The phone on her desk rang, and she answered it, pressing the speaker. “Yes, Enrico?”
“Ms. Wilson? You’re needed for an emergency intake. It’s a family with small children.”
“I’ll be right there.” She disconnected the phone, placed her palms on the top of her desk, and pushed herself to a stand. Another sigh slipped through her lips. “If that’s all, Detective Fiske, I have to get back to work.”
He stood and said, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Wilson. I’ll speak to the clinic, but I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you later.”
Without waiting, she strode past him, and he could hear her heels clicking as she walked down the hall. Following, he shook his head at his royal dismissal, wondering if there really was an intake or if she had a system in place for a coworker to call her when she wanted to be interrupted.
Once out into the reception area, he inwardly winced at his assumption as his gaze landed on a young couple with two small children standing with Enrico. The man wore no coat, and the woman only had a thin sweater. The two children were bundled in oversize coats in an obvious attempt by the parents to keep them warm.
As he stepped around, he looked over his shoulder and watched Ms. Wilson approach. Her stern expression had softened, and her wide smile lit the room. His feet came to a halt as he watched the transformation. After greeting the man and woman, making eye contact as she reached out and shook their hands, she then squatted so that she could greet the children. Their eyes were big as they partially hid behind their mother’s legs. It only took a moment for her soft voice and kind words to have the children smiling back at her.
The front door opened, letting in a blast of cold air, and he was jostled as several people walked in. Turning quickly before he was caught staring, he walked down the front steps and turned to the left toward the clinic.
“Detective Fiske? Ms. Robinson has a few minutes for you now.”
He had spent almost an hour cooling his heels in the waiting room of the free clinic but had not wasted his time. It gave him the opportunity to read their brochures, study some of the patients coming into the clinic, and do a little research on his phone.
Smiling, he followed the receptionist to an office that was connected to a room filled with medical records. The woman sitting at the desk looked up and smiled, then stood and offered her hand.
“Detective, I’m Marsha Robinson.”
Her handshake was firm and her smile warm. Waving her hand toward one of the empty seats in her office, she invited him to sit. “I confess I don’t have very much time to give you right now, and I know you’ve been waiting, so please don’t consider me rude if I ask that we go directly to your questions.”
Appreciating her efficiency, he said, “I’m investigating the recent deaths of three men who happened to be homeless. Only one of them was seen at the shelter next door, but all three had opioids in their system. I’m here for two reasons. One, I’d like to find out specifically if any of those three men were seen here or got their drugs from this clinic. And while I understand the basic workings of a free clinic, I’d like you to explain how the pharmaceuticals and prescriptions work for your clients.”
Just as she opened her mouth, he anticipated her objection to the first reason he wanted to talk to her and added, “Their deaths have been ruled suspicious, therefore, they’re under investigation.”
“I understand, Detective. I can give you the information and explanation you ask for, but I must tell you that opioids or any narcotics are not kept nor dispensed here at the clinic’s pharmacy.”
He simply nodded at her statement but waited to hear about the three men. He slid a piece of paper across her desk with their names and watched carefully as her gaze moved over the list. She said nothing but turned to her computer and began to tap.
“Carl Burnley filled out our intake paperwork three months ago, but there’s no record that he came back in for any treatments.” She continued to search on her computer before adding, “Jonathan Rothberg filled out our paperwork about the same time, but he was unable to provide any documentation. He would have been given a list of what he needed to bring in, but there’s no record that he returned to us.”
Jotting the information in his notebook, he asked, “And Richard Stallone?”
A slight smile curved her lips. “Ah, Rocky. He came in for an initial intake four months ago. He brought in the required paperwork, and I have him being seen by Dr. Tiller twice in the past three months. Before you leave here today, we can set up a time for you to meet with the doctor.”
“Appreciate that.” He waited until she turned away from her computer, her attention focused on him again. “And the pharmacy here? How does that work?”
“Often, the cost of prescription medications is prohibitive to our clients. We have a licensed, in-house pharmacy with a wide variety of medications for diabetes, high blood pressure, depression, cholesterol, asthma, and many other common illnesses. We do not carry or dispense narcotic or controlled substances at all, Detective Fiske.”
“You mentioned medications for depression.” He looked back down at his notebook and flipped through a few pages. “Do any of those include a Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor?”
“I’m afraid that’s a question for the pharmacist or Dr. Tiller. I'm
