self-conscious. It was as though the part of the director was a role he was playing and the performance was a taxing one.

“How does he seem to you,” Morrow said.

“Disoriented. Confused. He didn’t want to come back.”

“A shame, really. Donald’s on a downward spiral. His cognitive abilities are failing. His connection to reality has become fragile. His wanting not to return is completely understandable.”

“Is he treated well here?”

“Everyone is treated well here. We regard our residents as family. We care for them with affection and consideration for their well-being.”

“How is it that Donnie was able to simply walk away so easily?”

“It’s not an uncommon occurrence, I’m afraid. We don’t want the patients to get the idea that they’re prisoners here. Although we have a security force, it’s not a hundred percent effective in securing those who don’t want to be secured. The new owners have identified this as a problem and are working with us in trying to find a solution.”

Jesse nodded and stared at Dr. Morrow, which succeeded in making him uncomfortable. He started to fidget.

“Well, if there’s nothing else,” Morrow said, “I’ll be getting back to my work.”

“I’d like to say good-bye to Donnie before I leave.”

“Of course.”

Dr. Morrow picked up the phone and punched in a number.

“Would you step into my office,” he said when his call was answered.

Then he hung up.

“One of our attendants will be with you presently,” he said to Jesse. “He’ll escort you to Donald’s room.”

Morrow smiled. Jesse smiled. The two men shared an awkward silence as they waited for the attendant to arrive.

A muscle-bound young man entered, dressed all in white: T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His ID badge read Charles Dempsey.

“Chuck,” Dr. Morrow said, “would you please show Chief Stone to Donald Jacobs’s room.”

Dempsey nodded.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Stone,” Morrow said.

“Ditto,” Jesse said.

Dr. Morrow smiled at Jesse, then went into his office and closed the door behind him.

Jesse looked at Chuck Dempsey.

“Can you take me to Donald’s room?”

“Won’t make any difference.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Old fart won’t know who you are.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to see him just the same.”

“Suit yourself.”

They took an elevator to the fourth-floor special care unit, which reminded Jesse of a hospital ward, containing a grouping of individual rooms, all facing a nurses’ central station. A middle-aged woman sat at a desk in the station, talking animatedly on the phone.

Dempsey escorted Jesse to Donnie Jacobs’s quarters, which was little more than a single-patient hospital room. The furnishings were impersonal and institutional. There was a hospital bed with bars on both sides, an overbed table on wheels, a cheaply upholstered armchair, a pressed-wood bureau, and a wall-mounted TV. There was a single lithograph copy of Vincent van Gogh’s painting Bedroom in Arles on one of the walls. A framed photo of a smiling Emma Jacobs sat on the dresser.

Donnie emerged from the bathroom accompanied by an attendant who was dressed in the same white outfit that Chuck Dempsey wore. Same musculature, too.

Donnie had shaved and showered and now wore a loose-fitting T-shirt and boxer shorts. Jesse noticed several black-and-blue marks on his bare arms. It appeared as if someone had repeatedly gripped him roughly.

The two attendants stepped away from Donnie and headed for the elevators.

“I came to say good-bye,” Jesse said to Donnie, who looked at him blank-eyed for several moments. Then he smiled.

“Jesse,” Donnie said.

Jesse nodded.

“You’re going somewhere,” he said.

“Just back to work.”

“I don’t understand,” Donnie said.

Jesse stepped up to him and gently touched his shoulder. Donnie shied away.

“It’s all right, Donnie. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Donnie looked at him.

“I know that, Jesse.”

Pointing toward the elevators, Jesse said, “Is it one of those guys over there who gives you trouble?”

Donnie looked around. Then he lowered his voice and said, “It’s the guy on the left.”

“He’s the one? Chuck?”

“Yes. Chuck. That’s him.”

“I’ll come see you again soon,” Jesse said.

“Will you ask Dolly to come see me, too,” Donnie said.

Jesse looked at him.

“You bet,” he said.