Meanwhile, Judy was saying, “Mark’s been preparing for days, mostly on Prop Fifty-one. That’s the Deep Pockets Initiative.”
“Right.”
“Also Props Forty-two and Forty-eight. He feels pretty strongly about those.”
I said, “Hey, who wouldn’t?” I pushed some papers around my desk, uncovering the sample ballot under the local paper and a pile of mail. Proposition 48 would put a lid on ex-officials’ pensions. Yawn, snore. Prop 4 would authorize the state to issue $850 million in bonds to continue the Cal-Vet farm and home loan program. “I didn’t know Mark was a veteran,” I said, making conversation.
“Oh, sure, he enlisted in the army right after his college graduation. I’ll send you a copy of his CV.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“It’s no trouble. I have a bunch of ’em going out in the mail. You know, he won a Purple Heart.”
“Really, I had no idea.”
While Judy nattered on, I found the comic section and read Rex Morgan, M.D., which was at least as interesting. Judy interrupted herself, saying, “Shoot. There goes my other phone. I better catch that in case it’s him.”
“No problem.”
As soon as I hung up, I propped my feet up on my desk and turned my attention to the mail I’d snitched.
I picked up my letter opener and slit the envelopes. The bank statements showed regular paycheck deposits until late February, then nothing until late March, when he began to make small deposits at bi-weekly intervals. Unemployment benefits. I couldn’t remember how that worked. There was probably a waiting period during which claims were processed and approved. In any event, the money he was depositing wasn’t sufficient to cover his monthly expenses, and he was having to supplement the total out of his savings account. The current balance there was roughly $1,500. I’d found cash hidden on the premises, but no sign of his passbook. It would be nice to have that. I was surprised I hadn’t come across it in my initial search. The monthly statements would have to do.
By comparing the activity in his savings and checking accounts, I could see the money jump from one to the other and then slide on out the door. Canceled checks indicated that he’d continued to pay as many bills as he could. His rent was $850 a month, which had last been paid March 1, according to the canceled check. Through the last half of February and the first three weeks of March, there were three checks made out to cash totaling $1,800. That seemed odd, given his financial difficulties, which were serious enough without pissing away his cash. The police probably had the April statement, so there was no way for me to tell if he’d paid rent on the first or not. My guess was that sometime in here he’d let his storage fees become delinquent.
By April, he was already in arrears on his telephone bill, and his service must have been cut before he had a chance to catch up. The cash he’d hidden probably represented a last resort, monies he was reluctant to spend unless his situation became desperate. Maybe his intent was to disappear, once all his other funds were depleted.
On the twenty-fifth of March, there was a one-time deposit of $900. I decided that was probably from the sale of his car. A couple of days later, on the twentyseventh, there was a modest deposit of $200, which allowed him to pay his gas and electric bills. I did note that the $200 appeared the very day the call was made from his apartment to my machine. Someone paid him to use the phone? That would be weird. At any rate, he probably figured he could stall eviction for another month or two, at which point-what? He’d take his cash and phony documents and leave the state? Something about this gnawed at me. Mickey was a fanatic about savings. It was his contention that everyone should have a good six months’ worth of income in the bank, or under the mattress, whichever seemed safer. He was such a nut on the subject, I’d made it a practice myself since then. He had to have another savings account somewhere. Had he put the money in a CD or a pension fund at his job? I wasn’t even sure why he’d been fired. Was he drunk on duty? I sat and thought about that and then called directory assistance in Los Angeles and got the number for Pacific Coast Security in Culver City. I figured I had sufficient information to fake my way through. I knew his date of birth and his current address. His social security number would have been an asset, but all I remembered of 1it was the last four digits: 1776. Mickey always made a point about the numbers being the same as the year the Declaration of Independence was signed.
I dialed the number for Pacific Coast Security and listened to the phone ring, trying to figure out what I was going to say, surely not the truth in this case. When the call was picked up, I asked for Personnel. The woman who answered sounded like she was already halfway home for the day. It was close to five by now and she was probably in the process of clearing her desk. “This is Personnel. Mrs. Bird,” she said.
“Oh, hi. This is Mrs. Weston in the billing department at UCLA Medical Center. We’re calling with regard to a patient who’s been admitted to ICU. We understand he’s employed by Pacific Coast Security, and we’re wondering if you can verify his insurance coverage. ”
“Certainly,” she said. “The employee’s name?”
“Last name Magruder. That’s M-A-G-R-U-D-E-R. First name, Mickey. You may have him listed as Michael. Middle initial B. Home address 805 Sepulveda Boulevard; date of birth, sixteen September 1933. Admitted through emergency on May fourteenth. We don’t have a complete social security number, but we’d love to pick that up from you.”
I could hear the woman breathing in my ear. “We heard about that. The poor man. Unfortunately, like I told the detectives, Mr. Magruder no longer works for us. He was terminated as of February twenty-eighth.”
“Terminated as in fired?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake. What for?”
She paused. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that, but it had to do with d-r-i-n-k-l-n-g.”
“That’s too bad. What about his medical insurance? Is there any possibility his coverage was extended?”
“Not according to our records.”
“Well, that’s odd. He had an insurance card in his wallet when he was brought in, and we were under the impression his coverage was current. Is he employed by any other company in the area?”
“I doubt it. We haven’t been asked for references.”
“What about Unemployment. Has he applied for benefits? Because he may qualify for medical under SDI.” Yeah, right, SDI. Like we were all so casual about State Disability Insurance we didn’t even need to spell it out.
“I really can’t answer that. You’d have to check with them.”
“What about money in his pension fund? Did he have automatic debits to his savings out of each paycheck?”
“I don’t see where that’s relevant,” she said. She was beginning to sound uneasy, probably wondering if this was a ruse of some kind.
“You would if you saw the way his bill was mounting up,” I said tartly.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss it. Especially with the police involved. They made a big point of that. We’re not supposed to talk to anyone about anything when it comes to him.”
“Same here. We’ve been asked to notify Detective Aldo if anyone even asks for his room.”
“Really? They didn’t say anything like that to us. Maybe because he hadn’t worked here for so long.”
“Consider yourself lucky. We’re on red alert. Did you know Mr. Magruder personally?”
“Sure. The company’s not all that big.”
“You must feel terrible.”
“I do. He’s a real sweet guy. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do that to him.”
“Awful,” I said. “What about his social security number? We have the last four digits, 1776, but the emergency room clerk couldn’t understand what he was saying so she missed the first portion. All I need are the first five digits for our records. The director’s a real stickler.”
She seemed startled. “He was conscious?”
“Oh. Well, I don’t know, now you mention it. He must have been, at least briefly. How else would we have this much?” I sensed her debate. “It’s in his best interests,” I added piously.
“Just a minute.” I heard her clicking her computer keys, and after a moment she read off the first five digits.
I made a note. “Thanks. You’re a doll. I appreciate that. ”
There was a pause, and then her curiosity got the better of her. “How’s he doing?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to divulge that information. You’d have to ask the medical staff. I’m sure you can appreciate the confidentiality of these matters, especially here at UCLA.”