by James Murray
“Hurry, please. He looks sick, maybe too sick to rob me—or maybe too scared—but he’s getting impatient. Get someone here quick!”
My conversation was interrupted by a high-pitched, cheerful voice at the counter. “Hi, Sam. I must be crazy to be out on a night like this, but here I am. How are you?”
I looked at Ms. Huffington and managed another smile. I put the phone down beside the computer, walked up to her and placed both hands on the register. I leaned over, took a deep breath and quietly said, “You shouldn’t be here. You should go home.”
“Nonsense. You think I’ll melt with a little rain?” I watched water drip from the umbrella in her hand. She tilted her head. “Or maybe you think I’m the Wicked Witch of the West and will melt.” She smiled and fluttered her eyelids.
I shook my head and raised an eyebrow, tried for a serious expression. I nodded toward the condom aisle. “I’m kind of busy. You should leave now.”
Her mouth slackened as if I’d insulted her. She looked me in the eye and frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Maybe you shouldn’t be here tonight either.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Please leave. I’ll see you another night.”
She started to look over her shoulder but stopped herself. She nodded. “All right, I’m leaving now.”
The forger glared at me. “My drug ready yet?”
“Almost. The printer’s about to spit out the labels any second now.” I thought, I’ve got a wife, two kids and a mortgage. I can’t afford to die. I tried to remember how much life insurance I had. I visualized policies and added the numbers quickly in my head, too quickly. Not enough. It’ll never cover college, the house and leave enough for my wife to live on. I can’t die tonight.
After what seemed like hours, the front door slowly opened and a police officer slipped in. He moved guardedly toward the pharmacy and came around the perimeter of the store from my left.
I glanced toward the forger. He had moved to the blood pressure machine and stuck an arm into the inflatable cuff. He pressed the start button. The cuff automatically inflated around his arm.
Looking to my left, I saw the officer—gun drawn—round the corner and head toward the prescription counter. The cop and I made eye contact. I nodded toward the blood pressure machine.
He approached slowly and quietly. When he was about ten feet from the forger, he yelled, “Police. Freeze!” The man spotted him and stood abruptly. But his arm was locked in the blood pressure cuff and he was pulled back into a sitting position like a magnet to metal.
The officer moved closer to the machine just as Jeremy ran around the corner with a cane he’d picked up from a display. He slashed it through air at the forger. He missed and struck the cop’s arm instead. The officer yelled and dropped his gun.
The forger, startled and wide-eyed, fumbled with the machine’s controls to disengage the cuff. When that failed, he reached behind him for his gun. Just as it materialized, I saw Ms. Huffington waddle up with her umbrella held out like a sword. She poked the man in the side. He screamed in pain.
Good aim, Ms. Huffington. He slumped back onto the machine’s seat holding his side.
The policeman leaped toward him, grabbed the gun, lost his balance and fell on top of him, but held on to the man’s arm and the pistol.
I rushed to the blood pressure machine as Mary ran up holding another display cane, ready to strike. I pulled Ms. Huffington off to the side and Mary did the same with Jeremy.
The officer tucked the gun in his belt, retrieved and holstered his own weapon, and yanked the forger to a standing position after disengaging the machine. He spun the man around, cuffed him and began the litany I recognized from television shows: “You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you . . .”
Ms. Huffington pointed at the cuffed man and scowled. “Shame on you, young man.”
The policeman chuckled and shook his head. “Nice poke, lady. Good assist.” He handed her a blood-tipped umbrella.
The suspect looked down at Ms. Huffington. “You old bitch.” He next glared at me. “I’m going to get you for this, man.” He turned to the officer but nodded back toward me. “He did it. He changed the numbers. Probably does that all the time working this shift. Must have a big stash back there.”
The cop shoved him. “Shut up, punk.” To me he said, “When I drove up, there was a car in the lot with two guys inside. I called for back up. We’ve got them detained.”
“They didn’t try to leave when they saw your police cruiser?” I asked.
“I don’t think they noticed. They were so high they could hardly talk much less drive.” He pushed the kid down the aisle. “I’ll be right back to get your statements.”
While the policeman walked the guy out of the store, I turned to Ms. Huffington and laughed. “How did you know what was going on?”
“I knew you’d never be as mean to me as you sounded earlier. I knew something was up and told Jeremy. He gathered Mary and me at the front of the store, told us to leave.”
Mary bit her lip and nodded toward Ms. Huffington. “When Jeremy followed the cop through the store, we got curious and followed too.”
Ms. Huffington looked around at everyone, grinned from ear to ear and clenched her fists. “What an exciting night! Do you think I’ll have to go to court? Maybe they’ll need me to testify.”
“Count me out of that,” Mary said. “I see enough craziness in the ER every night. Now about that asthma script, Sam?”
“Oh, I totally forgot. I’ll call your ER doc right away.”
I called, got the order and filled her son’s prescription. Mary paid her bill. She started to leave as the policeman walked back to the counter. He held out his hand to stop her. “Not so fast, ma’am. You’re a witness.”
