Now, the women stood at the prescription window, Veronica in the lead, Rae, uncomfortable, hanging back as if she were the next customer in line.
Veronica flashed her I.D. “Can you tell me who was on duty April 25th?”
The tall, gray-haired man consulted a calendar on his desk. “A Friday. I was. How can I help you?” He didn’t smile.
“Did you fill a prescription for a Morgan Farris on that date?”
Rae watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob. “I don’t think I can answer that,” he replied. “The HIPAA law. Patient privacy, you know.”
Veronica retained her cool confidence. “Actually, I don’t care about Mrs. Farris’s prescription. I’m just trying to trace the activities of her nephew. Did a young man pick up a prescription for Mrs. Farris on April 25th?”
“Bayfield-Farris.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mrs. Farris uses a hyphenated name. Bayfield-Farris.”
“Fine. Did a young man pick up her prescription?”
“Not exactly.” The pharmacist twisted in his white smock, his long neck reminding Rae of a turkey.
Veronica bore down upon him with her dark eyes. “What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”
“Isn’t this against the privacy rules?”
Veronica smiled, but her eyes were hard as pieces of coal. “I don’t want to intrude on Mrs. Bayfield-Farris’s medical privacy. I just want to know if her nephew, Kevin Cantrell was here. He was nineteen. About five-ten. Brown hair.”
“Was?”
“He’s dead. I’m investigating a possible homicide. Now will you help me?”
“Oh, my. I thought you were going to say Mrs. Bayfield-Farris was dead.”
“Why is that?”
“B..because…” the man stuttered, “I had to go to the car to get her signature. A Class Two substance can’t be released to a third party--” He brought himself up short, apparently panicking that he’d revealed too much already. “Oh, this law. It’s so difficult to know what one can and can’t--”
Veronica interrupted the pharmacist’s mental juggling. “So you went to the car and then what?”
“She…Mrs. Bayfield-Farris was slumped over in the passenger seat. I wanted to call nine-one-one.”
“Then what happened?”
The man shook his head. “I knew this was going to be trouble.”
“Did she sign for the prescription?”
“She sat up and signed the form. The boy said he was taking her home.”
“Thanks for your help,” said Veronica. “Can you give me one of your cards in case we have some more questions?”
He pulled a card from a holder on his desk and exchanged it for one of Veronica’s.
“Please call me if you think of anything else,” added Veronica.
*****
“What’s a Class Two substance?” asked Rae when she and Veronica were back in the car.
“A controlled substance. Legal, but strong stuff. Now let me ask you one. Why do you suppose she uses her grandfather’s surname?” Veronica headed out of the Rite Way parking lot.
“Grandpa Bayfield was an egotistical son-of-a-bitch who threatened to disinherit his daughter and granddaughters if they didn’t take his name.”
“Your source of that tidbit?”
“Danny.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Not too bad. He’ll probably go home in a day or two.” Rae hoped the heart attack was a wake-up call for Danny, but she wasn’t about to share this with Veronica.
“He doesn’t get anything from the Bayfield Estate, right?”
“I can’t discuss that with you, Veronica. But you can look it up. The probate is of public record.”
“Rae! I put my butt on the line so we could help each other here. Don’t give me that confidentiality crap.”
“You just did that. Not ten minutes ago.”
Veronica pulled abruptly over to the edge of the strip mall parking lot and turned off the ignition. “We don’t think Danny’s involved. Okay? We do believe money is the motive here. It would help to know that Danny doesn’t stand to profit from the deaths of his wife and stepson. It would allow us to shift our focus. Quicker, maybe, if we didn’t have to reinvent the wheel. In other words, what you already know may save legwork on our part and maybe help your client.”
Rae deliberated. “I know where you’re coming from, but I’ll have to tell Danny what I’m doing. Let’s just say that if I were you, I’d start with the Bayfield financial records. Sam says he gave the kid a check, then never saw him again? I’d ask to see the cancelled check.”
