“Yes. Carl Burnley. Jonathan Rothberg. Richard Stallone.”
“Carl Burnley was not seen at this clinic after he filled out the initial paperwork, so I never met with him. Jonathan Rothberg also came in to fill out the initial paperwork, but never returned with any documentation. Our clinic requires proof that they reside in the Hope City area, even if this is a letter from one of the shelters. We also require documentation of any income, federal income tax returns, green card if necessary, food stamp notice of action, etc. Marsha informed me that he did not bring in any documentation, therefore he was never processed into the system.”
“And Richard Stallone?”
Dr. Tiller opened a medical file on his desk, glancing at the contents before lifting his gaze to Carter’s. “I pulled his file. We do have this information on the computer, but I’m old school and tend to jot my notes on paper first. In the last several months, he has been seen three times. He suffered from mild PTSD and was prescribed an antidepressant. Upon follow-up, he stated that he felt better and was meeting with one of the social workers at the shelter next door. When he first came to us, he also had pain from an injury he had sustained while serving in the military. He was also prescribed Celebrex and Tylenol for pain.”
“Do you recall if he asked for anything stronger? Narcotics, for example?”
Dr. Tiller leaned back in his chair and reached up to pull his glasses from his face. Taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he began to clean the lens. Sighing heavily as he placed his glasses back on his face, he said, “I can truthfully say that I have no recollection of that. I don’t have a record of him asking nor do I have a note that tells me he might have an addiction. I will also say that with the number of patients I see in a day, week, month… I don’t always remember each one.”
“Each of these three men had opioids in their system at death, and Rocky also had antidepressants.”
Dr. Tiller’s eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head slowly. “An overdose?”
Shaking his head, Carter replied, “No, not an overdose. But enough to make him fall asleep and not wake up when a fire occurred in the building he was sleeping in. He died of smoke inhalation.”
A wince crossed the doctor’s face as he continued to shake his head. “Such a tragedy.”
Changing direction in his questions, Carter said, “I spoke with Robert yesterday about the pharmacy. Knowing how much drugs cost, I wonder how the clinic is able to provide essentially free pharmaceuticals.”
“The majority of our money for this clinic comes from private donors. Some comes from federal, state, and local grants. My father was on the board for Hope City General Hospital for many years before founding this clinic about eight years ago. The homeless shelter next door was already in service, and when this side of the building was available, the city purchased it for the use of the clinic. My father still does a lot of fundraising, and that’s how we’re able to provide medical services, including drugs to low-income patients. We’re fortunate that Kilton Pharmaceutical Company is located in Hope City. They’re able to provide some of the drugs in our pharmacy as part of their outreach and community program.”
“Dr. Tiller?”
Both men looked for the door, seeing Kate peering in. “I hate to interrupt, but Beth Washington of Kilton Pharmaceutical is here. Since I’m not usually at work this early, I’m not sure what her procedure is.”
“Thank you, Kate. She normally meets with Polly, but since she’s here I’ll deal with her. Please tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.” Dr. Tiller stood and said, “I’m afraid that’s all the time I have this morning, Detective Fiske.”
Inclining his head slightly, Carter said, “I appreciate your time. I’m sure I’ll be in touch with more questions as the investigation continues.” It did not miss his attention that the doctor grimaced slightly.
He followed the doctor back out to the reception area where Kate was chatting with another young woman. In contrast to Kate’s ponytail, nursing scrubs, and Crocs, the pharmaceutical representative was attired in a tight-fitting skirt that came to just above her knees, a sweater that accentuated her figure while still maintaining professionalism, heavy makeup, and styled hair. At her feet was a rolling case that he assumed was filled with pharmaceutical samples.
Beth’s eyes landed on Dr. Tiller first, and she smiled. When her gaze moved past the doctor and halted on Carter, her white-toothed smile was almost blinding. “Oh, my, Dr. Tiller, I certainly didn’t mean to take you away from your meeting.” Her voice lifted at the end as though she was inviting an introduction.
With a nod toward Kate, Carter walked out of the clinic. The back of his neck burned, and he was sure if he turned around, he would find the gaze of Beth’s eyes boring into him. Shaking off the strange sensation, he mentally added her to the list of people he might want to interview, especially if she provided free samples of various drugs to the clinic.
People were already beginning to gather outside the homeless shelter as he made his way down the sidewalk.
“If you’re here for the bag lunches, those are not distributed until 11 o’clock and the tables are set up on the back of the shelter near the delivery entrance. Please do not stay here until then because it creates too much of a crowd on the sidewalk. You may come back at the appropriate time.”
Without being able to see the speaker, he already knew it was Tara. Her voice carried an air of authority, and he wondered how she managed the many aspects of her job. A few of the people were going inside the shelter, but