Mary sighed and the officer pulled out a notepad to take her statement. He questioned her for a few minutes and jotted some notes. Finally he said, “Okay, you can leave. We’ll call if we need anything else.”
The officer focused on Ms. Huffington with a crooked grin. “You’re something else, ma’am. You saved my butt . . . Uh, excuse me . . . you saved my life. I’m grateful.”
“You think I could testify at his trial?”
“He’ll probably plead out. But even if it’s only a plea hearing, I’ll personally give you a ride to court. You won’t miss a minute of this if that’s your pleasure.”
“Hot damn . . . I mean . . . very good of you, officer.” Ms. Huffington looked toward me and blushed.
The policeman took Jeremy’s statement before turning to me. “I’ll take that prescription now.”
I went into the pharmacy, retrieved the forgery and handed it to the officer with some hesitation. He noticed.
“Something wrong, Mr. Delaney?”
Considering carefully what to say next, I explained, “I get these funny feelings sometimes. I had a feeling walking into the store tonight, like the rolling thunder was a premonition of tonight’s events. Anyway, something’s wrong with that prescription.”
The policeman studied the slip of paper and frowned. “You mean besides it being a forgery?”
“That’s the obvious part, but I think there’s more to it than changing a number on a piece of paper.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s highly unusual for an ER doc to write for oxycodone and let the patient walk out the door. First, it’s given for serious pain, the kind they hospitalize patients for. It’s not often prescribed before sending a patient home. And there’s the obvious abuse potential. ER physicians don’t write for oxy unless they know the patient’s full history. That usually doesn’t happen in an ER visit and that guy looked questionable.”
“You think the doctor’s in on this?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying except that I’ve never seen it before and I got a strange feeling while talking to that doc, like he was over-explaining. It’s probably nothing but I want
ed to mention it.”
“After what that old lady did tonight, I’d believe anything,” the officer said. “I’ll look into it.”
He shook my hand and walked out of the store to tend to his prisoner secured in the back of his patrol car.
The rest of the night was reasonably quiet with only a few other customers. I went back to my research paper and reread my conclusion. I decided that, although accurate, it was bland and not nearly as exciting as reality. It would need to be rewritten.
I never heard back from the police, but Ms. Huffington came in one night full of stories about the day she’d spent in court as the accused agreed to a forgery charge and received a reduced sentence in exchange.
About a week after Ms. Huffington’s day in court, I stopped getting prescriptions with that physician’s signature on the bottom. One night my curiosity got the better of me and I called the hospital’s ER to inquire if he still worked there. I was put on hold and shortly the shift’s head nurse came on the line.
“Hi, Sam. Guess you didn’t hear. Dr. Wells was the victim of a hit and run a few days ago. Ironic, but they brought him here. His injuries were extensive.”
I swallowed hard and wet my lips before I could ask, “Is he okay?”
“Sadly, he didn’t make it. The police are still looking into it.”
I hope you enjoyed Cuffed. It was a pleasure to share it with you and I’ve included an excerpt from the beginning of my full-length novel, Lethal Medicine. So you’re not quite done.
Lethal Medicine will be available soon as an eBook almost anywhere you’re likely to shop. If you liked Cuffed, please consider recommending it to your friends and buying Lethal Medicine when it comes out.
All The Best,
James
Lethal Medicine
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Chapter 1
The detectives arrived at the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office located on the sprawling campus of The University of Texas Health Science Center. They checked in at the reception desk.
“I’m Homicide Detective Rosie Young and this is my partner Vince Mendez,” she announced.
Rosie was of Mexican descent, as many in San Antonio are, her last name a carryover from a failed marriage that ended three years previously. She was dressed in her usual detective attire: a pair of starched black jeans, a brightly colored tank top and a short black jacket. She had been a police officer for twelve years and a homicide detective for four.
“We’re here to follow-up on the autopsy of Jessica Arredondo,” she said.
The receptionist nodded and pulled out a three-ring binder. “Sure, let me check my log. Yes, Arredondo, brought in two nights ago . . . that would be Dr. Rebecca Nolan. Her office is through the main doors, down the hall, and—”
Rosie interrupted, held up a hand. “We know where Becky is. You’re new here?”
“Second day, I’ll buzz you in.”
Vince Mendez—her partner—a nine-year veteran of the police force and two years as a homicide detective, walked a couple of lengths behind Rosie. Arriving at Dr. Nolan’s office, they found her deep in conversation.
When she noticed the detectives, Nolan said, “Come on in. There’s someone I want you to meet. Detectives Rosie Young and Vince Mendez, this is DEA Special Agent Brian Vargas. Agent Vargas, these are the two homicide detectives assigned to the Arredondo case.”
The detectives and the DEA agent shook hands, mumbled greetings to each other and followed the medical examiner to the autopsy pit.
