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I don’t mind plants myself—I like buying women flowers—but all the green is too much, and they lend a sickly smell to the air. The snow’s blinding light shines through all the windows, and I’d much rather have this talk inside a police department’s interrogation room.
“I lucked out, and I started this gig the day after JodiAnne’s death.”
“How long have you been an in-home nurse?”
“A little over a year.” Jason Bellamy bites into half of a turkey sandwich. Mayo oozes out the side.
He’s affable. Doesn’t seem to mind us wasting his lunch hour. But we’re not cops and people are more inclined to talk to us. They think if they’ve done something illegal, they won’t have to pay the price. Little do they know, we turn everything over to the police if we find out crimes have been committed.
“What was working for the Donnellys like?” Pop bats at the fern. A frond is brushing his cheek.
“It was fine, but she was a handful. Schizo.” Jason circles his finger in the air near his ear in the “crazy” gesture. “Kept saying people were after her—that they wanted to kill her. Hallucinations are common with schizos, but I’m not a psychiatric nurse. More muscle, if you know what I mean. I made sure she took her meds and didn’t hurt herself.”
“How’d you do that?” I ask.
“I took her on long walks. Miles. Then she’d sleep. A woman who has her mental issues belongs in a facility. It was only a matter of time before something like that happened.”
“Mrs. Donnelly said they were looking for a place.”
“Quiet Meadows closing put a lot of families in a jam,” Jason agrees, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth.
“How many meds was JodiAnne prescribed?” Pop asks, testing him. We already know.
Jason shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. I’m obligated under HIPAA. If you want to know, you’ll have to ask Mrs. Donnelly. I could lose my license.”
A guy who has a little integrity. Some stand behind their ethics as an excuse to be difficult, but I think Bellamy wants to keep his job.
“That’s no problem. We’re in touch with her.”
Pop meets my eyes, and I guess it’s time to go. Bellamy didn’t give us anything, but then, we didn’t expect him to.
“What’s it like working here?” Pop asks, standing from the table.
“Better. Easier. She plays solitaire all day and I get paid to read.”
“Are you drawn to the mental health care jobs? Do you ask for them?” I ask curiously. It seems to me there are easier nursing jobs out there. Hospice. Nursing homes. Assisted living facilities.
“Yeah. I used to work at Quiet Meadows. Lost my job when the Feds shut it down. I’m clean, though,” he says, lifting his hands, showing us his palms. “I had no fucking clue they were mistreating patients.”
“Did you know JodiAnne while she was treated at the facility?”
“Nope. That place was separated by pay scale, you know? JodiAnne was too rich for me.”
“Then you didn’t see Zarah Maddox, either.”
Bellamy whistles. “Dude,no onesaw Zarah Maddox. If I didn’t see Ashton Black visit her, I would’ve thought she was a myth. Her brother visited every once in a while, and man, did they roll out the red carpet whenever those two stopped by.”
“Thanks for your time,” Pop says. We shake hands, thank the family for access to their daughter’s caregiver, and sit in my truck while it warms up.
“He didn’t kill anyone.”
“If he did, he didn’t know it.”
“Dead end then,” I say, shifting into gear and rolling onto the street.
“We still have the psychiatrist.”
“She won’t say much. Bellamy threw us the HIPAA law quick enough. She’ll hide behind client confidentiality.”