Wild Crown

by Tripp Ellis

  "Not at all," Denise replied. "I can't stay late, anyway. I'm working the morning shift."

  JD shot me a curious look. The potential for drama was in place, and JD was waiting for sparks to fly. But the claws never came out. The two girls seemed to get along.

  "I think Brooklyn is one of my favorites of all the contestants," Denise said.

  "Aw, that's so sweet of you to say," Brooklyn replied.

  "Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of nice girls. But Brooklyn is so down to earth. I'm glad we met," Denise said. She lifted her glass.

  The two girls toasted.

  "I knew you were going to make the semifinals the moment I saw you," Brooklyn said.

  Denise scoffed. "Please, you had the semifinals sewed up since day one."

  The two girls continued to flatter each other.

  JD watched them lob compliments at each other like it were a tennis match. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  After we finished another round, Denise looked at her watch, then flagged down the waitress. She settled the bill, despite our protests. “It's time for me to turn into a pumpkin. Gentlemen, lady, I will see you all tomorrow."

  Denise sauntered out of the bar, and we ordered another round.

  "She's such a sweet girl. I can't believe you two aren’t a thing," Brooklyn said to me.

  "There is a policy against interdepartmental romances," I replied, casually.

  "Some rules were meant to be broken," Brooklyn said with a naughty grin.

  I shrugged, and tried to keep a straight face as I said, "I'm a rule follower."

  "I doubt that seriously." Brooklyn lifted a curious eyebrow. "I think you two would make a great couple."

  "You think?" I asked, acting like I had never entertained the thought.

  "Please, she's totally into you. It's obvious. We've talked."

  "Have you?"

  JD gave me a look.

  "She said you were fair game, but I think I might feel bad if I let you pin me to the bed sheets. I don't know if I could look at her with a straight face after something like that."

  “Then don’t look at her."

  She grinned. "You're bad."

  "Something tells me you like that," I said.

  "And cocky, too."

  I shrugged, modestly.

  "Am I still a suspect in your murder case?"

  "You haven't been ruled out," I said. "But I think we have more promising leads."

  "Well, that's good." Brooklyn smiled.

  There was a long pause as we stared into each other's eyes.

  "I guess I should get my beauty sleep, too. Big day tomorrow. Thanks for the drinks. You boys have a good night."

  "Oh, rest assured, it's been a good night already," JD said.

  Brooklyn smiled and sauntered away from the table, making her way through the crowded bar.

  "Dude, you totally got cock-blocked," JD said. "Denise marked her territory. Sure, she said you were fair game, but she just pissed all over you."

  “I can’t hook up with Brooklyn anyway, she’s a suspect,” I said.

  Jack scoffed. “Not if we hurry up and solve this case.”

  21

  “Doctor Fantazio is with a patient," the receptionist said when we visited the clinic the next day.

  I flashed my badge and said, "It will only take a minute."

  She looked uneasy. "I'll let him know that you are here. Please take a seat in the waiting area."

  Jack and I ambled through the crowded waiting area and took a seat. There were pamphlets available that described the various cosmetic procedures that Dr. Fantastic offered. A flatscreen display showed before and after pictures of patients who had experienced miraculous transformations at the hands of Dr. Fantastic. Most of the procedures were elective, and insurance didn't cover them. It was primarily a cash business, and judging by the number of people in the waiting room, business was booming.

  We waited 45 minutes, and I was beginning to think we were getting the runaround. Finally, Dr. Fantastic's nurse pulled open the door and called for us. She led us down the hall to an examination room. "The doctor will be with you shortly."

  We took a seat in the chairs by the examination table. There were more pamphlets on the counter beside the washbasin, along with hand sanitizer and latex gloves. On the walls, there were more posters of cosmetic procedures. Advertisements for Botox, rhinoplasty, breast augmentation, butt lifts, and chin implants.

  The wait in the examination room took another 35 minutes. By this time, I was a little irritated.

