by Neil Plakcy
“Felix?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah, he was filling in for Elysia when I took Rochester in. I’ve been helping him improve his writing and grammar so he can apply to a vet tech program.” I didn’t add that Felix had been at my office, and my house. My parole was over, so I could associate with whoever I wanted to, but I didn’t want to distract Rick and possibly get a lecture from him.
“So you know about his background?”
“His time in prison? Yeah. But that doesn’t mean he stole the potassium.”
“Makes him the most likely suspect. If I were Dr. Horz I’d can him, but I’m not her. If you want my honest opinion, I think somebody on Dr. Horz’s staff used the last of the stuff up and forgot to tell her.”
“But I thought you said she was missing five vials. That’s a lot to forget about.”
“Not if it happens one by one,” he said. “Anyway, it’s over, unless more drugs go missing. I’ve got enough real crimes on my plate without worrying about misplaced pharmaceuticals.”
The conversation shifted to Tamsen and her son, and then to our dogs, and after a while Rick left, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Felix. This job with Dr. Horz was his chance for rehabilitation, to start a new life and a new career. I hoped the vet would see that, and not fall prey to suspicion. I knew in my heart that Felix deserved the same chance for change I’d received.
Tuesday morning I was still thinking about Felix, so I turned on the desktop computer in the office and emailed him to ask how he was coming with his exercises and his summaries. I said that I was looking forward to seeing him again, and eventually to helping him with his application for the vet tech program.
The question of why someone had stolen those vials of potassium from Dr. Horz kept gnawing at me. I Googled everything I could think of, and one of the links I followed was intriguing. I learned that potassium chloride was one of the three chemicals used in carrying out the death penalty.
First sodium thiopental was injected at a high dose, rendering the person unconscious quickly. Then pancuronium bromide relaxed the muscles – that alone would eventually cause asphyxiation. To be more humane, potassium chloride was injected next. That stopped the heart almost immediately, before the lungs gave out and the person suffocated. The process took no more than a few minutes.
The first two were very controlled substances, and I doubted someone would be stealing the potassium to complete that triumvirate. Another link, though, was more sinister. Apparently potassium could be used to induce heart attacks. Hyperkalemia, that term for high potassium levels, disrupted the electrical conduction activity of the heart, resulting in myocardial infarction, or heart attack. I couldn’t find any clear data on how fast an attack would come on – it depended a lot on the patient’s overall health, weight and so on. Could someone have stolen the potassium in order to commit murder?
From downstairs I heard Lili yelling. “No, Brody! That is not yours!”
I hurried down. “What’s up?”
“He grabbed a pile of photos from the dining room table and shredded them,” she said. “I know, I shouldn’t have left them out. But now I have to print them all again.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll take care of them now.”
“I could make some suggestions on how you could take care of Brody,” she said. “But I’m reminding myself that he’s going home in a few days.” She stalked upstairs, and I focused on the dogs, who romped around the living room together like long-lost siblings.
It took some rough play between the dogs, and some treats, but eventually they both curled around me. I opened the laptop and checked my email. “I’m over the whole grammar thing,” Felix had written. “Even if somebody wants to give you a 2nd chance, somebody else screws you over.”
Not even a smiley face at the end, or a “Thanks for your help, Steve.”
Had Dr. Horz fired him? Or was he pissed off that suspicion had fallen on him because he was an ex-con? I started to type another email in response, but I stopped. I’d have to see him in person. I called Dr. Horz’s office to see if he was there, but I got a recording that the office was closed until Monday for the Christmas holidays, and a referral to a twenty-four-hour emergency clinic.
Well, then I’d have to figure out where Felix Logato lived, and go over there. I’d take Rochester with me, because my golden had the ability to soften up anyone, especially a dog-lover like Felix.
But where did he live? I did a quick Google search. He wasn’t the Felix Logato on Facebook or LinkedIn or any of the other social networking sites. One of the search engines that charged for results gave me a dozen choices, but none of them matched what I knew about Felix.
I remembered a previous search I’d done, for an elderly hippie who lived off the grid – no phone, no electric bill, no social media. I’d figured out that he was using his middle name as a first name, and once I knew that I had discovered his property records.
But Felix was a different kind of guy. It was logical that he wouldn’t have social media accounts; depending on where he had been incarcerated, and under what conditions, he could have had Internet access restrictions. And I’d read articles about Facebook shutting down prisoner accounts.
It was also unlikely that he’d have set those accounts up once he was released. I remembered the months after my own discharge; I had wanted nothing more than to curl up by myself, not have to face people from my previous life.
If he was a parolee, though, maybe the parole officer I’d dealt with myself could help me find Felix. I picked up my cell and dialed Santiago Santos.
My last conversation with Santos hadn’t been completely positive. He’d told me that despite his efforts, I was still an arrogant prick, that I thought I could outsmart the police and do whatever I wanted. He hadn’t said it quite that way, but that’s the way I’d heard it.
He answered briskly, “Santos.”
“Santiago? It’s Steve Levitan.” I hesitated. “I’m not in trouble or anything, but a guy I know might be.”
