Читать книгу Shock! - Donald Ph.D. Ladew - Страница 7

Real news is bad news

—Marshall McLuhan

As the cab moved up Vermont Avenue across Los Feliz, Gilbert felt none of the excitement of the past, just an ache that wouldn't let up.

From the front, the house looked the same except the lawns, which needed work. The paperboy continued to deliver despite the fact no one had picked the newspapers up for ten days.

Ten days: a crack appeared in the wall of his control. He sealed it ruthlessly.

Inside all was still, not even neighborhood sounds penetrated the old house. He went left through the entrance hall with its graceful double staircase, to the library on the west side of the house. There he sat in his old chair. He was still there when he heard the faint ring of the front door chimes.

Now we go back to the world, he thought, as he got up slowly and headed back to the front of the house.

George Duplessis, his friend of fifteen years, hadn't come alone.

"Come in, George." They shook hands and looked each other over. It had been three years.

"Gilbert, I brought some professional help. This is Manuel Abril." While they shook hands, George went on, "Manny has his own firm. He and I have been involved in a number of cases over the years. Whenever I really want to know the law, I call him. I usually learn more in a day than I would in a year at Harvard."

Abril was one of the most unusual men Gilbert had ever seen. A few inches over five feet, his head was a massive block, covered with wavy black hair graying at the temples; large black eyes under shelving brows divided by a proud nose that could have graced a Roman coin.

As Gilbert led them back toward the library, George continued to explain. "You remember, Gilbert, I'm patent law, very specialized. I know all the basics from school, but Manny is civil and he's the best."

Manny turned to Gilbert after a careful look around the grand proportions of the room.

"I'd like to make my fee this library, but something tells me you wouldn't agree. So tell us what you want done, Mr. Piers."

Gilbert handed him the telegram. Abril read it quickly and handed it to George.

"I have no idea how my mother died, where she is buried, nothing. I didn't want to stay at Eaver's office to find out; I might have done something foolish. I want you to find out everything, every detail. That includes getting Eaver's story, any medical records that may be pertinent, everything, Mr. Abril."

Abril nodded. "May I sit; my legs aren't what they were."

"Damn! I'm sorry. I'm not usually so thoughtless."

George and Abril sat on a Georgian couch, slightly dusty with disuse.

"I'm sure you aren't, Mr. Piers. Don't be concerned. Please go on with what it is you want us to do."

"I would also like to retain your firm, specifically you, as my family lawyer. In that capacity I want you to review everything concerning my mother's estate; finances, property, the lot." Gilbert handed him a piece of paper.

"This is my accountant; he was also my mother's accountant. Was also..." He'd been speaking quietly and his voice faded out all together. He sat helplessly trying to think what else to say.

"I understand what you want." Abril's voice was firm and kind.

Gilbert stood then, massaging his arms nervously and walked over to the fireplace, seeking a place of habitual warmth even though there was none there.

"My mother's estate is large. She was a shrewd investor, in fact, both of my parents were. I want to be sure nothing...irregular has happened to the estate. That's all I can think of right now."

"Fine, I'll have my people get on it right away. There's been enough delay. It'll be a few days. In the meantime, if I may, sir, I'd like to send someone around to help with the cleaning, cooking and getting things in order. They could come in the morning and stay as long as it takes, if you approve. They are members of my family, quite trustworthy," Manny said.

"Yes, that would be a help, thank you very much," Gilbert, said.

"It's nothing, happy to do it. George has agreed that I take over here; however you did call him first. I can work on this through his firm as a consultant if you wish." He wanted to be fair.

"George, what do you want to do?" Gilbert asked.

"Oh, let Manny do the whole thing. He'll do a damn sight better job than me. I'd be happy to be your lawyer, but to tell the truth he'll be more effective if he has full control."

"Okay, whatever you say."

They had him sign a variety of papers, powers of attorney, and the like, giving access to the complete range of the family's affairs.

When they were gone, Gilbert sat for a long time, and then went up to his old room, had a long bath and went to bed.