“That’s why we’re going back to Bayfield Enterprises. You’ve met Sam Garvin, right?”
“You know I have.”
“How about the secretary?”
“What secretary?”
“The one that sits at the front desk. Fredricka. She told me Sam Garvin gave her the afternoon off on April 25th, so she never saw Kevin.”
“There was nobody in the office but Sam Garvin when I was there. What about in Golden? Didn’t anybody see anything?”
“The house sits on the edge of a field. There aren’t any close neighbors. We’ve canvassed the area and come up with a big, fat zero.”
“Thank you for sharing,” Rae said, trying to keep sarcasm to a minimum. “So, why am I here?”
Veronica started up the engine and headed out of the parking lot, turning right onto Simms. Rae waited for an answer to her question.
“I told you the real reason you’re here is for me to pick your brain. I know my strengths and they don't lie in the area of financial matters. Who would you recommend to do an audit of Bayfield Enterprises…that is, if I can convince my boss and the D.A. that we have probable cause.”
“Me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“But there’s a problem--” Rae was cut short by a beep from Veronica’s cell.
Veronica grabbed the call. Rae listened, but couldn’t tell anything from the one-word responses from Veronica.
The conversation over, Veronica reversed directions and seemed to be headed back to her office.
“Change of plans?”
“Kevin’s tox screen is in.”
“And?”
“Positive for cocaine and meperidine.”
“Meperidine?”
“A synthetic narcotic.”
“So he died of a drug overdose like his mom?”
“I need to see that report. Are you serious about doing some work for us?”
“Better believe it.”
Jeffco deputy sheriffs had been questioning Danny for a week. In his hospital room. He couldn’t seem to keep from answering their questions with questions.
“When was the last time you saw or spoke with Kevin Cantrell?” This one was a sawed-off peewee in plain clothes, with a head of retreating blondish fuzz. Gus Collins. He had an Adam’s apple that bobbled up and down when he spoke.
“You guys must not exchange notes,” Danny lobbed back.
“I’ll read you a couple of your answers: ‘Not since my wife’s funeral.’ Then there was ‘Oh, yeah, now that you mention it, Pat Keech and I ran into him once doing the renovation estimate.’ This was after you were told Mr. Keech had remembered seeing the boy.”
He crossed a stubby leg and fiddled with his sock, pulling it up in his boot. “Thought your memory might be improving. Word is you’re set to go home today.”
“Who told you that?” Danny asked pleasantly, sitting there on the bed in his street clothes, an overnight bag at his feet.
Sarcastic son-of-a-bitch. Danny could almost hear the words rattling at the back of the cop’s throat. But the guy just nodded and ground his teeth into a mean grin.
“When did you say Kevin died?”
“I didn’t. When do you think he died?” asked Grumpy.
They both turned toward the doorway as Rae entered, followed by Sandy. Danny’s transient memory checked in long enough to
remind him that Sandy had given him explicit instructions on his last visit: Do not answer any questions. Refer them to me.
Oops.
Behind Rae and Sandy there was someone else in the doorway. The hot-looking Latina from Lakewood P.D. Veronica. No memory problem there. Maybe, after he’d fully recuperated, he should explore the option of older women.
Veronica gave Grumpy the high sign. Just a quick frown and tilt of her head told Danny she was not pleased with what she saw.
“Hey guys. I think we’re short a couple of chairs, but Deputy Colon here was just leaving.” Danny hoped his assessment wasn’t overly optimistic.
“Collins,” replied Grumpy-Gus. He offered his business card to Sandy.
Sandy followed suit with his own card. “Any questions you have for Mr. Lassiter should be directed to me.”
“Not necessary,” Veronica interrupted, grabbing both cards. “Deputy Collins, we need to talk. Now.”
Danny had the feeling that, hopefully, he was now off the hook.
“Your paper work is waiting at the front desk,” said Sandy after the two cops had departed.
