Crooked Numbers (35 page)

He took one of the pills out of the container and pointed at the small numbers and letters imprinted on it.

“Got a program.” He pointed over to his computer. “I just enter the code and the color of the pill. If it’s in my database, it tells me what it is.”

“Cool,” I said as I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the blue-and-white capsules. “Would you mind doing that for this one, too?”

He gave me a concerned look. He was about to say something, but I cut him off.

“I know,” I said. “My son and I are going to have a long talk tonight.”

He thought about that for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said, taking the capsule from my hand. “Gimme another minute.”

“I appreciate it, Warren. Thanks.”

He went back to the computer and started working the keys. Even from the other end of the counter, I could see the confused look on his face. He punched the keys again, and the confused look remained. He shook his head and walked back to me.

“No good news?” I asked.

“No news at all,” Warren said. “Ran it twice and didn’t get a hit. You find this in your son’s room, too?”

“Yeah,” I said. “What does it mean when you don’t get a hit?”

“Could be it’s not in the database yet. Sometimes it can take a month or so for it to be entered. Happens once in a while.”

“What do you do when it does happen?”

“Put a call in to Poison Control. Takes them a day or two, but they can usually identify what the medication is.”

I reached out my hand for him to give me the capsule back. When he didn’t, I said, “Can I call them?”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Warren said. “I have to give them my license number. I take it you’re not a pharmacist, right?” He grinned.

“Right,” I said and looked at the capsule. “Can I have that back now?”

“Maybe when you tell me what’s really going on here.” He held up the capsule. “You really find this in your kid’s room?”

I took a moment to decide how much truth I was willing to share with Warren. I went for three-fourths.

“No,” I said. “A friend of mine found it in her kid’s jeans and asked me for help. She’s a single mom and doesn’t want her son jacked up because of this.”

“That’s why she sent you?” he asked. “She’s too nervous to come herself?”

“Something like that.”

As Warren considered that, he rolled the capsule around his palm with his fingers. He gave me a look that told me he was assessing if I was telling the truth. The whole thing took about ten seconds.

“Here’s what I’ll do,” he finally said. “There’s a lab I use here in Manhattan. It usually takes them a day or two to run the tests and ID the meds. Thirty bucks.”

“Two days?”

“They can do a rush job, but it’ll cost you another twelve.”

“I can do that,” I said.

“I also have to call this in to Poison Control today. Depending on what they tell me, I’ll either call you or the FDA.”

The Food and Drug Administration? Shit.
“Is that really necessary?”

“Hey. I have a legal obligation here. If I can’t ID this, I have to call it in.” He paused. “You came to me, remember? I’ll do what I can to help you with the independent lab and all, but I’m not going to risk my license over it. Go ahead and tell your single-mom friend you did what you could.”

“Can you give me a heads-up if you have to call the FDA?”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get the lab results,” he said. “It’ll take at least a day before Poison Control gets back to me. Then you’re going to want to have a conversation with your friend. You seem like an okay guy. I wouldn’t recommend you get into hot water with the feds because of a kid who’s not even yours.”

“I hear you, Warren.” I gave him my hand. “You got something I can write my name and number on?”

“Yeah.” He went over to the register, grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil, and handed them to me. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” I wrote my name and cell number, then handed it back to him.

“No problem. Tell your friend I said good luck.”

“I will,” I said, and turned to leave the pharmacy.

“Hey!” Warren called to me.

I looked back. “Yeah?”

“You gonna pay for those or what?” He pointed to my hand.

I looked down and smiled. Then I walked to the register and handed the girl the pack of condoms. I also asked her to add in the forty-two dollars for the lab work.

“That’ll be cash,” I said, before grabbing a pack of breath mints. “And these.”

“Smart combo,” the girl said, ringing up my order.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m nothing if not smart.”

*

My next stop was the office of the doctor who had prescribed the ADHD meds to Paulie. It was only a few blocks from the pharmacy. As I walked over, I tried to think of anyone I knew from my days as a cop who could help me get out in front of this mess with the mysterious blue-and-white capsule. For the moment, I came up empty.