Nolan noted the detectives’ perplexed expressions. “I asked Agent Vargas to join us. I have a preliminary tox screen from the blood I took at the scene and found an interesting coincidence.”
“I’m all ears,” Rosie said. “But I don’t understand why the DEA is here on a probable overdose case, or even why you called us in. What’s so special about this one?”
“I’ll explain that shortly. Trust me for now that Agent Vargas should hear this also.” They walked up to the table that held Jessica Arredondo. Becky pulled back the sheet covering the body. “I found no trace to link the delivery boy to the victim. That’s consistent with samples taken from his clothing and fingernails by the forensic techs, no transfer from her or the bed.”
“Boy? What boy?” Agent Vargas asked.
“Jason Hanson,” Vince said. “He was delivering Chinese take-out down the hall and noticed the victim’s apartment door ajar. When he finished his delivery, he walked back past and saw it was still open. He alerted the lobby security guard as he was leaving the building.”
“Upscale apartment building,” Vargas commented.
“One of the nice ones popping up on the northern edge of the city—great views of the foothills to the north. Anyway, the guard thought it best to hold on to Jason and together they checked out the situation. They eventually went to the bedroom and discovered the body.”
Nolan picked up the dead woman’s right hand. “I found skin under her nails. I tested that against the DNA sample from the boy and there’s no match. I’d say he’s not involved.”
“What do you think, detectives?” Vargas asked.
Vince shrugged. “That was one scared kid but it could have been an act.”
“If he was acting, I’d give him an award,” Rosie said.
The DEA agent frowned. “So what’s the story on the victim?”
“No ID in her purse and no credit cards but over a hundred in cash. The guard said her name is Jessica Arredondo, but pictures in the bedroom identify her as ‘Just Jess’.”
“You mean photos of her with captions?” Vargas asked.
“More like promotional photos, like she was promoting herself as being all someone needs,” Vince said with a chuckle. Always ready with a wisecrack, Rosie had learned quickly to look past that and beyond Vince’s lanky frame and ill-fitting suits. The sports jacket he had on was too short over his narrow torso. His wrists poked out from the ends of the sleeves. True, the man couldn’t dress himself but he could solve any case he put his mind to.
Rosie explained. “There was a stack of glamour photos on the dresser and that’s how she signed them. And we found other . . . things too.”
“What other things?” Vargas asked.
“Some interesting leather things for starters. Sexy lingerie. Expensive clothes. That sort of stuff.” Vince glanced at Vargas and gave a wry smile. “We also found some curious toys.”
Rosie glared at Vince before turning back to Vargas. “And we found lots of other cash, thousands in a drawer.”
Vargas rubbed a hand across his forehead. “A hooker?”
Vince nodded. “And an expensive one at that.”
“Regarding the victim,” Nolan said after clearing her throat. “Based on liver temp and degree of rigor, she’d been dead for about four hours.” Although Nolan was in her late thirties, she looked ten years younger. It was only her careful attention to detail that made people take notice and respect her as a serious scientist.
“She died of a massive intravenous overdose of heroin. I personally checked around the crime scene that night for any drug paraphernalia. There was none. I’d say the drug was not self-administered. She was murdered.”
“Isn’t that a leap, Becky?” Vince asked. “Couldn’t she have disposed of the syringe after injecting herself? Maybe she flushed it down the toilet before going back to bed.”
“I thought of that, but it doesn’t explain what happened. She had about five times the lethal dose of heroin in her body.” Becky pushed back some of her red hair that had fallen over one eye and walked closer to the body. “She wouldn’t have had time to inject the drug, dispose of the syringe and get back to the bed. She would’ve become unconscious within seconds. I think she died on the bed she was found in.”
Nolan held up the victim’s arms. “I believe whoever administered that lethal dose simply overpowered her. Some bruising showed up on her upper arms during autopsy. The skin under her nails indicates she tried to defe
nd herself.” She gently put the victim’s arms down. “The lab still can’t get a DNA match through the databases, though.”
Rosie thought out loud. “So we have a murder and our only suspect is that kid who’s just been cleared.” She glanced at Agent Vargas as her hands came to rest on her hips. “And why are you here, anyway? The DEA doesn’t get involved in drug murders without good reason.”
Agent Vargas flashed her a smile. “Smart and pretty. What a combination!”
Rosie gave Vargas a venomous stare. “Could we continue, please?”
“Detective, there’s much more involved here than simple murder. Why don’t we let the ME explain and you’ll see what I mean.”
Turning to Nolan, Rosie asked, “Becky, what’s he talking about?”
Looking from Agent Vargas to Detective Young, Nolan said, “Alright, let’s move on, shall we? Rosie, the heroin itself is the most interesting part of the case. I took a sample of some liquid I found on the victim’s skin near the injection site. It probably leaked from the syringe before the needle pierced her skin. The preliminary results show it’s an unusually pure heroin hydrochloride, something around 99% pure. The hydrochloride form makes it water-soluble, and I’ve only seen that combination once before. It was in this facility.”
