Muller, Marcia - [McCone 02] - Ask the Cards a Question 3S(v1)(html) by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub
Tags: Literature&Fiction
ISBN: urn:uuid:123456
Published: 2012-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

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Thirteen

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It was four o’clock when I returned to All Souls, where I could use the phone for free before business hours were over. I called the state Department of Health in Sacramento and, after being put on hold six times, finally reached the woman who had information on the Sunrise Blind Center.

My dear Uncle Jim, I explained—with mental apologies to that gentleman—had been blinded in an accident. His doctor had referred him to the Center. I had toured it and spoken with the director this afternoon, but I still had reservations. What could she tell me about the place?

Again on hold, I waited for her to fetch a file. I doubted I would learn anything revealing, but the possibility was worth the long-distance charge.

The woman came back on the line. Sunrise Blind Center had had an outstanding rehabilitation rate in the three years since its present director, Mr. Herbert Clemente, had taken over. The average period of time in which a resident returned to the community was less than a year. Both state and federal grants for the Center had recently been renewed.

And Mr. Clemente? I asked. What were his qualifications?

A rattling of paper. Mr. Clemente had a distinguished record of community service work. His B.A. in psychology was from California State University at Long Beach. He had served as a prison guard for five years, then run a halfway house for ex-convicts, and finally headed up a job-training and counseling program for parolees.

I wrote the word “parolees” on my legal pad and doodled a box around it as she talked. “The uncertainty of the length of time my Uncle Jim would have to remain at the Center disturbs me,” I said stuffily when she had finished. “It’s all well and good to speak of averages, but I know for a fact there’s one man at the Center who’s been in residence since Mr. Clemente became director.”

A pause. “I don’t have information on the individual patients, ma’am.”

“Well, from your experience with this—and similar—programs, wouldn’t you say that’s an awfully long time?”

“Is the man severely handicapped?”

“Mr. Clemente described him as a very able worker.”

“Perhaps, then, there’s some problem that isn’t readily observable. I suggest you take it up with Mr. Clemente.”

I thanked her for the information and hung up.

“Parolees.”

I stared down at the word, then went to Hank’s office and stuck my head in the door.

“What’s the name of your friend at the Department of Corrections?”

Hank looked up, owlish behind his thick glasses. “Dave Gardner. Why? What’re you doing here? I thought you were investigating that murder.”

“I am. Thanks.”

Back in my office, I dialed the Department of Corrections and got Dave Gardner on the line. He’d done Hank many a favor in the past, and was glad to look up Jeffrey Neverman’s record for me.

“It’s not bad, as they go,” he commented when he returned to the phone. “A couple of minor jail terms for D and D about ten years ago. Just brawls at a tavern over a waitress.

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