“I’m not a cop, Steve,” he said. “Call your friend Rick Stemper.”
“It’s not like that,” I said hurriedly. I explained that I had met Felix at the vet’s, that I’d been helping him improve his writing so that he could apply to a vet tech program.
“And?”
“There was a theft, at the vet’s office where he worked. I don’t think Felix did it, and I’m afraid he’s going to let the suspicion derail his progress. I want to go see him, try to convince him to push through this.”
“So why call me?”
“The office where he works is closed for the holidays. I don’t know where he lives, and I’m fighting the temptation to look behind closed doors on the Internet.”
He sighed. “Well, at least you’re trying,” he said. “What’s this guy’s name again?”
“Felix Logato.”
I heard Santiago’s fingers clicking on his keyboard. “He’s not on my list. And his PO is on vacation.”
“Can you give me his address?”
“I’m not your personal assistant. And I couldn’t do it without his permission.”
I waited. I wanted Santos to make the next move.
“I suppose I could call him and ask,” he said.
“Great! I’ll hold.”
“I have my own clients to worry about,” he grumbled.
“But you care about your clients, I know that,” I said. “And I’m figuring by association you care about people in general. It would be a real kindness to help me get in touch with him.”
“Hold on.”
I listened to some irritating music that was supposed to relax me, but just made more anxious. I didn’t need to go home for the holidays, and I didn’t need Rudolf to light my way anywhere.
What if Felix refused to let Santos give me his address? What if he got angry and did something stupid? I drummed my fingers on the desk.
“He says there’s nothing you can do or
say,” Santos said, when he got back on the line. “But he let me give you his contact information.” He read me out an address and phone number.
“Thanks, Santiago,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Hold on. Before I let you go. How are things going for you?”
“Really good,” I said. “Lili moved in with me, and she and Rick have been keeping me on the straight and narrow.” I hesitated, but then pushed on. “I made a mistake a few weeks ago, but I recognized it right away, and I told Lili and Rick about it. And I joined this online hacker support group, too. That’s been really good for me.”
“This is a good thing you’re doing for this guy, Steve. But remember, you’ve got an addiction, and nobody ever got over one of those easily, or without a few missteps along the way. You can’t justify bad actions because they’re for a good cause, as I know you’ve done in the past. If you focus on your own rehabilitation first, you may end up one of my success stories.”
“You mean I’m not already?” I asked, only half joking.
“Happy holidays,” he said, and hung up.
11 – Cobalt Ridge
I heard Lili yelling from upstairs. “Brody! That’s my shoe!” I jumped up and began up the stairs, as Rochester and Brody barreled down past me.
I found Lili at the desk in the office, holding up one of her Icelandic wool slippers. “He had this in his mouth. He didn’t chew it, but it’s kind of damp.”
“It’ll dry,” I said. “Suppose I take both dogs out for a ride?”
She looked suspicious. “A ride where?”
“Levittown. I spoke to Santiago Santos, and he gave me Felix’s address. It’ll get them out of the house for a while, and they can sleep together on the back seat.”
“Right,” Lili said. “Good luck with that.”
The address Santos had given me was on Calicobush Road in Levittown, and I went back to the laptop to figure out how to get there. Levittown was not a city of its own, but forty-one different neighborhoods sprawled over four different municipalities and three school districts. It had been built in the 1950s for returning World War II vets and employees of the Fairless Works, one of the largest open-pit steel mills in the world.
There were only six original house models, from the Country Clubber to the Jubilee, and the meandering streets were confusing. My dad used to tell a joke about a Levittown man who got confused on his way home, parked in the wrong driveway, went into the wrong house, and ate dinner at the wrong table. When he had an over-18 audience, Dad added the man had slept with the wrong wife, too.
Each of the divisions had a name, from Appletree Hill to Yellowwood, and within that community all the streets began with the same letter. For some developments, such as Quincy Hollow and Upper Orchard, that was a good thing—if someone lived on Quaint or Quail, you knew where you were going.
I knew there were two “C” developments, Cobalt Ridge and Crabtree Hollow. Even though I knew that in Levittown East the streets were called Lanes, and in Levittown West Roads, I still needed the map to tell me that Calicobush was in Cobalt Ridge.
The easiest way to get there appeared to be following US 1 to the Oxford Valley Mall, then taking a left on Oxford Valley Road. It was familiar territory for me, because as a teen I hung out at the mall with my friends, many of whom lived in Levittown.
A half hour later I was ready to go. The residue of snow on the roads didn’t bother me; I’d been driving in those kind of conditions since I first got my license. I led both dogs outside, and let them pee. Then I opened the back door. “Go on, everybody inside.”
Rochester looked up at me. He was accustomed to riding in the back when Lili was with us. But when she wasn’t, he rode shotgun. Neither dog was willing to move, so I had to pick up Brody and hoist him inside. “You next,” I said to Rochester. “You’ve got to keep an eye on the puppy.”
He looked at me reproachfully, but he went in, pushing Brody forward with his big square head and taking up most of the real estate on the back seat.