I walked into the doctor’s office and was pleased to see the waiting room empty. The receptionist was on the phone. She raised one finger at me and mouthed, “One minute.” I took the time to look up at the high-def TV in the waiting room and watched as the weather guy on NY1 explained why we may not be getting the same snow that was going to dump six inches on the DC–Baltimore area the next day.

“Yes,” the receptionist said. “Can I help you?”

“I certainly hope so,” I said, stepping over to her window. “I’d like to see Dr. Williams.”

She picked up a clipboard and a pen. “Have a seat and fill these out. Be sure to sign the bottom of page two, and I’ll need to make a copy of your insurance card.”

“I’m not here as a patient,” I explained. “I just want to talk with Dr. Williams.”

“Oh,” she said, withdrawing the clipboard. “What is this in regards to?”

“A patient of his.”

“I’m afraid Dr. Williams is not allowed to talk about—”

“Paulie Sherman,” I said, interrupting her.

“Oh.” She picked up the phone. “And your name is…”

“Raymond Donne.”

She punched one of the buttons and spun her chair around so I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Half a minute later, she spun back around.

“Dr. Williams will be right out.”

“Thank you.”

I went over to the waiting area and took a seat, then I picked a
People
magazine off the coffee table and leafed through it. I must be getting old. I didn’t recognize ninety percent of the people in there.
I need to get out more. Or watch more crappy TV.

“Mr. Donne?”

I looked up into the face of a guy about my age. Another sign of getting older. Used to be, all the doctors were older than I was. He wore dark pants and a white doctor’s jacket. I got to my feet and said, “Dr. Williams.” We shook hands. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Well,” he said, “you’ve caught me in a rare slow period. We had a cancellation. What’s this about Paulie Sherman, and who are you?”

“I’m looking into the murder—” I waited a beat—“of one of Paulie’s close friends. Douglas Lee?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know any Douglas Lee, Mr. Donne.”

“He was the boy who was murdered last week. Under the Williamsburg Bridge.”

“I read about that,” he said. “Sad story. But I still don’t know him or what he has to do with me.”

“This”—I reached into my pocket and handed him the pill bottle—“was found in Douglas Lee’s closet.” I handed it to the doctor.

He looked at the label. “Again, I’m not permitted to discuss any of my patients without patient or, in this case, parental consent.”

I nodded. “Even the dead ones whose prescription medications end up in the possession of another dead kid?”

“Even those, Mr. Donne. Patient-doctor confidentiality applies even after the patient had passed away.”

“Passed away?”
I said, finding it easy to sound offended. “Paulie was run over by a bus and Douglas Lee was stabbed to death. They didn’t just ‘pass away,’ Doctor.”

“Lower your voice, please,” he said. “Regardless of how it happened, I am bound—both legally and ethically—not to talk about the deceased patient.” He paused for a few seconds. “Who did you say you worked for?”

“I represent the family of Douglas Lee.”
That lie was coming easier.

“In what capacity?”

“Private,” I said, before I could take it back.

“Then you know what I’m talking about. If you went around breaking your clients’ confidentiality, how long do you think you would stay in business?”

“Point taken,” I said. “But maybe you can answer one question for me.”

“I doubt it,” he said.

I took the pill bottle back and pointed at the label.

“It says here this contained ninety doses. Is that the normal amount?”

“Let me see that.” He took the bottle and read the label again. I could tell he had something to say, but was weighing it against his professional obligations. “No,” he said after a while. “The usual prescription is thirty doses. That allows me to monitor progress and effectiveness every month.”

“So, it’s possible for someone to change the amount?” I asked. “To get more?”

He handed me the bottle. “That would be possible, yes. You would have to look at the original prescription. I suppose you could change the number of doses, and a pharmacy may not notice. I wouldn’t want to testify to that, though.”

I slipped the bottle back into my pocket.

“You’re not being asked to testify, Doctor,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “If there’s nothing else…”

“No, Doctor. That’s it for now. Thank you for your time.”