  Dr. Fantastic finally pushed into the room with a bright smile. "I apologize for the delay. It is absolutely insane today."

  "Seems like business is good," I said.

  "I can't complain. The plastic surgery gods have smiled upon me." He grinned, flashing an ultra-white smile.

  "We'd like to ask you a few questions about Skylar Van Doorn."

  His smile faded. "I thought you might come around to that, eventually."

  "We are aware of her malpractice suit," I said. "Do you want to tell us about that?"

  "I can't really discuss patient information with you without a warrant, but I will say it was an unfortunate occurrence. It's regrettable, but that is the nature of surgery."

  "We've also recently become aware that there has been a death at the surgical center."

  He sighed and hung his head for a moment. "Yes. Again, no surgery is without risk. There were complications with anesthesia. The patient had an adverse reaction. I'm speaking in general terms here, but sometimes these things happen. It saddens me greatly. The patient in question didn't disclose their full medical history which made for unforeseen complications. We were cleared of any wrongdoing. There is no way we could have anticipated the problem. That's just the nature of the business. All of my patients sign pre-op consent forms acknowledging the dangers of surgery."

  "And that gets you off the hook?" JD asked.

  "No. I have to live with it the rest of my life. Safety is of the utmost concern for me. And I pride myself on having an outstanding record of patient satisfaction."

  "I bet the dead lady wasn't so satisfied," JD muttered.

  "Tell me about the clinic owner?" I asked. "Were you aware that he's a convicted felon?"

  Dr. Fantastic groaned. "Yes, I am fully aware of his background. George Gordon is an upstanding member of the community. He's a hard worker, and he is dedicated to seeing this clinic thrive. He made a few bad choices in his youth, and now he is saddled with a conviction that will haunt him for the rest of his days. Why should I hold that against him when he has changed his ways?"

  I shrugged.

  "Surely you've done something you regret in the past, Deputy Wild?" Dr. Fantastic asked.

  I nodded. "Quite a few things."

  "So, you'll forgive my business partner if he stole a car at 17 and went for a joy ride?"

  I said nothing.

  "Why don't you talk to him about it if it disturbs you?" Fantazio said. "From my understanding, it was a second-degree felony, pled down to a third-degree felony. He paid a $5000 fine and served a year in prison. That was 22 years ago, I believe."

  "Are you familiar with Vexatropanil?" I asked.

  Dr. Fantastic nodded. "I am. It's used for pain management."

  "Do you use it in your practice?" I asked.

  "No. My patients usually don't require more than hydrocodone for a few weeks after surgery."

  "Do you know what would happen to someone if they ingested vexatropanil with cocaine?"

  His eyes narrowed at me. "I would imagine it could be fatal, if taken in a large enough quantity. What are you getting at, Deputy Wild?"

  I shrugged. "I'm just saying that Skylar Van Doorn had a malpractice suit against you which could damage the reputation of your clinic. That's incentive for murder."

  I just threw it out there casually.

  The good doctor didn't like the sound of that. "If you'
ll excuse me, deputies, I have patients that need urgent attention. If you have any further questions, please contact my attorney. Good day, gentlemen."

  He stood up and marched out of the room.

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "They ought to call him Dr. Fuckhead," JD grumbled.

  We left the examination room, walked down the hall, and exited into the waiting room. A hot blonde sat near the reception desk with a rolling suitcase beside her. She wore designer glasses, had sculpted cheekbones, and dressed in a navy pantsuit.

  She was damn good looking.

  I surveyed her curiously for a moment, then couldn't resist asking, "Are you moving in?"

  She glanced up at me, moving her blue eyes away from her iPad. She looked confused for a moment, then her eyes flicked to the suitcase, then back to mine. She smiled. "No, I'm a pharmaceutical rep."

  "Oh, that sounds interesting. What do you sell?"

  "Everything. Latex gloves, syringes, implant devices, surgical instruments, medications, you name it. We are a one-stop shop for all of your medical needs."

  I looked to JD. "Maybe we should open our own clinic."

