Second Shot, page 5
He was headed for a village named Harrison, not too far up. Past New Rochelle, what some people called a bedroom community Meaning many of the residents slept here but worked in the city. A constant back and forth. Jimmy had never been here before, so he had the GPS on his phone activated, and it had him go left, go right, another right…a dizzying series of turns until he’d found his way to the Portnoy house. Or, in this case, houses. There were the two he’d seen online.
Twins. Or more accurately, mirror images of each other.
Set upon a hill on the outskirts of Harrison, a few blocks from the commuter rail station, the two brick structures had been built back from the road, almost as though they were on display. Both porches faced inward, as though staring at each other. One entrance on the left, the other, the right. They were beautiful in their grandeur, two stories with cupolas atop them. An extra room or an observation post? Depended on how the two families—the twins, Chaz and Baz—got along. One was in a coma. Apparently, the other was missing. An unusual case, and a challenge.
Might as well get to it.
Rebecca Portnoy awaited him behind the doors of…well, one of those sets of doors. He had to check his messages again to see if it was 311 or 313. Turned out it was the former. He parked. It was cooler here than in the city, a sweet early autumn air swirling around him. He made his way up the steps and before he could knock or ring a bell, a door opened. And out stepped the frailest woman Jimmy thought he’d ever seen. Her skin pale, nearly ghostly, Jimmy wasn’t sure if she had walked out or materialized. She wasn’t a young woman, but looked older than she probably was.
“Mr. McSwain?”
“In the flesh.” It was a reactionary response. Maintain the mystique of being a detective.
She stepped forward and extended a thin arm. He could see the veins, blue and pulsing. “I am Rebecca Portnoy. Thank you for traveling to see me. I don’t get out much.”
Looked like she hadn’t seen the sun since it set in her youth.
“Won’t you come in?”
“My pleasure. I’m happy to help with your…situation.”
She laughed, its sound like a bark that was surprising coming from such a small creature. It reminded Jimmy to keep his edge. Take nothing for granted. A weak body often meant a strong mind. He smiled. It felt painted on.
He followed her inside a house that smelled of yesterday. Or even a few of them. Not that it was unclean but it seemed he’d stepped back in time, furnishings dated. Sort of antiques yet not what you would want to buy at a shop. It all just needed replacing, the air as well. Mothball like, leaving Jimmy wondering if the family fortune had been somehow squandered. And if so, why the dispute over the will, or which twin was set to inherit what remained. This was a strange scenario; one he was being led deeper into as they went further into the house, to a living room over-crowded with trinkets. Dark drapes kept out the sun. A puff of dust was unsettled as he settled on the plush sofa.
“Can I get you anything? A beverage?” she asked. Hands clasped.
“I think just some information.”
“Ah, right down to business.”
“I have another appointment later. Turns out my caseload has suddenly doubled.”
“So I’m not a priority?”
“I’m here. I chose you first, Mrs. Portnoy.”
That seemed to sway the tide as her lips took an upturn. “Call me Becs.”
“Becs.”
“Rebecca is a lot of syllables. I always like the economy of life.”
“Becs it is.” But as Jimmy said it, it just sounded like a hiccup. “Your husband is in the hospital from what Mr. Streb and Mr. Hendricks told me.”
“If it’s him.”
“Why do you think it may not be him. I assume you’re thinking it could be his twin?”
“Those two have been playing games with their identities their entire lives. It’s like a joke to them. Which one am I?”
“You married one of them. What was the swaying factor? I mean, they’re identical.”
“On the outside, yes. On the inside, so very different.”
“We talking Jekyll and Hyde here?”
“Astute, Mr. McSwain.
“I’m Jimmy. It’s easier.”
“Jimmy and Becs. Sitting and playing detective and victim.”
“I don’t consider this playing. I take my job seriously. Tell me about Chaz first.”
“He was always a quirky fellow, back when I first met and years later when we met again. Not quite as handsome as, well, you, to be frank. Each of the twins has distinctive ears. Large and a bit floppy I guess you could say. But it seemed, at least in Chaz’s case, in an odd twist of irony, to make him a good listener. I was attracted to that. It revealed that he had a heart, a soul. We got married two months after we met.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“The first time? Twenty-seven years. The second time? Two years.”
“Oh.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Love finds its way back, I guess.”
“I was widowed after my second marriage. I never liked to be alone.”
Except the house was eerily quiet, not another person around, not even a pet. He imagined her walking these rooms and corridors like a wistful ghost. Perhaps it was because she’d lost so much and despite remarrying a few times hadn’t fully rejoined the world. Jimmy knew a thing or two about loss and how it could affect you. The Tale of Becs Portnoy had turned compelling to him and he wanted to help, more than just solve a mystery. Save a soul.
“Any children?”
There was a pause. It might have come from regret. It might have come from untruth. “No. I was never blessed in that way. But my second, Bob, he and I, we were a love story cut short. He was kinder than Chaz. More accessible.”
Jimmy had to stay focused on now, not the late Bob. He resumed. “How did you and Chaz reconnect?”