He turned to go and suddenly thought of something. “Mr. Donne,” he said, stopping at the door he’d come through. “You never showed me your license.”

“You never asked to see it,” I said, and made a quick exit out to the street.

WHEN I GOT HOME, MY STOMACH
reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The number “1” was flashing on my answering machine. I pressed the button and listened to Allison telling me she’d be working late and not to wait for her to eat dinner. I checked my cell phone, and she had left the same message there. I went to the kitchen and took two hot dogs and two buns out of the freezer. I put some water in a pot to boil for the hot dogs and stuck the buns in the microwave for sixty seconds.
Yum.

I went back to the phone and called my mom. I left a brief message on her machine and told her I’d try her again in the next few days. She’d probably call me back in a few hours. Rachel’s machine also picked up, and I left a similar message. I opened my cell phone, retrieved Mrs. Lee’s number, and used my landline to call her. She picked up after two rings.

“What were you able to find out?” she asked after we exchanged quick hellos.

I told her about my visits to the pharmacist and the doctor.

Silence. “I really think you should call Detective Murcer,” I said. “You also might want to consider calling your brother-in-law, Mrs. Lee.”

“Oh, Lord,” she said. “Do you think it will come to that? The FDA?”

“Right now, I don’t know. But it wouldn’t hurt to have a lawyer on your side if it does. I know how that sounds, but he is family.”

“Yes,” she said, as if just remembering that. “He is.”

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow after I hear from the pharmacist.”

“Thank you again, Mr. Donne. For everything.”

“Let’s speak tomorrow.”

I ate most of my dinner watching the Manhattan skyline through my windows. It looked like more snow was coming, so I brought the rest of my meal into the living room, fell into the couch, and flipped on the Weather Channel.

*

“Ray?”

I opened my eyes and saw Allison smiling down at me and shaking the keys I’d forgotten I’d given her. Not a bad way to wake up from an early-evening nap.

“Hey,” I said.

“Looks like you had quite a party, huh?”

I sat up and looked at the coffee table. Half a hot dog sat by itself on a plate next to two empty beer bottles. Video of snow falling in the Midwest was on the TV.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Sorry you missed it. Got crazy there for a while. You make it through the day okay?”

“I was a bit jumpy, and I probably looked over my shoulder more than is socially acceptable. But yeah, I’m okay.” She picked up the remains of my hot dog and took a bite. “Yum. Ketchup
and
mustard.”

“Don’t eat that,” I said. “I can make you one.”

“I had a pretzel on the way home,” she said, finishing the hot dog in another bite. Then, realizing what she’d just said, added, “I mean, the way here.”

She wrapped her arms around me and we kissed. When the kiss was over, she held me at arm’s length. “Honey, I’m home,” she teased.

“Why must you smother me, woman?”

“Man!” She slapped my arm.

I laughed and looked at her neck. “I see you removed the Band-aid. Let me see.”

She raised her chin to give me a better look. Up close, cleaned, and almost two days later, it didn’t look so bad. Something clicked.

“You didn’t get a good look at the weapon that did this, did you?”

“No, Ray. I was scared and it was up against my throat. Why?”

“I was just thinking,” I said. “Looking at your…”

“Yeah?”

I touched her neck gently. “This is similar to the wound Murcer described on Dougie’s neck. Right under the chin.”

She reached into her bag to pull out a small mirror and looked at her wound. I watched as the reporter’s lightbulb went off. “You’re right.”

“That could explain the warning to stop writing about Dougie.”

“It could,” she agreed. Another fifteen seconds of silence.

“So,” I finally said. “How was the rest of your day, dear?”

“I stopped by the hospital to see if I could get some more info on Jack Quinn.”

“And…?”

“He was discharged on Saturday, very early morning.”

“Okay,” I said. “We knew that. Did you ask about the food poisoning?”

“The nurse I spoke with didn’t seem to buy into that. But she did strongly imply it was drug-related.”

“Which drugs?” I thought back to the ADHD meds and those other capsules Dougie had hidden in his closet.