  "It's a lucrative business, I can assure you." She dug out a card and handed it to me.

  "Evelyn, it's nice to meet you," I said, reading from her card. I introduced us. "You mind if I ask you a few questions?"

  "No, not at all."

  Dr. Fantastic's nurse pushed open the door and called into the waiting room. "Evelyn, the doctor will see you now?"

  Evelyn frowned at me. "Sorry. Gotta go." Then she smiled. "Feel free to call me, though."

  "How long do you think you will be?" I asked.

  "10, 15 minutes."

  "We'll wait outside for you."

  She nodded, then grabbed her suitcase full of sample products and rolled it toward the exam rooms.

  22

  We waited in the hallway outside the doctor's office by the elevators. There was a steady flow of patients coming and going.

  Evelyn emerged with her rolling suitcase in tow. She pressed the call button for the elevator and it lit up. "So, what do you want to ask me?"

  "Have you ever sold Dr. Fantazio any Vexatropanil?" I asked.

  "What's this about?" she asked, her brow crinkling with concern.

  "We are investigating a murder," I said.

  Her blue eyes widened. "Really? You don't think Dr. F had anything to do with it?"

  "We're just trying to be thorough," I said.

  She hesitated for a moment, "I don't think he regularly purchases that medication, but let me check." She pulled out her iPad from a zippered compartment in the roller-case. She launched an app, scrolled through a few screens and looked at a list of medications.

  Her brow lifted with surprise. "He did purchase an order last month." She continued to study the records. "That's odd. It was his first time purchasing that." Her curious eyes surveyed us. "What does that mean?"

  "It probably doesn't mean anything," I said, trying not to alarm her.

  The bell dinged, and the elevator doors slid open. We stepped inside, and I pressed the button for the ground floor.

  "Would you keep me posted?" Evelyn asked. "I'd just kinda like to know if my clients are murderers."

  "I'll call you if we make any arrests," I said.

  Evelyn smiled. "You can call me even if you don't."

  The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped into the lobby.

  "I just might," I replied with a smile.

  Evelyn's high heels clacked against the floor in the lobby as she pulled her roller-case along.

  I held the glass door open for her and she strutted toward the parking lot. She looked back over her shoulder. "I've got to get to my next appointment, but it was nice to meet you, Deputy Wild." Her eyes flicked to JD. "Deputy Donovan."

  We smiled back at her and watched her go, the wind blowing through her blonde hair. She clicked her key fob, and the trunk opened on a nice BMW. She hefted the sample case into the trunk, closed it, then got behind the wheel and drove away.

  "I think she might require further investigation," JD said with a wink.

  I agreed.

  We climbed into Jack's Porsche and headed across the island to the Law Offices of Marty Crusher. It was a small firm that he ran out of a colonial style home in the upscale neighborhood of Driftwood Heights. There were perfectly manicured hedgerows, picket fences, and pastel colored homes. Palm trees swayed overhead.

  We parked the car, strolled the walkway to the porch, and pushed through the front door into the reception area. A bell chimed as we entered. A moment later, a middle-aged woman greeted us with a smile. "Can I help you?"

  "We'd like to see Marty Crusher," I said.

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  I smiled and flashed my shiny gold badge. It was an instant appointment maker.

  "I'll see if he can fit you in. Please, have a seat," she motioned to the chairs in the waiting area. "Can I get you anything to drink? Sparkling water? Tea? Coffee?"

  We both shook our heads.

  She disappeared down the hallway.

  There was an oil painting of a Spanish Galleon on the wall and a fern in the corner. Magazines sat atop a coffee table.

  The woman returned a moment later. "Mr. Crusher will see you now.

  She led us down a hallway and opened the door to Marty's office. She introduced us, and we shook hands with the infamous personal injury lawyer. We took a seat across the desk from him.

  "What can I do for you gentlemen?" Marty asked.

