“Yeah, the communal one is for people that don’t need help feeding themselves. We have smaller rooms that are under supervision.” The nurse checked his watch. “Too early for dinner. Maybe she went in to get a snack. It’s Jell-O and ice-cream time. Come.”

McKay led her to a solarium filled with tables and chairs. The floor was white linoleum; the two walls of windows were shaded by bright blue miniblinds that let in the light but blocked out most of the glare. The air conditioner was acting more like a fan than an instrument of cooling, just blowing around tepid air. Someone must have set the thermostat at a high temperature. The walls that weren’t windows were plastered white and hung with lots of children’s art. Sweet, colorful stick drawings made with crayons and markers. Most of the pictures were children’s views of the home. The old people were drawn almost indistinguishable from the young; the only difference was that their bodies were smaller and their hair was white.

“Like our artwork?” McKay asked.

“Cute.”

“Courtesy of the great-grandchildren. We give them art supplies when they come to visit. Kids get so bored here…nothing for them to do, so they start acting up. We can’t allow that, because we’ve got some real sick people here. We have plans in the future for a playroom. Whether it’ll come to pass…”

“Are the kids squeamish about seeing such infirm people?”

“Not at all. If you and I see some drooling old gnome hold out his hand, our natural instinct is to turn away. Kids go right to them. The old folks eat it up. Nothing makes a crotchety octogenarian smile like the face of a two-year-old. You want to meet Lita, she’s the loudmouth arguing with the group in the right-hand corner.”

Marge turned. The woman was in a wheelchair, with hair so pink and threadlike it looked like cotton candy. She had on big glasses, and dangling earrings hung from long, droopy lobes. Her body seemed emaciated, tented in a multicolored Mexican serape. Her face was folds of saggy, wrinkled skin, and she had tiny hairs growing out of her chin.

McKay walked over to her and shouted, “Lita, you have company.”

Lita looked up and scowled. “I haven’t finished my ice cream.” She stared across the room, thick glasses eventually landing on Marge. “You the police?”

Marge nodded.

“Do you mind if I finish my ice cream?” she yelled.

“No,” Marge yelled back.

McKay said, “Lita, why don’t you turn up your hearing aid?”

“Then I hear Maude’s bitching.”

“It will make the interview easier.”

“Aw, shit!” Lita adjusted some dial. Then she spoke in a lower voice. “God, doesn’t that woman ever shut up? We all got aches and pains. Wouldn’t be stuck in this stinkhole if we didn’t have aches and pains. Y’hear me bitchin’ all the time?”