24
Tony Brandt came out of his office with a large smile and met me as I entered from the side door off the parking lot. “Danvers called. The DEA report is on its way, but he gave me the top three contenders on the phone.” He handed me a sheet of note pad paper. “We also found out how Ski Mask got out. He had a rope strung between Hill’s building and the garage next door. Hand over hand and out he went, probably right over our heads.”
“Christ.” I looked at the names. “Are these doctors or patients?” v›
“The first names are doctors, the names after them are patients. By the way, Katz’s article on last night was a monument to restraint. Maybe you’re breaking through.”
I waved the list. “You want to wait for the full DEA report before deciding what to do about this?”
Brandt allowed an uncharacteristic grin. “Hell, no. In fact, I’d like to interview one of these guys myself.” He reached into his pocket. “Three duces tecums.”
A duces tecum is a writ or subpoena ordering the person served to hand over specified materials. Unless every i is dotted and every t crossed, they are the legal equivalent of skating on thin ice, especially if you’re trying to breach the physician/patient privilege.
Brandt read my thoughts. “They’re as tight as they can be. The patients are identified by name, as are the exact medical records we’re after. Even the dates are in there. If it’s specificity they’re after, I couldn’t get any better.”
He kept one subpoena for himself and handed the other two to me. I laughed and shook my head. “Busy as a beaver aren’t you? Can I bring Kunkle in for the third one?”
“You two courting or something? I didn’t think he was your type.”
“He’s not. Any objections?”
Brandt tilted his head slightly. “He wouldn’t be my first choice as an interviewer.” He paused for a moment and finally made an odd movement with his upper lip. “All right. I don’t suppose he’ll start slapping doctors around.”
There was an awkward pause. “Are you getting close to letting him go?” I asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Does last night have anything to do with that?”
“It didn’t help his career any.”
“Would you have thought to check out Hill’s room before he got there?”
He looked at me warily. “That’s not really the issue, is it?”
“None of us are overly trained-not for this stuff.”
Brandt took a deep breath and passed his hand across his mouth. “What’s on your mind, Joe?”
“I just want to know if you’re going to let him see this case through to the end.”
He smiled, just barely. “I can’t afford the loss of manpower just now.”
“Thanks. Did you arrange with the sheriff to set up tails for us?”
“They’re waiting in the parking lot. I’ll tell them who to follow.”
“Thanks. See you later.” I crossed the hallway to Support Services. Kunkle was laboring over his typewriter. I knocked on the open door. “Report?”
He looked up at me, his expression as sour as ever. “It’s not m?II knoy resignation, if that’s what you were hoping.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’ve got something else for you to do.” I put the subpoenas on his desk. “DEA just gave us three doctors who might have treated the guy with the hump. Brandt took Goldbaum; which one do you want?”
He glanced at the papers and leaned back in his chair. “Why me?”
“Why not?”
“You’re doing me a favor, right? Keeping me involved, showing what a good leader of men you are?”
I hesitated. There was always the option of crowning him with his typewriter. Instead I answered, “Yes.”
He stared at me for a long minute and then glanced again at the subpoenas. “I’ll take Morris.”
That left Duquesne-he had only one patient we were interested in. I headed out back to one of the unmarked cars. The lower the profile, the better.
Dr. Duquesne worked on the top floor of the Professional Building adjacent to the hospital. It was a brick structure, cheaply made and minimally maintained, with a screeching front door, threadbare carpeting and the general look of a motel on the downward slide. There were already two people in his small, paneled waiting room, despite the early hour. I went to the nurse’s window and showed her my badge.
“Is he available?”
“You’ll have to make an appointment.”
“I’m not here for treatment. This is official.”
“Will it take long?”
I closed my eyes for a moment. “I don’t know.”
She looked unsure. “I’ve only seen this happen on TV. Am I supposed to interrupt him now and tell him you’re here?”
“Is he with a patient?”
“Yes.”
“Is he almost finished or just starting?”
“He’s almost finished.”
“Then I’ll wait here, and you can tell him about me between patients. How’s that sound?”
She gave me a radiant smile. “That’s wonderful. That’s what I’ll do. Won’t you have a seat?”
I had a seat. It was shaped for a body other than mine. After five minutes of staring at the paneling, the two pictures of ducks on the wall, the coffee table laden with ancient magazines, and my two far more ancient co- waiters, I was rewarded by the appearance of a small boy and his mother and a tall, white-haired man in a lab coat. The man crooked his finger at me and faded back to the interior hallway. I went after him.
“What can I do for you?” His tone was meticulously neutral.
“I need to ask you about a prescription you wrote three years ago for a patient named Steven Cioffi.” ‹'0e›
“I’m not sure I can tell you that.”
I gave him the duces tecum, which he read slowly and carefully.
“He’s a murder suspect,” I added when he’d finished.
Duquesne pursed his lips and looked at the floor. “Maybe I ought to call my lawyer.”
“You can. It’ll probably mean tying all this up long enough for Cioffi to get away, assuming he’s our man. If he’s not the one we’re after, he’ll never know about it.”
Duquesne hesitated a little longer, tapping the subpoena against his thumbnail. Finally, he cracked open the door to the receptionist’s office. “Lisa, get me the file on Steven Cioffi.”
His office was small and compulsively neat, which I suppose is a good sign in a specialist. I sat in one chair; he sat in the other. His desk lay between us like a dock.
“So, who is this man suspected of killing?”
“Kimberly Harris.”
His neutral eyebrows rose. “I take it the wrong man is in jail?”
“Not necessarily. It gets a little complicated. Several people may have been involved. Did Cioffi have Cushing’s at that time?”
“Oh, yes. I was treating him for acute asthma. The Cushing’s episode lasted only a few weeks, and then we brought it and the asthma under control.”
“Is he still your patient?”
“As far as I know. I don’t see him very often now that he’s on regular doses.”
“Still prednisone?”
“Yes, but in lesser quantities. That heavy dosage was only to bring him back from the brink. How did you know he had Cushing’s, by the way? The hump?”
