Nodding his agreement, he stood, allowing her to proceed before him. He glanced at his phone but had no message from Rachel or her husband. Firing off a quick text, he knew Rick probably had his hands full but hoped to hear something soon. Rachel was a good partner, and even though he knew her maternity leave was coming up soon, he had not prepared mentally to be working the case alone so soon. Lost in thought, his feet stuttered to a halt to keep from running into Ms. Robinson as she stopped at a half-door.
“This stays locked and our patients are not allowed here. If a prescription is needed, the nurse comes and gets it, then delivers it to the patient.”
He glanced through the top half of the door into what appeared to be a regular pharmacy. Multiple shelves were filled with boxes and bottles, and a woman and a man were working at a large counter, counting pills.
Continuing to follow Ms. Robinson, they stopped at another door with a nameplate declaring “Pharmacist, Robert Atkins.” She knocked on the door and, receiving a reply, opened it.
“Robert, this is Detective Fiske. He’s investigating the deaths of several people, one of them our patient, and he had a few questions for you.” She waved Carter forward, and he heard her padded footsteps fade as she walked back toward her office.
The man sitting behind the desk jumped to his feet with a wide smile on his face. Sticking his hand out he pumped Carter’s hand up and down several times. “Detective, nice to meet you.” Clapping his hands together he rubbed them vigorously. “Sit, sit, and we can talk drugs!”
Unable to keep the surprise off his face, Carter knew his eyebrows had reached his hairline as he sat down and cocked his head to the side. This should be interesting…
7
Carter’s gaze quickly assessed the pharmacist. Robert was much younger than he’d anticipated, probably in his early thirties. His dark hair was a little shaggy, and his brown eyes darted about the room. Wearing a bright green button-down shirt, the color stood out starkly from his white lab coat. Casting his gaze about Robert’s office, it appeared to be used for storage, one table along the side of the room stacked with boxes.
“I’m investigating the death of three men. All three had been homeless at the time of their death. The last one had a large dose of antidepressant in him, and all three men had opioids in their system. What ties them together particularly is that they also all had plastic baggies filled with a variety of opioid prescription pills in their possession.”
Eyebrows raised, Robert sobered. “I’m truly sorry to hear that, Detective. I don’t actually come in contact with any of our clients and can tell you that we don’t prescribe or carry any opioids in our pharmacy. We do carry antidepressants. We have a number of drugs for pain and arthritis. Most of them are non-steroids, but we also have muscle relaxants and some steroids.”
“What about patients who come to the clinic already on opioids?”
“That’s a question that I would leave for Dr. Tiller, as far as specific drugs for specific patients. In general terms, I can tell you that the drugs we do offer would be used instead of opioids, but it’s more difficult to wean someone off an opioid addiction.”
Nodding, he stood and offered his hand. Once again, Robert shook it firmly. “Thank you for taking time to answer my questions.”
“No worries, Detective. Like I said, it was a nice break in my day.”
He turned to walk out of the office, glancing toward the table that was piled with boxes. “I assume all of these are pharmaceuticals. Are you the one who checks them in as they come?”
Nodding, Robert said, “I check them off the invoice list initially to make sure we have everything. Then they’re turned over to the pharmacy staff where two of them work together to get them catalogued and on the shelves of the pharmacy.”
Offering a chin lift, he walked out into the hall and back toward Marsha Robinson’s office. Seeing her door open, he knocked on the doorframe and waited for her to look up. “Thank you for your assistance today. Who should I see about setting up a time to talk to Dr. Tiller?”
“I’ve already arranged it. If you can come early tomorrow morning, he’ll see you before he starts seeing patients. You would need to be here around seven.”
“I’ll be here. Thank you.” With another nod, he walked back through the crowded waiting room and out into the cold air. His phone vibrated and he pulled it from his pocket, checking the incoming text. Richard had replied, letting him know that Rachel was being sent home but would be on bed rest until the baby came. Blowing out his breath, he fired off a quick text, wishing her well. Stalking back to his SUV, he headed to headquarters. With the news about Rachel, he needed to check in with his superior.
Glancing at the front of the homeless shelter as he drove by, the vision of Tara Wilson’s beautiful smile as she knelt and chatted with the two children stayed firmly planted in his mind.
“Why don’t you come over for dinner? Caitlyn said she was going to drop by. We can make it a McBride girls’ night.”
“Are you sure?” Erin asked.
Huffing, Tara said, “Erin.” She may have only said her sister’s name but had no doubt her tone of voice would carry her feelings. Sure enough, Erin laughed.
“Is Aunty Erin coming, too?” Colleen yelled from across the kitchen.
“I’m sure you had no problem hearing my daughter and the excitement in her voice considering that most people in the world probably heard her. Come on over anytime. I’ve got plenty.” Disconnecting, she