Danny put his wobbly legs in gear and reached for his bag, but Sandy beat him to it. The three headed out the door, down the long corridor.
“Why isn't Josh here?” Danny asked as they neared the elevator.
“Not so fast, Mr. Lassiter.”
He recognized the voice of Miss Ko as she hurried toward him with an empty wheelchair.
“Sit,” she commanded.
“That’s not one I know. Play dead, maybe. I’ve had some practice with that one.”
Rae and Sandy stifled giggles.
“Sit in the chair, Mr. Lassiter. I have to wheel you out. It’s regulations.”
He looked at Miss Ko, all one hundred pounds of her and knew she could friggin’ well put him in that chair if she chose. She was healthy, fit, and her eyes held a purposeful glint.
“Get in the damn chair, Danny,” said Rae, still throttling laughter.
He settled in, and they rode down the one floor in silence. After his processing, Miss Ko wheeled him through automatic doors into the sunlight. Seemed like a pleasant hospital, if you had to be in one. Locust trees brightened a Tru-green lawn and pansies nodded in the gentle May breeze. Things Danny hadn’t noticed when he’d been taken through the emergency entrance. He took a deep breath, choked on somebody’s exhaust, and asked again, “Where’s Josh?”
“Home waiting for you,” Rae said as she held the door of Sandy’s BMW while Sandy put his night case in the trunk.
Miss Ko was retreating with the wheelchair without even a goodbye.
“What, no kiss?” Danny called after her.
As the automatic doors parted for Miss Ko’s re-entry, she turned back toward him and waved. Or she gave him the finger. The sun was in his eyes, so he couldn’t be sure.
*****
Danny never thought he’d be glad to see the beady-eyed ogre of a house. Compared with
any number of scenarios that might have awaited him, it looked pretty damn good. The dumpster had been moved to where it wasn’t the first thing you saw. Somebody had been working on the overgrowth of privet hedge-gone-to-jungle. He could actually see the flagstone siding—the beast’s hide.
“Somebody’s been busy,” he remarked.
“Josh and your contractor,” offered Sandy.
Danny climbed the five steps to the front porch slowly, pausing for breath after each. Rae and Sandy adjusted their pace to his.
At the third step he noticed the remains of half-choked rose bushes peeking out of a cleared space beside the steps. Pieces of a broken bird bath lay bare to the afternoon sun. Somebody’s garden had smothered and died here. The thought cut off his breath more than the gradual climb: he and Deidre had lived in this house together for three years. He’d never noticed what was under the debris. For a brief moment, he felt a twinge of regret. It passed as he realized the extent of the improvement his efforts had wrought.
When they walked through the front door, Danny could actually see a room, not just boxes of junk that had to wait for the next dumpster load.
“Josh,” he called.
“We’re in the kitchen, Dad.”
Sandy turned on the recessed lighting, necessary even in daylight because of the dearth of windows, and placed his briefcase on the dining room table. Rae deposited Danny’s night case in a corner, then took a seat across from Sandy.
Danny was in no mood to get down to the nitty-gritty legal stuff until he’d hugged his son. Sandy’s meter was just going to have to keep running at three-fifty an hour.
In the kitchen Josh and Beth were cooking. Well—not actually cooking. They were cutting up unfamiliar food articles: vegetables.
Danny put an arm around each kid and hugged.
“Dad, you look really…better. Pale, but not as bad as the first day. That was scary.”
“I hope you’re hungry,” added Beth. “We’ve got all kinds of goodies from the health food store. We’re making sure you’re gonna eat right.”
“I’m not a rabbit.” Danny looked at all the green stuff. Not all of it was green. Tofu patties. Some of it looked vaguely familiar. Like out of his childhood. Before his first fast food fix. Not sure he could survive healthy living, he scanned the counter top, looking for the carton of Marlboros he’d left there. Gone. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what the kids had done with it.
Josh didn’t lose his good humor, but he was firm. “I have a list from the doctor. Foods you’re not supposed to have. Your cholesterol is out of sight.”
