“That’s right.” She tucked a loose strand of red hair behind one ear. “We practice in collaboration with a physician. Every NP works under a particular practice agreement that’s filed with the state board. Mine states that I will practice under the direct supervision of Dr. Allan Rouse or such physicians as he may appoint-that’s in case we hand off one of our patients to a specialist-with Dr. Rouse reviewing my patient records no less than every fifteenth day. That covers his two-week vacations.”
“Okay,” Russ said.
“Don’t you see? Without Al here, I’m effectively barred from practicing fifteen days after his disappearance.”
“Can’t you call up whoever is in charge of these things and explain the situation? Get an extension or something?”
“No. In order to resume practicing here at the clinic, I’m going to need to find another M.D. willing to serve as my collaborating physician. Then we’ll have to draw up a practice agreement and a practice protocol and file it with the office of Professions at the Education Department. Then we have to wait until the agreement and protocol are approved.”
“Sounds time consuming.”
“It can be.”
Kevin leaned in. Russ noticed that he and Laura Rayfield had identical coloring. He wondered whom they might have in common on their family trees. “Can’t you apply for the new agreement now?” Kevin asked. “That way, you might not have to wait so long to reopen the clinic.”
She shook her head. “Doctors can be very protective of each other’s turf. Until we know for sure that Al’s”-she flipped her hands:
If something or someone else hadn’t already killed him. Russ pulled his glasses off and polished them on his blouse. “Was he happy here? With his work?”
Laura blew out a puff of air. “That’s hard to say. He was dedicated. Conscientious. He had the kind of emotional control a lot of doctors do, in my experience, good at showing you his calm, controlled side, good at hiding the other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
“Like I told Officer Entwhistle, he was under a lot of stress in the weeks before he disappeared. That thing with Debba Clow really ate at him. The fact that it was about vaccinations, which he sort of held as the holy grail, made it worse. He had to field a lot of questions from mothers, and justifying his medical decisions wasn’t something Al was good at.” She grinned one-sidedly. “Justifying himself at all wasn’t something he was good at.”
Russ resettled his glasses on his face. “Was anything else bothering him?”
“He was very down about Mrs. Marshall yanking her funding. We all were. Finding out you’re going to lose ten grand a year isn’t any fun. Although she did notify the board of aldermen about the change in funding, which is supposed to trigger some sort of review of our money situation. She sent them a letter the day after she told Al. We got our copy of it the same day he disappeared.” She sighed. “I bet he didn’t even have the chance to read it.”
“How’s this review supposed to work with the aldermen?”
“I don’t know. The letter said something about the provisions of the gift and reviewing the funding.” She shrugged. “The only financial document I’m familiar with around here is my paycheck.”
“Do you have the letter around?”
“It’s in there. It may still be in his in-box. I don’t know.”
“See if you can find that, Kevin.” He indicated the doctor’s office, and the young officer bounced out of his seat and disappeared though the still-open door.
“Any other issues bothering him that you know of? Anything personal?”
“Nothing he shares with me. He seems sort of melancholy at times.” Laura’s face was drawn in, in concentration. She seemed unaware that she was now speaking of Rouse in the present tense. “He’s spoken a few times this spring about Mrs. Ketchem, who started the clinic. I guess this year’s the thirtieth anniversary of her death.” She flipped her hands over. “And he turned sixty-five in February. He’s very fit, you know. Bikes every day during the warmer months. But I think he’s been experiencing one of those times when the reality of how old you are hits hard. You know?”
Russ smiled a little. “I’m turning fifty this November. Believe me, I know.” He leaned forward. “Look, Laura, how long have you worked for Allan Rouse?”
“I practice with him, not work for him.”
He nodded his head. “Sorry.”
“It’s been, jeez, twelve years now. Talk about the reality of getting old.”
He pitched his voice lower. “One of the theories I’m working on is that there may be another woman involved.”
Laura started laughing.
“No?” he said.
She couldn’t speak for a moment. “If you knew Allan…” She took a deep breath, tried to wipe the grin off her face. “No. Absolutely not. Forget that he’s one of the few husbands in the world who genuinely loves his wife. He didn’t have the time to fool around on the side. His whole world was the clinic and home. I doubt he had half an hour a day unaccounted for.” Her face sobered. “Until he disappeared.”
“What about drugs?”
“What about them?” She tilted her head, causing her braid to fall over her shoulder. “You mean, like, did he write his own prescriptions too enthusiastically?”
“He wouldn’t be the first doctor to wind up abusing.”
She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t think so. Like I said, he’s a very healthy guy. The bike’s out back in the carriage house for riding, the fridge is stocked with dark green cruciferous vegetables and low-fat dip, and he takes an aspirin every day. The only drug I’ve seen him use is Xanax. He has a bottle in his desk he dips into occasionally.”
“Xanax. That’s for…?”
“Anxiety. I’m not saying it’s not possible. All I can say is he’s never appeared to be under the influence here at work.”
“At home?”
“I’ve seen him drink too much at their annual Christmas party. That’s about it.” She stretched, cracking her back, and stood up.
“If you, as a medical professional, had a prescription-drug problem, how would you feed your habit? Can you get narcotics sent here?”
She shook her head. “We don’t keep any controlled substances here at the clinic. It’s just an invitation to get ripped off. If I were abusing, I’d write prescriptions for fake names and take them to as many different pharmacies as I could. Not here, in town, not where anyone would know me. I’d tell the pharmacist I was Jane Doe and get my goodies. And I’d make sure not to come back too soon or too often.” She scooped up her clipboard. “Anything else? I hate to give you the bum’s rush, but you saw what it’s like out there.”
Kevin bounced out of Rouse’s office. “I got it, Chief.” He held a letter out to Russ. It had been stamped on the back with a big red REC’D and dated March 17. He flipped it over, took just enough time to see it was addressed to the board of aldermen, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Good work, Kevin.”
The young officer glanced out the window. “Looks like you were right,” he said. “It’s started to rain. Will you be okay if I go get the car? I’ll pull it forward by the entrance so you don’t have to go so far.”
Russ closed his eyes slowly and resisted the urge to break one of the crutches over the edge of the table. He was going to be one mean-tempered bastard when he got old and infirm, he could tell that already. “That’s a great idea. Thanks.”
Kevin said his good-byes to Laura and bobbed down the hallway. Russ bent down and retrieved his crutches.
“Here,” she said, extending her hand. “Let me give you a good pull. It’s a lot easier to get up that way.” She smiled indulgently. “And I bet you won’t let any of the guys at the police station do it for you.”
