San Francisco Night Read Online Free Page A

corridors, and as he looked down them he could see some of the residents leaving or going back to their rooms. None of them looked to be in good shape. There were powered wheelchairs, oxygen cylinders, walking frames, sticks and everything happened very slowly.
    The man in the white coat was back.
    “Ms. Winthrop will see you sir, this way.”
    He led Nightingale to a dark wooden door, knocked and showed him in. The office was large and bright, with one wall pretty much all window and an expensive looking wooden desk at the far end. It looked solid rather than veneered and there was a matching nameplate on the desk which informed him he was in the presence of Elaine Mayfield Winthrop - Facility Director.
    Ms. Winthrop was around forty, blonde, though probably not by birth, wearing black glasses with upswept frames and a dark green business suit, though the desk prevented Nightingale from seeing whether it came with a skirt or pants. She didn’t get up as he entered, and showed no inclination to shake hands. “Please have a seat. Marlon tells me you’re a reporter. How may I help you?”
    Nightingale settled into his chair, looked straight into her eyes and smiled again. “I’m working on an article about old folk who disappear, maybe create a little more interest in their cases. People are always far more concerned about children than vulnerable adults. Maybe I could redress the balance a little”
    “You’re from England?”
    “Yes, but I’ve been working in the States for a few months now.” He flashed her what he hoped was a boyish smile. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Mr. O’Hara?”
    “Father Mike, we called him. The police have already asked us a lot of questions.”
    “I’m sure,” said Nightingale. “I’m not trying to investigate the case, just maybe try to get a human interest angle on it. It was five weeks ago, is that right?”
    “Yes, the eighteenth. We noticed at lunch time that he hadn’t come in, we looked everywhere and found no sign of him.”
    “How long had he been here?”
    “Five years.”
    “And how old was he?”
    “He was eighty-three.”
     “He was frail?” asked Nightingale.
    “Not at all. In fact, for a man of his age, he was in fine physical shape, but he had advanced Alzheimer’s. He didn’t know who he was or where he was. He couldn’t do much for himself. Except light cigarettes and read his Bible.”
    “He was a smoker?”
    “Yes, a lot of priests are. They tend to drink quite a lot too, but that wasn’t a possibility here. Compensates for giving up other things, or so I’m told. He used to sit on the bench out front whenever the weather was nice enough, like I said, smoking and reading the Bible.”
    “You let a man with advanced Alzheimer’s sit out front alone?”
    “He wasn’t the sort to wander. It seemed to make him happy, sitting outside. When he first came to join us, he was far more self-aware, and that’s the way he always liked to spend his days. He was quite safe out there, the attendants checked on him every half hour or so, and he always came back in at the lunch or dinner bell.”
    “Until the day he didn’t?”
    Ms. Winthrop sighed.
    “Until the day he didn’t. When we noticed he wasn’t in for lunch, we searched the building and the grounds. His Bible was still on the bench, but not a trace of him. He’d just disappeared. Of course we called the police. We were...are... desperately worried.”
    “Were the police any help?”
    Ms. Winthrop looked pained. “Not really, no. I filed a missing persons report but I got the impression they weren’t going to do much in the way of a search. I tried the Chronicle but they weren’t interested, either.”
    “Can you tell me the name of the officer who took the report?”
    “She was a very nice lady came to the school.” She frowned. ”Now what was her name? Inspector Chen, I think?” She pulled open a desk drawer.
    “She’s Chinese?”
    Mrs. Dalton nodded.”