  Marty was in his mid-50s. He had gray hair that was receding on top, but the comb-over covered it well. He had deep laugh-lines and cheeks that sagged around his jawline. He had a bulbous nose that was rosy from the sun. A slight hunch made him stand about 5'7", though he had once been taller.

  "We'd like to discuss Skylar Van Doorn's malpractice suit against Dr. Fantazio," I said.

  "As I'm sure you both know, I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of my client relationship with Miss Van Doorn."

  "You are aware that Skylar Van Doorn is deceased?"

  "That has no bearing on the privileged nature of my conversations."

  "So, she was a client of yours?" I asked.

  Marty nodded.

  "We're investigating Dr. Fantazio in connection with Skylar's murder. If there's anything you can do to assist us in that, it would be much appreciated."

  "You're asking the wrong questions, Deputy Wild," Marty said.

  "What questions should I be asking?"

  "Questions that I can answer. There were dozens of other malpractice cases against the doctor.”

  “Were?”

  “They all settled. I'm not handling those cases, so I am at liberty to discuss what I know about them. It seems in one case, our good doctor injected non-medical grade permanent filler into a woman's lips and cheeks. It hardened over time, became infected, and left her permanently disfigured. Botched tummy tucks, bad butt lifts, unsightly nose jobs, high infection rates, wrongful death—this guy shouldn't be practicing.

  "Skylar was determined to take this case all the way. It wasn't about the money. It was the principle of the thing, especially when she learned that she wasn't alone in her disfigurement. I suspect Dr. Fantazio settled those cases with a high payout. The clinical practice is doing such a high volume of business that they can afford to pay out a few claims, keep the details confidential, and keep operating as usual."

  "Seems like he needs to be shut down," Jack said.

  "Until his license is revoked, it seems he will keep butchering people. Hopefully you boys can do something about it?"

  Marty pushed away from the desk and ambled to a file cabinet. The drawer squeaked as he pulled it open. Marty looked down his nose through his glasses as he thumbed through the manila folders. He grabbed one, slid the drawer shut, then ambled back to his desk. He took a seat and slid the folder across to me.

  When I opened the folder, my eyes widen
ed with disbelief.

  23

  On the first page of the file was a picture of Dr. Fantazio, along with all the details of his medical license—where he had attended medical school, and when he graduated. Where he had done his residency. The hospitals he had privileges at. A statement of financial responsibility, describing the limits of his medical liability policy. There was also a listing of actions pending.

  None of that was shocking.

  I showed the image of Dr. Fantazio to JD, and his eyes bulged.

  "I take it you've never met Dr. Fantazio personally," I said to Marty.

  He shook his head.

  "Well, the man in this photo is not Dr. Fantazio," I said. "Or, perhaps I should say, the man at the plastic surgery clinic is not who he claims to be."

  Marty had a look of understated surprise in his eyes. He didn't seem shocked by much. "Then who is it?"

  I called Sheriff Daniels and filled him in on the situation.

  We used an image of Dr. Fantastic from the sponsors page of the pageant’s website and did a reverse image look-up to discover the man's true identity. His real name was Dr. Anthony Tornak. He had his medical license revoked and had stolen the identity of Dr. Fantazio. I'm not sure how that happened, or who he bribed along the way, but the real Dr. Fantazio was nowhere to be found.

  I started to have concern for the real doctor's well-being.

  It didn't take much doing to get a warrant, and within an hour, we had pulled together a tactical response team. I didn't anticipate running into any resistance at the clinic. Most likely, nobody would shoot back at us when we raided the facility, but sometimes it's fun to storm into a place with full tactical gear and raise hell.

  I strapped on a bulletproof vest that read County Sheriff on the back in white letters. I pressed check my 9mm in the lobby of the medical plaza, along with the other members of the tactical response team, and Sheriff Daniels.

  The Department of Health tagged along.

  JD had an eager grin on his face.

  We stepped into the elevator, moved up to the third floor, and flowed into the hallway. We readied ourselves at the entrance to the clinic, then pushed into the crowded waiting room.