Julia Spencer-Fleming - Out Of The Deep I Cry

“He wouldn’t be the first doctor to wind up abusing.”

She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t think so. Like I said, he’s a very healthy guy. The bike’s out back in the carriage house for riding, the fridge is stocked with dark green cruciferous vegetables and low-fat dip, and he takes an aspirin every day. The only drug I’ve seen him use is Xanax. He has a bottle in his desk he dips into occasionally.”

“Xanax. That’s for…?”

“Anxiety. I’m not saying it’s not possible. All I can say is he’s never appeared to be under the influence here at work.”

“At home?”

“I’ve seen him drink too much at their annual Christmas party. That’s about it.” She stretched, cracking her back, and stood up.

“If you, as a medical professional, had a prescription-drug problem, how would you feed your habit? Can you get narcotics sent here?”

She shook her head. “We don’t keep any controlled substances here at the clinic. It’s just an invitation to get ripped off. If I were abusing, I’d write prescriptions for fake names and take them to as many different pharmacies as I could. Not here, in town, not where anyone would know me. I’d tell the pharmacist I was Jane Doe and get my goodies. And I’d make sure not to come back too soon or too often.” She scooped up her clipboard. “Anything else? I hate to give you the bum’s rush, but you saw what it’s like out there.”

Kevin bounced out of Rouse’s office. “I got it, Chief.” He held a letter out to Russ. It had been stamped on the back with a big red REC’D and dated March 17. He flipped it over, took just enough time to see it was addressed to the board of aldermen, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Good work, Kevin.”

The young officer glanced out the window. “Looks like you were right,” he said. “It’s started to rain. Will you be okay if I go get the car? I’ll pull it forward by the entrance so you don’t have to go so far.”

Russ closed his eyes slowly and resisted the urge to break one of the crutches over the edge of the table. He was going to be one mean-tempered bastard when he got old and infirm, he could tell that already. “That’s a great idea. Thanks.”

Kevin said his good-byes to Laura and bobbed down the hallway. Russ bent down and retrieved his crutches.

“Here,” she said, extending her hand. “Let me give you a good pull. It’s a lot easier to get up that way.” She smiled indulgently. “And I bet you won’t let any of the guys at the police station do it for you.”

He grunted. She tugged him upright and he drew the crutches in under his arms. “Okay, one last question. What do you think happened to Dr. Rouse?”

She rested the clipboard against her chest and folded her arms over it. “I think Debba Clow killed him.”

“Why?”

“Because Al had the ability to fire up a person’s temper, and Debba was a woman with a lot of temper to fire up. I couldn’t imagine her going after him on purpose, but all alone out there, with him pushing her buttons? Yeah, I can picture her bashing his head in and then dumping his body somewhere.” She looked toward the hallway, where the patients were waiting. Her lively face was suddenly drained and tired. “What a waste. He was a fine physician.” She glanced up at Russ. “He once told me the greatest compliment old Mrs. Ketchem ever paid him was when she told him no other doctor would ever love this clinic like he did. I suspect she was right.”

Wednesday, March 29

When the handicapped elevator dinged and Russ swung into the station hallway, he could hear some weird sounds coming from the squad room. He stumped down the hall and poked his head inside. Lyle MacAuley was on the phone, frowning and holding up one hand for quiet, while Kevin Flynn seemed to be doing an end-zone victory boogie.

“Uh-huh,” he chanted. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-whoops! Good morning, Chief.” While he didn’t exactly come to attention, the kid stood up straight and tugged his uniform blouse into position.

“What’s up?” Russ asked. “Where is everybody?”

Kevin blinked. “It’s after nine o’clock, Chief. Ed’s on patrol and Noble took an accident call.” Russ glanced up at the clock on the wall. The whole Linda-as-his-chauffeur-to-work thing was going to take some tweaking. It wasn’t that she was unwilling. She just couldn’t function without a morning cup of tea and a chance to put on her makeup. “We just got a call from the Farmers and Merchants Bank,” Kevin continued. “Lyle’s on with them now.”

“Lyle’s off with them,” the man himself said, replacing the receiver in its cradle.

Russ pivoted to face his deputy chief. “What’s the news?”

Lyle grinned. “Rouse’s ATM card was used last night. At the ATM outside the Super Kmart in Fort Henry.”

Yes. Russ clenched his fist, trapping the moment. “Was the video running?”

Lyle’s grin grew even broader. “It was. They’re sending a technician over to pull it even as we speak.”

Kevin started his jive moves again, a skinny redheaded white boy channeling James Brown. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Uh-huh.”

“Thank you, Kevin.” Russ stumped closer to Lyle’s desk. “Where can we take a look?”

“At the downtown branch. That’s where they run their security. They’ve got a computer set up that can enlarge the videos and make single-frame pictures. Just what we need.”

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

Kevin stopped in the middle of a joint-defying arm movement. “Hey. What about me? I’m supposed to be driving you.”

“Tell you what, Kevin.” Russ swung across the squad-room floor to Noble Entwhistle’s desk. “I’ll give you a chance to do some detective work.” He balanced on his crutches and withdrew a sheaf of handwritten papers that had been shoved inside a phone book. “Noble started on the pharmacy project yesterday. He called every drugstore within a forty-five-minute drive, and he’s drawn up a list here of places that have filled prescriptions written by Dr. Rouse.” He handed the papers to Kevin. “I want you to get a photo of the doc from the file and hit the road. Flash it to everyone behind the counter: pharmacists, assistants, cashiers. See if Rouse was ever in there picking up stuff.”

Kevin’s eyes turned cartwheels at the prospect of running down information. “You want me to do the whole list?”

“Better split it up to leave something for Noble to do when he gets back. If he’s still tied up after you’ve covered the first half, come on back and you can tackle the second.”

As he and Lyle moved up the hall toward the elevator, Russ thought he heard the sounds again, coming from the squad room. Uh-huh. Uh-huh .

The First Allegheny Farmers and Merchants bank had rechristened itself “All-Banc” a couple years ago, but only people from the city called it that. The grand old building on Main Street had suffered through an updating at the same time, with a glassed-in ATM replacing one of a pair of gracefully arched windows on either side of the front steps, and a brushed-steel nameplate not quite covering up the former name, chiseled out of New Hampshire granite 140 years before. The old front doors had been replaced, too, with automatically sliding bulletproof glass that made the entrance look like the outside of the Albany airport baggage claim. The whole effect was that of a dowager forced into hip-hop gear and Ray-Bans, suffering hideous embarrassment.

Russ ignored the wheelchair ramp at the side of the stairs and laboriously crutched his way up one step at a time.

“You’re not impressing me, you know,” Lyle said. “My definition of a fool is a man who works harder than he has too.”