When I slipped into the driver’s seat, Brody stood on his hind legs and sniffed me through the bars of the headrest. “Rochester, control the puppy,” I said, as I put the car in gear. Of course Rochester did nothing, so I had to gently push the puppy back before I could head for the road my dad had always called Useless One.
Cobalt was one of those substances I only remembered vaguely from the high school chemistry class I had shared with Rick Stemper. I knew it was a shade of blue, and that it had something to do with nuclear weapons, but that was about it.
When I turned into Cobalt Ridge Drive, I didn’t have the trouble the guy in my dad’s joke had. In the over fifty years that had passed since Levittown was built, each home had been modified, expanded and painted. Carports had been enclosed and yards landscaped. One house had a miniature windmill in the front yard, another a fake well. Most of the houses had some kind of Christmas decorations, from whole dioramas of Santa, sleigh, reindeer and elves to a single strand of colored lights.
The address Santos had given me was a single-story house with an attached garage, a sloping gray roof, and light-blue shutters. It looked well maintained, though the three cars in the driveway were all old and beat-up, with mismatched paint and big dents. I parked on the street and let the dogs out to sniff.
The front door opened and Felix stepped forward wearing a pair of sweat pants and a worn sweatshirt with the arms cut off that showed off his biceps as well as his tats. I waved at him and turned the dogs toward him. They both rushed forward, pulling me along like the tail of a kite. “You shouldn’t let them pull you like that,” Felix said, as we got up to the door.
“Maybe you can give me some training tips,” I said.
He stood there in the doorway for a minute as if deciding whether to let me in or not. But Rochester nuzzled his hand, and Felix relaxed. “Come on in. The place is a mess.”
It wasn’t that bad. Some dirty clothes were thrown over the back of a well-worn sofa. The two armchairs were ripped, the carpet stained. But it was more like bachelor digs than a pigsty.
“I live here with two other guys,” Felix said. “They don’t care about the way things look.” Brody began to sniff around the whole room, and I was hoping he was housebroken enough that he wouldn’t piddle anywhere.
“It’s all right by me.” I took my coat off as Felix played with Rochester and Brody.
“You heard about the theft at the vet’s, I guess,” Felix said as I sat in one of the old chairs.
“Yeah. But you didn’t steal that potassium.”
Rochester and Brody clustered around him, then climbed up beside him as he sat on the sofa. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because I know where you’re coming from. I see how hard you’re working to turn things around. You’re not stupid. You wouldn’t jeopardize everything for such a dumb theft.”
“Yeah, I wish everybody felt that way.”
“Dr. Horz?” I asked. “Does she blame you?”
He shrugged. “She says she doesn’t, but she still fired me.”
“No,” I said. “Why would she fire you if she thinks you’re innocent?”
“The other people don’t agree with her. Minna and Sahima and all the rest of them. They don’t live having an ex-con around. Dr. Horz said she’d give me a good reference, but I don’t care. I don’t want to do that shit anymore anyway.”
Brody rolled onto his back and waved his legs in the air, and Felix stroked his belly.
“You can’t let a couple of small-minded people get you down,” I said. “I know there’s a great program in Philly for ex-offenders. Maybe they can help you get a new job, maybe even help with the tuition for that vet tech program.”
He just sat there. Rochester sat up and nuzzled him, but Felix ignored him.
“You have a parole officer, right? Mine really helped me out. You can use this time to work on your writing, and after New Year’s I’ll help you with your application letter. You have a GED, right?
”
He nodded. “I finished it up while I was in prison.”
“Then between that, and your experience with animals, you should be a shoo-in for that program, especially if Dr. Horz will write you a nice letter.” I could tell from the way his shoulders relaxed that he was back on track. “Now, let me see what kind of writing you’ve been doing.”
I stayed there nearly an hour, showing Felix a couple of mistakes he’d made and talking to him about how to correct them. As we worked, the roommate with the computer, his buddy Dan, passed by. Dan was a rangy guy in his late forties, skinny and tough-looking, with an attitude I recognized from my own time inside.
Felix told the guy who I was, and he shook my hand. “Dan Symonds You get Felix all hooked up, maybe you can help me.”
“Felix knows how to find me,” I said.
Dan left, and Felix said, “I’ll work on this tonight. I promised Yunior I’d help him with something in Philly tomorrow, and then I’m going to my mom’s for Christmas the day after that. I don’t want to let this slide.”
Before I left, I remembered that Felix had once been a drug dealer. “I’m curious about something,” I said. “I know people can use cold medicine to make meth. Could somebody do the same thing with potassium?”
He shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
I thought about asking him to check with people he knew – but then I remembered that would be putting him back in touch with the those who had gotten him in trouble, and avoiding those bad influences was very important for a parolee.
Even so, I couldn’t help thinking about the question as I drove home with Brody and Rochester. I wanted to do some more online research, but my first responsibility was keeping the dogs out of Lili’s way, so I spent the rest of Tuesday afternoon playing with the dogs and keeping them out of Lili’s way. Shortly before dinner, Joey called from Cozumel.
“Your puppy’s a handful,” I said. “Thank God Rochester was older when I got him, or I’d never have let him stay beyond a couple of days.”