“Actually, it was Baz I encountered. At the bakery in town. He had just ordered some eclairs, I said how I liked them, too. He thought I said I liked his ears. After that, he came calling and after a bit I said yes to a date. I mean, I was sixty-four. You’re not supposed to date at that age, right, and not the brother of your ex. My goodness. I agreed and he told me all about how Chaz was doing. He’d done well with his money, their father’s will giving him control of the accounts given that he was born first. By two minutes. But that’s how it was written. I supposed it’s why Baz had a darkness to his eyes. Chaz, I saw light when I saw him again. Like age had changed him. Made him realize life was short.”
“So if you can tell the difference between the two by their eyes, their ears, why the confusion?”
“Because in the last month Chaz began to change.”
“Or maybe it was Baz. As you said, they liked to swap identities.”
“It was more than that, Jimmy. It always came down to that damned will and, well, they were both getting up in age. Turning seventy in less than two weeks. Chaz inherits everything on that date. Unless he’s dead, which means Baz gets it.”
“And now Chaz lies in a coma in a hospital.”
“Or maybe Baz does.”
Jimmy blinked, trying to stay on track. “And where has the other one gone? I’m getting the sense you’re withholding something. If I’m to help you, Becs. But the more I hear, the less inclined I am to commit to taking this case—I try to get a reading on the client before I truly start investigating. So, Mrs. Portnoy, why don’t you tell me what you’re not telling me.”
“You’re quite forthright, Mr. McSwain.”
They’d both reverted to formal names. Another shift. Jimmy stood up. He wasn’t sure this case was worth the time, or the trouble. “I’ll tell Mr. Streb that he needs to find someone else. Enjoy your day, and I hope your husband, if it’s him, recovers.”
“No, wait…I’m sorry, Jimmy. It’s just…this is hard to admit because it’s all so unlikely. But I think I recently slept with the wrong man. And in my anger, I might have facilitated his, uh, accident. Chaz, or Baz, one of them fell down the stairs after I confronted him. I demanded that all the back and forth identity shenanigans must stop. He just laughed at me.” She shot up from her chair and grabbed at Jimmy’s arms. She was surprisingly strong for such a frail lady.
“It might have jeopardized my own future. It’s true, I only married Chaz the second time for the money, for the houses, security. Call me callous. But I did come to love him. And to loathe Baz. I’m afraid instead I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison.”
“Did you push him?” It was a direct question. He hoped for a direct answer.
“Not at the edge of the stairs. I slapped him, he pitched forward and fell to the floor. It was when he got up that he lost his footing. He was so near to the landing…and then he was at the base of the stairs moments later. I hear the tumbling in my dreams. I still see the blood.”
Jimmy understood desperation and he saw it in front of him now. Crystal tears rolled down from her eyes. It was hard to imagine the series of emotions keeping her standing, much less alive. Before him was a complex creature, who’d made mistakes and who had perhaps never properly settled on what love meant. She’d jumped at opportunity, but in the end had gotten caught up in a financial struggle between two brothers who were either friends, enemies or a combination of the two. Or perhaps it went deeper than that. Perhaps they were in cahoots and Rebecca Portnoy was a romantic pawn. There were answers to be found. Vulnerabilities to be soothed. Questions that demanded answers. Jimmy took a deep breath, forcing off regret.
“I’ll take the case.”
* * * *
What he didn’t reveal to Rebecca Portnoy was where his next appointment would take him. To the rehabilitation center that the supposed Chaz Portnoy had been moved to after his hospital stay. The Hammondsworth Institute, a place he knew all too well. Mallory had recovered there. So, after leaving the Portnoy’s compound, he didn’t need the GPS. He knew his way there. Sometimes the world was too small. Shared by people who understood trauma.
Located on the outskirts of Brewster, one of the larger villages in Dutchess County, the institute was large, blocky in structure, but inside, rich in compassion. Mallory had thrived in the environment. He wondered about Chaz. Probably not so, being in a medically-induced coma. It wasn’t he whom Jimmy was necessarily asking to see. Maybe his doctor could shed light on the man’s condition, his prognosis. Would Chaz wake and reveal which twin he was? Or could doctors solve that question with a battery of tests. Might be difficult. Didn’t identical twins have the same DNA?
As Jimmy parked and got out of his car, he realized there was one question he hadn’t asked of Becs. If she knew just how much money was stated in the will? And if Chaz and Baz both died, who would then become the beneficiary? Had Chaz signed over his part when he married her? He realized he knew little about the Portnoy family. For today he’d kept his focus on Becs. The facts would awaken in time, he hoped.
About to enter the facility, Jimmy felt his cell phone vibrate. He’d placed it that way while he’d been questioning Becs.
“This is Jimmy,” he said, squinting against the afternoon sunlight. Or maybe because of the caller.
“Brenden Hendricks.”
“Yes, so I saw.”
“Ooh, I’ve been loaded into your contacts. That sounds promising.”
“I took the case.”
“Yes, Mrs. Portnoy called Mr. Streb.”
“So then what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”
“The pleasure of my company. Friday night.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“Best I’ve had all week. Until then.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Ooh, you’re wavering. I consider that progress.”