To all outward appearances, Gilbert Austin Piers III was a modern man of the nineties: Quieter than most, better educated, and certainly more civilized. He was all of those things, and much more, he believed in balance.

The next morning after the meeting with the lawyers, the widows Marguerite Abril and Hortenzia Gonzaga arrived promptly at eight o'clock. Gilbert, back on his old schedule, had been up since six.

They introduced themselves as cousins of Senor Abril. They were two older women of 'size', who could have mothered a regiment. They quickly set about organizing the house and Gilbert's life with the efficiency of women who have run large households of their own. The house was soon spotless, clothes clean and pressed; food everywhere, dishes of fruit on sideboards and tables; cookies, cakes and rolls wherever he turned. He estimated there were enough calories spread around the house to beef up every skinny kid in the city.

He began to enjoy their noises, the clatter of pots and pans, and their busy passage through the house. They sang love songs in Spanish and English, redolent with heartbreak and forbidden passion.

When they weren't singing they chattered endlessly of the wonderful and terrible things that would happen if they were ever alone with Julio Iglesias. Gilbert could have told them exactly what would happen, but didn't. Poor Julio would gain forty pounds and lay about the house like a beached walrus, never to sing again.

A week later, the call came from Mr. Abril in the morning, his voice neutral, the feeling of deliberately suppressed emotions implicit.

"Mr. Piers, I'd like to come by now if I may. I have a preliminary report to make."

"That's fine, Mr. Abril." Gilbert knew it wasn't going to be easy. Abril was being very formal, very much the lawyer.

He showed up half an hour later with two large leather briefcases. Gilbert took him directly to the library and Hortenzia followed with a pot of fresh coffee. Gilbert sat on the sofa. Mr. Abril pulled up a chair nearby, and began to remove papers from one of the cases and lay them out in piles on a low table.

He sat for a moment looking at the papers, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"First, I'll cover the practical things. It's somewhat out of sequence, but please bear with me. I have everything from Eaver's office. By the way, he was acting independently. None of the other partners were aware of your return, the telegram, none of it. He's the son of old Duncan Eavers, your family lawyer for forty years. The old fellow died two years ago and the son took over.

"Mr. Wilson, the senior partner, would naturally like to repair the damage. He sends his apologies and condolences on everyone's behalf. He says he would quite understand if you decide to stick with your decision. They were all very cooperative. I have the Will, and probate should go along quite rapidly as you are the only relative of consequence. There are minor bequests to several special interest groups your mother supported.

"I know of those," Gilbert said.

"Part of my report is a detailed financial statement brought up to date by your accountant. I understand from him that you have no pressing need for the estate, having inherited well from both of your grandparents. I have made a list of recommendations regarding the estate, taxes and the like that you can look over any time."

Abril got up and walked over to the nearest wall of books, pulled out one or two, looked at them cursorily, came back to his chair and sat down slowly. Still he said nothing, instead took a slow sip of his coffee.

Gilbert waited. Abril looked up at Gilbert sadly.

"This is not going to be easy, Mr. Piers. Much of it is hard to believe, and I have only begun to investigate."

Gilbert took a deep breath. "I would rather get it done, Mr. Abril."

"Yes, of course. Your mother died of complications at the Cabrillo Springs Psychiatric Clinic three days after being committed. The medical report says a heart attack. It is stated in typical medical mumbo-jumbo, but that is the essence of it. Three days after she died, with the concurrence of the senior psychiatrist and the lawyer, Eavers, she was cremated at the McKennely-Parks Funeral Home."

Gilbert winced, and opened his mouth to protest, started to stand and sat back down.

Abril went on. "The report states that he, Eavers, couldn't reach the next of kin. Before she died she received drug therapy and one treatment of ECT, that's electro-convul..."

"I know what it is, Mr. Abril."

Gilbert became preternaturally still, his attention completely fixed on the man in front of him, who now sat looking at his hands as if they were contaminated.

Finally Gilbert spoke, his voice harsh with the strain of control.