Danny tried to smile. The kids had obviously gone to a lot of trouble. He wondered who had paid for the spread, as well as the large basket of fruit he noticed on the counter top.
Beth must have followed his glance. “That’s from Aunt Morgan and Uncle Nate.”
He gulped, choking back the urge to say something totally inappropriate. Like about the apples. He could see apples peeking out of green cellophane. Damned if he was about to touch one of ‘em.
“It’s a peace offering,” Josh said.
Danny forced a smile while his mind rolled around the words apples from assholes. No need to dump his vitriol on the kids.
“I have to meet with Sandy and Rae now. We’ll have salad after. Okay?”
He could hear the kids whispering as he walked into the next room and closed the French doors.
Sandy and Rae had their heads together, and Sandy already had a legal pad full of notes as Danny sat down at the long, ornately carved mahogany table that had been in Deidre’s family for generations.
Beneath the table was an oriental rug—also an heirloom—that had been cleaned and sanitized, but still showed the stains of human puke and shit. Before he and Dee separated, he had been one of the contributing parties. The stains were now so faint that Rae and Sandy probably didn’t notice them. But he knew where they were—each and every one.
“Lakewood P.D. has reopened Deidre’s case,” began Sandy. “Rae’s friend Veronica has been assigned to both Deidre’s death and Kevin’s.”
“If anybody can get justice for your wife, it’s Veronica,” added Rae.
He was supposed to say something enthusiastic. “It won’t bring Dee back,” was all he could muster. “You guys want some salad?” He watched looks pass between Rae and Sandy that said his was not the expected response.
“Maybe another time.” Sandy looked at the kitchen door. “Is that your stepdaughter in there with Josh?”
He’d forgotten that neither Sandy nor Rae had met Beth. “Sorry, my manners…” He moved toward the door meaning to bring the kids out.
Sandy stopped him with a gesture. “No. It’s just that she looks pretty chipper.”
“I…guess she’s coping the best she can.”
“Stan Eisley is deflecting any interrogation of Beth because of her fragile emotional state. She just doesn’t look that fragile. Do you know if she had much contact with Kevin?”
Danny exhaled in a whoosh. “They barely spoke when Dee was alive. I doubt that her death changed that. Kevin’s been a loser ever since I’ve known him. And Beth is a sweetheart who doesn’t deserve any of this crap in her life.”
“I think questioning her is just a formality,” said Rae. “Are there any financial considerations we should be aware of?”
“Maybe Morgan doesn’t want to share Grandpa’s estate. Maybe she brought in JJ to do the dirty work.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Rae. “I just want to be sure there aren’t any surprises down the road—like a million-dollar insurance policy on Deidre’s life.”
“If there’s a policy of any size out there somewhere on Dee, I assure you that no one will be more surprised than I. And you can bet your ass that I wouldn’t be the beneficiary.”
“Good,” said Sandy. “No motivation, and as far as we know, they don’t have anything to tie you to Kevin’s death.”
“My prints must be all over that house.”
“You had reason to be at the house. It would be suspicious if your prints weren’t there. Now, Rae wants to ask you something.”
Until now, Rae had appeared unusually subdued. Now she looked like a racehorse at the starting gate. “There may be a need to change our strategy,” she began as if weighing each word. “Your observation about a possible money motive for the two deaths has to be followed up. Also, we need to know exactly what sums, if any, JJ Camacho got from Deidre, or anyone else for that matter.”
“Makes sense to me.”
“I’ll cut to the core. Veronica has asked me to help her with these two cases.”
“Great.”
“Well, I thought so. You may not agree.” Rae looked over at Sandy, then back at him. “Lakewood P.D. has offered me a contract for my services. I’d be doing forensic accounting for them on a per case basis.”
“Fantastic.”
“You hired me to work on your wife’s estate. There could be a conflict of interest.”
Pool of Lies Page 9
