Page 15 of Her Last Refuge

"We appreciate that," Rachel said. "Can you walk us through what you found in terms of the records?"

"Yes. Ruth was admitted here in February, so she'd been a resident about six months before she passed." Miriam scrolled through the file, her finger tracing down the screen. "Howard came to us in July. Just under a month before his death."

Rachel felt something tighten at the base of her skull, the kind of quiet click that came from two facts lining up. She wasn’t sure what or how just yet, but it was there. "And what about the incidents…the agitation, the things they were saying? When did those start showing up in their charts?"

Miriam pulled up a separate log, a running record of behavioral notes attached to each resident's file. "Ruth's first entry mentioning her asking for forgiveness is dated the twenty-third of July. There are three more after that, spread out over the following two weeks." She looked up to them as if she, too, understood there was something peculiar about this. "That's the same week Howard arrived."

"Who documented those entries? Was it all the same staff member?"

"No, that's the thing." Miriam scrolled again, checking initials against each note. "Donna logged two of them. But there's one from Angela, one of our day nurses, and another from an aide on the weekend shift. Ruth said something similar to at least three different people over those two weeks."

"What did she say to them?” Novak asked. “Was it the same thing? Just forgive me over and over?"

"More or less. Angela's note says Ruth grabbed her hand and asked to be forgiven, though she wouldn't say for what. And apparently, when Angela asked her to clarify, Ruth became overly emotional. The weekend aide's note is shorter; it just says Ruth apologized repeatedly for something unspecified and was redirected successfully." Miriam looked up from the screen again, this time looking legitimately sad. "We see this kind of thing with dementia patients more than people realize. Old guilt, old memories…it can all surface without context because the part of the brain that would normally organize them into a coherent story isn't working the way it used to. It's heartbreaking, but it's not unusual."

"And Howard's incident with Desmond Yates would fall into that same window?"

"Yes, absolutely. I believe that happened a week after he arrived." Miriam closed the log and folded her hands on the desk. "I want to be clear that none of this struck anyone as more than standard behavioral symptoms at the time. We log everything. Most of what gets logged never means anything beyond the disease doing what it does. If we treated every confused statement as a red flag, we'd be calling families in a panic every other day."

Rachel nodded and though she didn’t say it, it was pretty much an echo of what they’d gathered during staff interviews. "I understand that," she said. "But you'd agree the timing is strange, right? Two residents, previously stable, both start to show this kind of distress within days of each other, right around when Howard arrived."

Miriam was quiet for a moment, her eyes moving between Rachel and Novak like she was weighing how much to say. "I'd agree it's worth looking into. I wouldn't have connected it myself until you sat here and laid it out that way. We don't typically cross-reference behavioral notes across residents unless there's a specific reason to. Something like an argument or altercation between residents."

"Is there anything that connects Howard and Ruth beyond being residents here?” Novak asked. “Any prior relationships, mutual acquaintances, anything like that in their intake paperwork?"

"Nothing that I've found so far,” Miriam said. “I can have our admissions coordinator go through both files more carefully if that would help." Miriam's voice had lost some of its polish, replaced by something more direct. She wasn’t angry, necessarily, but seemed to now be speaking as a concerned party rather than the director of the facility. "I don't know what's happening here, Agent Gift. But I don't like it a damn bit, either."

Rachel stood and gathered her bag. "Would you mind sending copies of both files to my email? Ruth's and Howard's complete charts, not just the behavioral logs."

"Not at all." Miriam was already reaching for her laptop, pulling it back toward her. "Give me your email and I'll send it before you're out the door."

Rachel read it off, watching Miriam type it into a new message with quick, precise keystrokes. "Anything else on either file, even if it seems unrelated, I'd want to see that too. As well as the security footage."

"I'll include everything I've got access to. If there's anything in a locked section, I'll need to loop in our compliance officer, but I don't expect that to be an issue given the circumstances." Miriam also got to her feet and walked with them to the door.

"I appreciate it."

Rachel and Novak exited the office together, the office door easing shut behind them as Miriam closed it. They kept walking until they'd cleared the corner and put some distance between themselves and Miriam's office before either of them spoke.

"Six months for Ruth,” Novak said, keeping his voice low “Three weeks for Howard, give or take, before both of them started saying things that didn't make sense to anyone who heard them. Do you have anything yet? Any ideas?”

“Not yet. But I think I know of someone who might be able to give us answers Miriam and her staff wouldn’t have.”

And before Novak could ask her who, she pulled up the number Caleb Durst had called her from yesterday.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The burger place Caleb agreed to meet them at during his lunch break sat two blocks off the MCV campus, wedged between a pharmacy and a shuttered dry cleaner. The outdoor tables were shaded by a row of faded green umbrellas that had clearly seen better summers. Rachel and Novak arrived first and claimed a table near the railing, close enough to the sidewalk that they could watch the lunch crowd thin and thicken in waves as shifts changed at the hospital across the street. The smell of grilling onions drifted out from the order window every time someone opened the door.

Caleb showed up a few minutes later in a red polo shirt with a sporting goods store's logo stitched over the pocket. The lanyard around his neck identified him as the Manager of Grand Slam Sporting Goods. He looked timid and maybe a little nervous as he approached them. Seeing him now, Rachel could just barely remember speaking to him in the past when he would come to the hospice to visit his grandfather.

"Sorry, had to close out a return before I could leave." He dropped into the chair across from them and glanced at his watch. "I've got about forty minutes before I need to be back."

"That's plenty of time," Rachel said. "Thanks for meeting us."

They ordered at the counter, Caleb going for a basic cheeseburger and fries, and Novak springing for a bacon burger that came stacked high enough to require both hands. Rachel kept it simple, a grilled chicken sandwich she picked at more than ate. The food arrived quickly, and for a few minutes the conversation stayed light; Caleb asking about the drive out, Novak making a comment about the burger joint's questionable parking situation that got a small, genuine laugh out of him.

Once the initial small talk wound down, Rachel set her sandwich aside and folded her hands on the table.