Джон Гришэм - Camino Winds

Bruce nodded, already tired of their gratitude.

Parkhill continued: “We burned some oil last night and verified a lot of the story that’s on the table. Our plans are to begin immediately, at the lowest levels. We’ll pick off a few orderlies and nurses at various facilities and collect samples. We’ll do this without setting off any alarms in Houston. We’ll track down the drug and figure out its distribution channels. Flaxacill has never been approved, so its use in such a widespread scam will probably lead to thousands of violations. That alone could sink the company. At some point, we’ll raid the offices, haul away the bad guys, and seize their records.”

“What about Nelson’s murder?” Bruce asked.

“Could be a tough one. Once we get ’em locked up, charged, indicted, and all that, we’ll start squeezing and offering deals. Usually, someone will cave and try to save his own skin. Sid Shennault looks especially vulnerable, with five kids at home. At any rate, we’ll figure that out when we get there. We know how to be effective when dealing with wealthy criminals who prefer to stay out of jail and keep their toys. Having said that, this company looks to be well run and in the firm grip of a tough cookie. They may not talk.”

Dellinger said, “Obviously, Mr. Cable, it goes without saying that this is extremely confidential.”

“Of course. Who would I tell?”

“Do you plan to correspond with your informant?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Should I?”

“We really need the name of the informant.”

“I can’t give that to you without the informant’s approval.”

“Fair enough. Now, we’d like to ask you a bunch of questions and get your responses on tape, if that’s okay?”

“Can’t wait. Can I ask a question?”

“Certainly,” said Dellinger.

“This appears to be a contract killing, so it’s federal, right?”

“Probably.”

“Can we get the FBI office down in Florida to take charge of the investigation?”

“It’s already done.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Cable.”

Two of the suits left with Dellinger. Bruce and Noelle spent the next three hours answering Parkhill’s questions about Nelson, his death, his books, his estate, and the stories told by Dane Noddin, the still unnamed informant. When they were finally released at noon, they hustled down Pennsylvania Avenue to 15th Street and the Old Ebbitt Grill, where they enjoyed a long lunch with Lindsey and Elaine.

CHAPTER NINE THE ROUNDUP

1.

Each of Grattin’s facilities was supposed to have its own licensed practical nurse, but the low pay and lousy benefits guaranteed a constant shortage of help at all levels. Laurie Teegue, the current LPN at Madison Road Nursing Home, was pulling duty at two other homes and working fifteen hours a day, with no overtime.

They followed her to work outside the town of Marmaduke, Arkansas, gave her a few minutes to get to her tiny office, then barged in with badges on display. “FBI,” they said in unison. One closed the door as the other motioned for her to sit. They wore matching outfits—khakis, navy blazers, white shirts with no ties—as if by dressing down they would not attract attention. Casual as they tried to be, they were still seriously overdressed in this rural outpost.

Laurie fell into her undersized chair behind her disheveled desk and tried to speak. Agent Rumke held up a hand and stopped her. “We prefer that no one knows we’re here, okay? We come in peace, though we have a warrant for your arrest.”

Agent Ritter whipped out some papers, tossed them on the desk, and said, “One count of dispensing an unauthorized controlled substance known as Flaxacill. Ever heard of it?”

She ignored the papers and shook her head. No.

“Who’s the boss of this place?” Rumke asked.

“We don’t have one right now. Can’t keep one.”

“Makes sense. Look, we’re serious about keeping this quiet. So, if someone asks just tell them that we’re a couple of accountants from the home office going over the books. Got it?”

“Whatever. You’re going to arrest me?”

“Not yet. We’re going to offer you a deal that will keep you out of jail and all of this quiet. You want to hear it?”

“Do I have a choice?” She took a tissue and rubbed her eyes.

“Sure you do. You can tell us to get lost, at which time we’ll handcuff you and give you a ride to the jail in Jonesboro. There, you can call a lawyer to try and get out.”

“I’d rather not go that route. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Ritter said, “That’ll be for the jury to determine, if it gets that far. However, the deal we’re prepared to offer will allow you to avoid juries, courts, lawyers, reporters, everyone. You don’t even have to tell your husband.”

“I think I like this deal. What’s Flaxacill?”

“An illegal drug made in China and shipped stateside by the U.S. Postal Service. We think that in your company it’s commonly referred to as vitamin E3. Ever heard of that?”

“Sure.”

“Who gets it?”

“Advanced dementia patients. Do I need a lawyer?”

“Only if you want to go to jail. Listen to us. Here’s the deal. You cooperate with us and help us track down the drug. You act as an informant against your employer, and if things go as planned then the indictment against you will be dismissed.”

“What happens to my employer?”

“Do you really care?”

“No.”

“Good, because they don’t care about you. This is a widespread investigation in fifteen states that will uncover a huge Medicare fraud. Your employer may survive, probably not. If I were you I’d stop worrying about the company and cover my own ass.”

“My brother’s a lawyer in Jonesboro.”

“We know. He specializes in bankruptcy and doesn’t know beans about criminal law.”

She stared at Rumke, then she stared at Ritter. Both were about thirty, cocky, smug, and they knew everything and she knew nothing. They had the power to slap the cuffs on her wrists and march her out the front door, on display for all her patients and coworkers to see. She also had four kids at home, the oldest being eleven, and the idea of their mother sitting in jail was overwhelming. She began to cry.

The following day, Laurie went to the pharmacy during lunch and lifted a bottle of E3 capsules. She chatted with the pharmacist and learned that the vitamins and supplements arrived by overnight shipment once a week from a company warehouse in Texas. The controlled substances were hand-delivered each Wednesday morning by a courier from Little Rock.

Rumke and Ritter alternated their visits to collect the evidence. They were working eleven other nursing homes in northeastern Arkansas. The task force was targeting a hundred Grattin facilities in fifteen states, and after the first month not a word had leaked up to the headquarters in Houston.

2.

The burner rattled for the first time in a week, and Bruce stepped into his office to chat with Dane. She was in Houston, skipping a yoga class and waiting on a friend for lunch. The big news was that she had seen a divorce lawyer the day before and the first visit went well. She was in no hurry to file, though she was sick of living in the same house with Ken Reed, who was seldom at home. The daunting issue was strategy. Did she have the guts to allege adultery and go through the nightmare of trying to prove it, and risk a long ugly court case? She wasn’t sure. If the plans fell into place, Mr. Reed and his company would soon be drowning in all manner of litigation, both civil and criminal.

Bruce knew little about the FBI’s investigation and had no idea about when to expect big news. An agent in Washington called once a week with a five-minute update that was a waste of time.