“We are hoping that it won’t-”
“Again, don’t care.” Hester looked over at Mike. “Dr. Baye, please get up and leave this room immediately. Your wife will escort you into the lobby, where you both can wait for me.”
LeCrue said, “Wait a second, Ms. Crimstein.”
“You know my name?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“How?”
“I’ve seen you on TV.”
“You want my autograph?”
“No.”
“Why not? Doesn’t matter-you can’t have it. My client is done for now. If you wanted to arrest him, you would have. So he’s going to leave the room and you and I will have a nice chat. If I think it is necessary, I will bring him back in to speak to you. Are we clear?”
LeCrue looked at his partner in the corner.
Hester said, “The correct answer is, ‘Crystal, Ms. Crimstein.’ ” Then, glancing back at Mike, she said, “Go.”
Mike rose. He and Tia walked outside. The door closed behind them. The first thing Mike asked was, “Where is Jill?”
“She’s at the Novaks’.”
He nodded.
“Do you want to fill me in?” Tia said.
He did. He told her everything-about his visit to Club Jaguar, about his meeting with Rosemary McDevitt, about nearly getting in the fight, about the feds jumping in, about the interrogation and the pharm parties.
“Club Jaguar,” Mike said when he finished. “Think about those instant messages.”
“From CeeJay8115,” she said.
“Right. It’s not a person’s initials. It stands for Club Jaguar.”
“And the 8115?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there are a lot of people with those initials.”
“So you think it’s her-this Rosemary whatever?”
“Yes.”
She tried to soak it in. “In some ways it makes sense. Spencer Hill stole drugs from his father’s medicine chest. That’s how he killed himself. Maybe he did it at one of these pharm parties. Maybe they were having one on the roof.”
“So you think Adam was there?”
“It adds up. They were having a pharm party. You mix these drugs, you think they’re safe…”
They both stopped.
“So did Spencer commit suicide?” Mike asked.
“He sent out those texts.”
Silence fell upon them. They didn’t want to think that through to the other conclusion.
“We just need to find Adam,” Mike said. “Let’s just concentrate on that, okay?”
Tia nodded. The door to the interrogation room opened, and Hester came out. She walked over to them and said, “Not in here. Let’s go outside and talk.”
She kept walking. Mike and Tia quickly rose to follow. They got in the elevator, but Hester still would not speak. When the doors opened, Hester strode through the revolving door and outside. Again Mike and Tia followed.
“In my car,” Hester said.
It was a stretch limo with a TV set and crystal glasses and an empty decanter. Hester gave them the good seats, facing the driver. She sat across from them.
“I don’t trust federal buildings anymore, what with the monitoring,” she said. Hester turned to Mike. “I assume you filled in your wife?”
“I did.”
“So you can probably guess the deal. They have dozens of what appear to be fake prescriptions written by you. This Club Jaguar was wise enough to use a variety of pharmacies. They got them filled in state, out of state, through the Internet, wherever. Refills too. The fed’s theory is fairly obvious.”
“They think Adam stole them,” Mike said.
“Yep. And they have a fair amount of evidence.”
“Like?”
“Like they know your son attended pharm parties. At least, that’s what they claim. They were also on the street outside this Club Jaguar last night. They saw Adam go in and a little later they spotted you too.”
“They saw me get attacked?”
“They claim you ducked into an alley and they didn’t know until later what went on in there. They were watching the club.”
“And Adam was there?”
“That’s what they claim. But they won’t tell me anything else. Like if they saw him leave. But make no mistake about it. They want to find your son. They want him to turn state’s evidence against Club Jaguar or whoever runs it. He’s a kid, they say. He’ll get a slap on the wrist if he cooperates.”
“What did you say?” Tia asked.
“First I did the dance. I denied that your son knows anything about these parties or your prescription pads. Then I asked what their offer meant in terms of sentencing and charges. They aren’t ready to be specific.”
Tia said, “Adam wouldn’t steal Mike’s prescription pads. He knows better.”
Hester just gave her flat eyes. Tia realized how naive her protestations sounded.
“You know the score,” Hester said. “It doesn’t matter what you think or what I think. I’m telling you their theory. And they have a lever. You, Dr. Baye.”
“How so?”
“They’re pretending that they’re not totally convinced you weren’t in on this. They point out, for example, that last night you were on your way to Club Jaguar when you had a violent run-in with several men who hang out there. How would you know about the place, unless you were involved? Why were you in the neighborhood?”
“I was looking for my son.”
“And how did you know your son was there? Don’t answer that, we all know. But you see my point. They can make a case that you’re in cahoots with this Rosemary McDevitt. You’re an adult and a physician. You’d give the task force nice headlines and serve serious prison time. And if you’re dumb enough to think you should take the bullet for this instead of your son, well, they can then say you and Adam were both in on it. Adam started it off. He went to pharm parties. He and the Club Jaguar lady saw a way of making extra money via a legit doctor. They approached you.”
“That’s insane.”
“No, it’s not. They have your prescriptions. That’s solid evidence, in their view. Do you know how much money this involves? OxyContin is worth a fortune. It’s becoming an epidemic problem. And you, Dr. Baye, would make for a wonderful example. You, Dr. Baye, would be the poster boy for being very careful with how you dispense your prescriptions. I might get you off, sure. I probably will. But at what cost?”
“So what do you advise?”
“While I abhor cooperating, I think that may end up being our best bet. But that’s premature. Right now we need to find Adam. We sit him down and find out exactly what happened here. Then we make the informed decision.”
LOREN Muse handed the photograph to Neil Cordova.
“That’s Reba,” he said.
“Yes, I know,” Muse said. “This is a picture from a security camera at the Target where she shopped yesterday.”
He looked up. “So how does this help us?”
“Do you see this woman over here?”
Muse pointed with her index finger.
“Yes.”
“Do you know her?”
“No, I don’t think so. Do you have a different angle?”
Muse handed him the second photograph. Neil Cordova concentrated on the image, wishing that he’d find something tangible to help out here. But he just shook his head. “Who is she?”
“There was a witness who saw your wife get in a van and saw another woman drive off in Reba’s Acura. We had that witness watch the surveillance tapes. He says that’s the woman.”
He looked again. “I don’t know her.”
“Okay, Mr. Cordova, thank you. I’ll be right back.”
“Can I keep the picture? In case something comes to me?”
“Sure.”
He stared, still stunned from identifying the body. Muse stepped out. She headed down the hallway. The receptionist waved her by. She knocked on Paul Copeland’s door. He shouted for her to come in.
Cope sat at a table with a video monitor on it. The county office doesn’t use one-way mirrors in the interrogation rooms. They use a TV camera. Cope had been watching. His eyes were still on the screen, watching Neil Cordova.
“Something else just came in,” Cope said to her.
“Oh?”
