Page 27 of Wild Oblivion

My aspirational tone confused her.

"I’ll have someone show you to his room.” She picked up the phone, and her voice crackled over the loudspeaker. "Kathy to the front desk. Kathy to the front desk." The receptionist addressed us and smiled. "She'll be with you momentarily. Help yourself to some coffee, bottled water, whatever."

There was a small mini fridge with tiny bottles of water and an instant coffee maker on the counter.

JD and I grabbed some water and waited.

Kathy waddled up to the front desk a few minutes later. She shot the receptionist a curious look.

“Could you escort these gentlemen to Henrik Strauss?”

Kathy looked annoyed, but she forced a smile. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

We followed her across the lounge, where several seniorszoned out in front of the TV—some asleep, mouths half open.

I hated these places. Grim and depressing. Someplace I never wanted to be.

“Are you family?” Kathy asked over her shoulder as she led us down a hallway. Her long brunette hair swayed.

“No. We’re with the county.”

“Henry’s a popular guy lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Two fellas came to see him the other day.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get up in people’s business.”

I pulled out my phone and launched the photo Isabella had sent me. I showed Kathy the image of the trio in their younger days. “Wouldn’t happen to be either of these two gentlemen, would it?”

Kathy studied the photo for an instant, then pointed. “Yeah, those two.”

I shared a look with Jack. Kathy had pointed out von Markov and Heissler.

“Do you know what they talked about?” I asked.

“Like I said, I don’t get up in people’s business. But I don’t think they talked about much. Henry is not very talkative. He’s off in his own world most of the time. Good luck getting anything out of him. The only person who ever comes by to visit is his granddaughter. She’s here a couple of times aweek. But that’s it. Then, all of a sudden, he gets multiple visits this week.”

“Has anybody else been by to see him?”

“Not that I know about.”

We reached Henrik’s door.

“Well, here you go. Enjoy.” Kathy spun around and marched back down the hallway.

I gave a gentle knock on the door and stepped into the room.

14

With long white hair that spiraled in all directions, Henrik sat in a chair, his blank brown eyes staring into another dimension. His bushy mustache covered his thin upper lip. At 98, his skin drooped and sagged, covered with age spots.

The TV flickered at a low volume.

“Mr. Strauss,” I said as we stepped close.