They just don't want to go in. You have to have hazmat suits, dysentery shots. Case like that, you
got
to go into the drains."
"Why?" Ray asked.
"Think about what the cops found . . . two dead girls . . . aspirated human excrement . . . the bus takes them away. Then the FD hoses out the car for them."
"They found drug traces in the trunk and glove compartment."
His father shrugged. "Pete's gonna think it's drugs. Maybe. I think the shit is the best clue."
"How?"
"What you got to do is find out where the shit came from."
"I know where it came from, it came from human beings. Pete says there are something like nine hundred septic trucks in the area handling loads like this."
"No, no,
listen
to me, there'll be stuff in there, information. There'll be information in the shit."
Now Ray watched the synthetic morphine course through his father, softening the tension in his neck and forehead. His large fingers, bony and thin now, eased against the blanket.
"You did hear me, right?" croaked his father.
"I did."
"I don't want to be moved. I want to die in this bed in this room in this house. Then I will be with your mother."
"Dad, we could easily call the precinct and they'd put a car outside the house."
"Nah."
"Why?"
"I got all the advantages, son."
This made no sense.
Mental clouding,
the Dilaudid sheet had said,
euphoria.
"Like what?"
His father shrugged. "You, for one. Might be interesting. Plus there's another reason."
"What?"
"Might give me some satisfaction. I can still think, buddy-boy, when those angels of mercy don't pump too much of this stuff into me."
"It's so you don't suffer."
"There's lots of kinds of suffering. Your mother heard you were under that building,
that
was suffering. I never seen suffering like that."
"I have."
"When?"
"When she was dying, Dad. I saw you."
His father's eyes drifted upward in remembrance, and he munched his mouth a bit. "Funny how we forget some things."
"You want anything to eat?"
His father shook his head. "Not for me. I got a little applesauce." His eyes were closed now, but he smiled, gums yellow. "You know what this is, don't you?"
"No, what."
"My last case."
"This is serious, Dad."
"I know it's serious," he whispered. "My last case, and I get to do it with my son. Couldn't be better than that." His father pushed the pain button, getting an optional bolus to chase the one just delivered. Upping the dose, wanting more, addicted. "If I were you I would get down in there in those pipes today before the guys down at the precinct maybe decide to do it after all. They won't crawl around in pipes. They'll bring in a backhoe and tear those drainpipes right out of there and look at every inch. But you get in there first, might be just as good."
His father's head lolled a bit, fading fast, and Wendy reappeared in the doorway.
"I'm going to clean him now," she whispered. "So he doesn't feel me moving him around."
Ray nodded. "How's he doing?"
The nurse tore open some antiseptic pads. She moved down to the foot of the bed. Ray followed her.
"The kidneys are barely working . . . he's losing weight," she went on. "I think I know what you are asking."
"That's exactly what I'm asking."
"He's got a strong heart, which isn't helping now. His hands and arms still have strength, too. Sometimes things can go on . . . but I'd say a week, maybe ten days."
"He's not eating much."
"He'll take applesauce, a little yogurt."
"Gloria told you about the men who came last night?"
She nodded. "Your dad won't move, you know."
"What about you? These guys could come back."
She considered him. "This is what I do, Mr. Grant. I stay with people who are dying and bring them what comfort I can. Your father is a lovely man. I don't see a lot of family, his wife is dead, you are all he's got—"
"What about Gloria?"
"We've been in many situations. You'd be surprised what we've seen."
She returned to the bedside and lifted the covers to expose the nephrostomy tubes that were draining
got
to go into the drains."
"Why?" Ray asked.
"Think about what the cops found . . . two dead girls . . . aspirated human excrement . . . the bus takes them away. Then the FD hoses out the car for them."
"They found drug traces in the trunk and glove compartment."
His father shrugged. "Pete's gonna think it's drugs. Maybe. I think the shit is the best clue."
"How?"
"What you got to do is find out where the shit came from."
"I know where it came from, it came from human beings. Pete says there are something like nine hundred septic trucks in the area handling loads like this."
"No, no,
listen
to me, there'll be stuff in there, information. There'll be information in the shit."
Now Ray watched the synthetic morphine course through his father, softening the tension in his neck and forehead. His large fingers, bony and thin now, eased against the blanket.
"You did hear me, right?" croaked his father.
"I did."
"I don't want to be moved. I want to die in this bed in this room in this house. Then I will be with your mother."
"Dad, we could easily call the precinct and they'd put a car outside the house."
"Nah."
"Why?"
"I got all the advantages, son."
This made no sense.
Mental clouding,
the Dilaudid sheet had said,
euphoria.
"Like what?"
His father shrugged. "You, for one. Might be interesting. Plus there's another reason."
"What?"
"Might give me some satisfaction. I can still think, buddy-boy, when those angels of mercy don't pump too much of this stuff into me."
"It's so you don't suffer."
"There's lots of kinds of suffering. Your mother heard you were under that building,
that
was suffering. I never seen suffering like that."
"I have."
"When?"
"When she was dying, Dad. I saw you."
His father's eyes drifted upward in remembrance, and he munched his mouth a bit. "Funny how we forget some things."
"You want anything to eat?"
His father shook his head. "Not for me. I got a little applesauce." His eyes were closed now, but he smiled, gums yellow. "You know what this is, don't you?"
"No, what."
"My last case."
"This is serious, Dad."
"I know it's serious," he whispered. "My last case, and I get to do it with my son. Couldn't be better than that." His father pushed the pain button, getting an optional bolus to chase the one just delivered. Upping the dose, wanting more, addicted. "If I were you I would get down in there in those pipes today before the guys down at the precinct maybe decide to do it after all. They won't crawl around in pipes. They'll bring in a backhoe and tear those drainpipes right out of there and look at every inch. But you get in there first, might be just as good."
His father's head lolled a bit, fading fast, and Wendy reappeared in the doorway.
"I'm going to clean him now," she whispered. "So he doesn't feel me moving him around."
Ray nodded. "How's he doing?"
The nurse tore open some antiseptic pads. She moved down to the foot of the bed. Ray followed her.
"The kidneys are barely working . . . he's losing weight," she went on. "I think I know what you are asking."
"That's exactly what I'm asking."
"He's got a strong heart, which isn't helping now. His hands and arms still have strength, too. Sometimes things can go on . . . but I'd say a week, maybe ten days."
"He's not eating much."
"He'll take applesauce, a little yogurt."
"Gloria told you about the men who came last night?"
She nodded. "Your dad won't move, you know."
"What about you? These guys could come back."
She considered him. "This is what I do, Mr. Grant. I stay with people who are dying and bring them what comfort I can. Your father is a lovely man. I don't see a lot of family, his wife is dead, you are all he's got—"
"What about Gloria?"
"We've been in many situations. You'd be surprised what we've seen."
She returned to the bedside and lifted the covers to expose the nephrostomy tubes that were draining
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