"How...could she have gotten in a place like that? My mother is sane...was...is, sane, more than me, yes, more than me..." His voice trailed off, then came back strong.

"How, Mr. Abril?"

"Mr. Piers, this is where it gets strange. Your neighbor at 1015, a Mrs. Ada Willis, reported your mother to the police on several occasions. She said that your mother was acting weird, dancing in the garden and singing strange songs while waving a knife around.

"She stated to the police, on the last occasion, that your mother, if not dangerous to anyone in the neighborhood, might be dangerous to herself. Those were the exact words, Gilbert. By law, the police can legally commit, for examination by so-called competent authority, anyone so reported, provided someone signs on her behalf and the examining physician also signs. The lawyer Eavers signed..."

Gilbert's face was drawn, pulled down as though by a great weight.

"There's more. This is the really terrible part. What was done was legal within the letter of current law. I am certain it was malice on the part of the neighbor, incompetence and possibly something else on the part of the lawyer.

"Regarding psychiatrists, their culpability exceeds their avarice, which itself is notable. They covered every base. Release forms were signed, all legal avenues closed. From what you tell me of your mother I cannot believe she knowingly signed them. Under the effects of certain drugs, people have been known to sign anything.

"I interviewed the psychiatrist involved, a Doctor Malinowski. He is an oily weasel and he knows the law." Manny spoke with bitter disgust.

"He has all manner of medical records showing that they carefully monitored her condition; that, despite their 'valiant' efforts, they couldn't possibly have saved her. Their claim is that because Mrs. Piers signed the release forms, she was fully aware of the risks. The illogic of this is obvious. If she were indeed mentally incompetent, how could she possibly knowingly sign a release form?

"Gilbert, there's lying going on here, none of which I can prove. The whole thing smells through and through."

He ran out of breath, and paused flipping aimlessly through the documents on the desk.

Gilbert closed his eyes. It was as though he'd looked at a light too bright and the after image remained etched on the retina forever.

He spoke so softly, Abril had to lean forward to hear.

"She died alone, among strangers. Where was her loving family...her son?" Then louder, "I don't understand, this is nineteen ninety five, where was the law? Who protected her rights?"

"Gilbert, the laws involving the psychiatric profession are medieval, as loathsome as the profession itself. They have somehow made themselves the legal arbiters of sanity on this planet, though nothing I've read in the literature indicates they have the intelligence, insight or humanity to exercise that profession.

"They certainly don't have the track record. That stands out as a livid testimony of bungling, brutality and deception. It's hard to tell the difference between their actions and those of the Inquisition.

"I could go on and on. The bottom line is there's nothing I can do. I have put together a written summary of everything that happened, as I know it. And I have people digging deeper."

Gilbert interrupted. "I understand. Thank you. I need some time to adjust. Ease your people out, Mr. Abril, I'll take it from here."

The lawyer looked puzzled as Gilbert talked. "I'm not sure I understand."

Gilbert got up and walked slowly to the French doors that led out to the garden, then turned and walked over to the fireplace. He faced the lawyer.

"Just do as I ask, Mr. Abril. Hire a private detective agency, the best. I want background checks on everyone involved; specifically all the staff at the clinic, Mr. Eavers, Mrs. Willis, the officers who detained my mother, the Judge, everyone. When you have provided all that information, we will talk further."

Abril stood. He knew when a meeting had been terminated.

"Very well, Mr. Piers, I am sorry to be the one to bring you this wretched story. Call any time, for any reason. I would like to be more than just your legal counsel."

"I know that, Manuel." It was the first time Gilbert had used his given name. "Please thank the ladies for their help. They've been wonderful, but now, I will want the house to myself."

As they walked to the front door, Manuel felt an urge to say something cautionary to Gilbert, but didn't know what. Gilbert's reaction was wrong.

Walking down the flagstone path to the car, he felt a strong premonition of violence withheld.

This business is not finished, he thought. He shrugged and muttered as he got into his car.

"You're getting as fey as the sisters, Gonzaga and Abril. So, if it's legal, do as the client says; still..."