A Discount for Death
Page 31
The undersheriff tried her best to keep her expression sober.
“Do you know what day this is?” Dayan asked.
“I have no idea,” Estelle replied. “I’ve lost all track.”
The newspaper publisher shook his head sadly. “You arrest practically the whole town the day after my paper hits the streets.”
“What can I say.”
“Well, for one thing, you can tell me what the deal is with Owen Frieberg. I caught sight of him being brought in. I saw the handcuffs.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Estelle said, and then held up a hand. “Can you give me just a couple minutes?”
“I’ve given you the whole darn week,” Dayan said. “What’s another minute or two now?”
“Do you have your camera with you?”
“Sure.”
She pointed at the hallway, beyond Dispatch. “Go wait in the doorway of my office, Frank. Guy Trombley is going to be coming through into booking in about,” she glanced at her watch. “A minute. You might get a shot.” She smiled. “Scoop time.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me. Guy Trombley? What…?”
“Stick around,” Estelle said. She patted Dayan on the arm and left him standing in the hallway, groping the camera out of his coat pocket. She knew he might have five seconds to snap a picture, during that brief moment when Trombley was led from the garage to the booking room. She guessed that if Trombley saw the newspaper man, he’d have a second or so to try and hide the handcuffs from view. In any case, the fuzzy photo would run on the front page of the Posadas Register in a week’s time.
Undersheriff Estelle Reyes-Guzman met the group in booking, out of the range of Dayan’s camera or hearing. Trombley regarded her silently, his icy blue eyes holding hers while the officers loosened the shackles. “I’m sure you’re happy now,” he said.
She ignored him and instead turned to Deputy Jackie Taber. “Thanks, Jackie.”
“You can go home now,” the deputy said, and smiled.
“I’ll get Frank Dayan squared away, and then that’s exactly what I’ll do,” Estelle said.
“The sheriff can talk to Frank,” Jackie suggested.
“Oh sure,” Estelle laughed. “That’s going to happen in this lifetime.”
***
At twenty minutes after five that morning, Estelle pulled the county car into her driveway on Twelfth Street and switched off the engine. She sat for a long time, half expecting the radio or the cell phone to interrupt the silence.
A knuckle rapped on the car’s window, and Estelle realized that she’d closed her eyes. “You going to sit there all morning?” Francis asked. He opened the door for her and watched as she pulled herself out. She reached out and took his hand.
“What time did you finally get home, Oso?” she asked.
“Padrino brought me home about two or so,” he said. “I sent Irma home.”
“Two? Ay.”
He shrugged. “We had a good long talk,” he said. “Your dispatcher kept us updated.”
Estelle managed a smile. “I’ll have to talk to Ernie about giving civilians insider information.”
“Bill’s only a quasi-civilian, remember. Did you talk to Trombley?”
“No…not yet. Bobby and Dan Schroeder are going to do that. I’m not sure I want to.”
“There’s no question in your mind that he killed Enriquez?”
Estelle shook her head. “He admitted it,” she said. “That makes it easy, doesn’t it? He said George threatened him, and that he grabbed the gun away during a struggle. He hit him, then tried to make it look like suicide. Trombley told Jackie Taber that George had the gun out when he arrived, as if he was thinking about it all along.”
“So Trombley is going to try for self-defense?”
“Or manslaughter at the worst. He’s slick. He thinks he can cut a deal.” She smiled faintly. “Right now, he doesn’t know that we have evidence George was collapsed backward, holding his head with both hands after the blow to the temple. That makes a claim of self-defense a little bit thin.”
She linked her arm through her husband’s and sighed. “It’s not going to be any fun,” she said. “Not for you.”
Francis shrugged. “Padrino and I talked about that. Louis is cooperating?”
“Sure. Frieberg swears that Herrera had nothing to do with the scheme itself. They offered him the drugs, and he took them. And that’s that. The district attorney is leaning toward fraud charges at the most. If Louis handed out a fake prescription and collected less than a hundred bucks, it’s a petty misdemeanor.”
“Not so petty,” Francis muttered. He held the front door for her.
“That’s before the state pharmacy board is done with him,” she said. “On top of that, I’d expect civil actions taken by the patients who think their health was jeopardized.” She turned as he closed the front door, keeping her voice down. “And that’s what is going to be hard on you guys. On you and Alan.”
“We’ll weather it,” Francis said. “We’ll pull in every patient involved and make sure they’re all right—and do whatever it takes to make it so.” He reached out and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “One step at a time. Right now, you look like you could use about thirty hours’ uninterrupted sleep.”
Estelle closed her eyes. “I told Louis that I didn’t want to see him on the clinic property ever again,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. That’s not my call to make.”
“But you’re right,” Francis said. He took her by both shoulders, his gaze searching. “You did the right thing, querida. If he was willing to give patients fake meds, then we don’t know how far he’d go, given the temptation. Don’t lose any sleep over it. You did the right thing. As far as Alan and I are concerned, Louis Herrera is history. I’ll do everything in my power to see that he doesn’t practice pharmacy again. Ever. Anywhere.” He turned her away from the doorway. “Right now, you need some rest, querida. ”
“Sleep,” she repeated. “What a concept.”
“At least until Los Dos wake up in an hour,” Francis laughed.
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