“I’m on the case right now. Can this wait?”
“On the case. You’re making me hard. Again.”
“I’ll keep you posted. About the case. Going to check in on this maybe-Chaz guy.”
They said goodbye and Jimmy paused before going inside. He needed a moment. Sure, he had dated other men besides Frisano. They’d met at bars, they’d had sex, sometimes a few dates. But being pursued, and aggressively, had only ever happened one other time. During the Guardian Angel case. Dr. Steven Wang was practically picking out china after their first night together. That hadn’t lasted and now Brenden wanted to meet up. His second request. Jimmy knew if they met up, they would also hook up. He pushed those thoughts from his mind and opened the door.
Go to work. Stay busy. No distractions allowed.
“May I help you, sir?” came a woman’s voice from behind a security counter. Her nametag read Trudy.
“I’d like to inquire about a patient. A Mr. Charles Portnoy.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give out patient information. Can’t even confirm if he is a patient.”
“I know he’s here, in a coma. My name is Jimmy McSwain and I’ve been retained by the patient’s family and their New York City law firm to determine certain facts. It’s my understanding Mr. Portnoy has been unable to communicate since he was brought in. I’d like to talk to a doctor or nurse. I can confirm my identity and my access to information need be. I’m on the up-and-up, Trudy.”
Stern-faced, she gave him a look as though she hadn’t liked him being so familiar. Then use your last name on your name tag. Then she relented. She picked up the phone and spoke into it. Jimmy only caught some of the conversation because he’d taken a step back, not wanting to be overly intrusive. That whole catching more bees with honey theory usually worked. A couple moments later, she looked up. Her face had softened.
“Someone will be with you soon.”
“Thanks, Trudy.”
Soon in the medical world had its own definition of time, so after twenty-five minutes, Jimmy heard the clack of heels against the tiled entryway. A woman in a white coat, black-framed glasses, and an imperious presence about her—all three evident on first glance—approached. She was perhaps forty, dark hair stuck in a tight bun.
“Mr. McSwain?”
He stood up from where he’d taken up residence. It had been a long enough wait.
“That’s me.”
“I apologize for the delay. Prudency dictated that I check your credentials. A Mr. Hendricks has vouched for you.”
“Thank you for seeing me. Mr. Hendricks—and his firm—are the ones who hired me.”
“As he said. But I still don’t know what Hammondsworth can offer you in regards to Mr. Portnoy.”
“I just have a few questions. Medically related, you know, his chances of waking up.” He thought about his next comment, knowing it would incite a new level of curiosity, perhaps distrust. “His DNA. There’s a lot at stake for the family. Financially.”
“An intriguing combination of topics,” she said, pushing her glasses against the bridge of her nose. She was pretty, if you liked the bookish type. “Would you follow me?”
“Sure. So long as I know who I’m following.” He threw his best charming smile in the mix to see if she softened. She’d yet to introduce herself. She wasn’t wearing a nametag. To him, she was still the someone the guard had referenced.
“Doctor Amanda Morgan. I’m the physician assigned to Mr. Portnoy’s care.”
“A pleasure. I promise I won’t take up much of your time. But if it’s not too much, I’d like to see my client first. I’m aware of his status, but I’m new to the case and still gathering basic info. I’d like to set my own eyes on the subject of my investigation. Always good to put a face to a name.” He paused. “Sometimes when you personalize a case it leads to a quicker resolution.”
They were walking along a stark corridor when she stopped. “An interesting perspective.”
“My sister spent the summer here.”
She paused again. “I thought I recognized the McSwain name. Determined woman.”
“That’s my sister.”
“I have a feeling her brother shares similar, uh, DNA.”
It was a clever retort to Jimmy’s reason for being here, and for the next few minutes a quiet consumed them. They rode up in an elevator to the fourth floor, bland music filtering through speakers filling the silence. They’d gone a floor above where Mallory had recuperated. During this past summer, he’d learned that the fourth floor had its own reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. A sense of doom. Most patients placed in rooms there weren’t expected to ever recover. Made this case a do or die situation. Literally.
Heading down a stark white corridor, Dr. Morgan stopped before the entrance to the room. Jimmy read the patient’s name on the door. It was vague. It said Mr. Portnoy, no first name. Did the institute not even know who they were treating? The mystery deepened.
“I’ll give you two minutes, Mr. McSwain. Please don’t touch anything.”
“I’ll just look. You learn a lot about a person when they’re not talking.”
“Or in Mr. Portnoy’s state, not moving.”
Jimmy opened the door to a dimly lit room, to the beeps of various medical equipment. He remembered it well and tried to focus on the man in the bed and not the sister in his head Stepping forward, he eased over to the side of the bed and stared down at a pale man. There was no color to the part of his face Jimmy could see. The ventilator took up a lot of space. But what he noticed was the man’s ears. Becs had said floppy. His bordered on Eeyore.
You met people all the time in this world, but this time it was one-sided. And eerie. What could the man hear, if anything?
“Mr. Portnoy. I’m a friend of your family. I’m just here to meet you. See if I can, help.”
