He grunted. She tugged him upright and he drew the crutches in under his arms. “Okay, one last question. What do you think happened to Dr. Rouse?”
She rested the clipboard against her chest and folded her arms over it. “I think Debba Clow killed him.”
“Why?”
“Because Al had the ability to fire up a person’s temper, and Debba was a woman with a lot of temper to fire up. I couldn’t imagine her going after him on purpose, but all alone out there, with him pushing her buttons? Yeah, I can picture her bashing his head in and then dumping his body somewhere.” She looked toward the hallway, where the patients were waiting. Her lively face was suddenly drained and tired. “What a waste. He was a fine physician.” She glanced up at Russ. “He once told me the greatest compliment old Mrs. Ketchem ever paid him was when she told him no other doctor would ever love this clinic like he did. I suspect she was right.”
Chapter 29
Wednesday, March 29
When the handicapped elevator dinged and Russ swung into the station hallway, he could hear some weird sounds coming from the squad room. He stumped down the hall and poked his head inside. Lyle MacAuley was on the phone, frowning and holding up one hand for quiet, while Kevin Flynn seemed to be doing an end-zone victory boogie.
“Uh-huh,” he chanted. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-whoops! Good morning, Chief.” While he didn’t exactly come to attention, the kid stood up straight and tugged his uniform blouse into position.
“What’s up?” Russ asked. “Where is everybody?”
Kevin blinked. “It’s after nine o’clock, Chief. Ed’s on patrol and Noble took an accident call.” Russ glanced up at the clock on the wall. The whole Linda-as-his-chauffeur-to-work thing was going to take some tweaking. It wasn’t that she was unwilling. She just couldn’t function without a morning cup of tea and a chance to put on her makeup. “We just got a call from the Farmers and Merchants Bank,” Kevin continued. “Lyle’s on with them now.”
“Lyle’s off with them,” the man himself said, replacing the receiver in its cradle.
Russ pivoted to face his deputy chief. “What’s the news?”
Lyle grinned. “Rouse’s ATM card was used last night. At the ATM outside the Super Kmart in Fort Henry.”
Lyle’s grin grew even broader. “It was. They’re sending a technician over to pull it even as we speak.”
Kevin started his jive moves again, a skinny redheaded white boy channeling James Brown. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Uh-huh.”
“Thank you, Kevin.” Russ stumped closer to Lyle’s desk. “Where can we take a look?”
“At the downtown branch. That’s where they run their security. They’ve got a computer set up that can enlarge the videos and make single-frame pictures. Just what we need.”
“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
Kevin stopped in the middle of a joint-defying arm movement. “Hey. What about me? I’m supposed to be driving you.”
“Tell you what, Kevin.” Russ swung across the squad-room floor to Noble Entwhistle’s desk. “I’ll give you a chance to do some detective work.” He balanced on his crutches and withdrew a sheaf of handwritten papers that had been shoved inside a phone book. “Noble started on the pharmacy project yesterday. He called every drugstore within a forty-five-minute drive, and he’s drawn up a list here of places that have filled prescriptions written by Dr. Rouse.” He handed the papers to Kevin. “I want you to get a photo of the doc from the file and hit the road. Flash it to everyone behind the counter: pharmacists, assistants, cashiers. See if Rouse was ever in there picking up stuff.”
Kevin’s eyes turned cartwheels at the prospect of running down information. “You want me to do the whole list?”
“Better split it up to leave something for Noble to do when he gets back. If he’s still tied up after you’ve covered the first half, come on back and you can tackle the second.”
As he and Lyle moved up the hall toward the elevator, Russ thought he heard the sounds again, coming from the squad room.
The First Allegheny Farmers and Merchants bank had rechristened itself “All-Banc” a couple years ago, but only people from the city called it that. The grand old building on Main Street had suffered through an updating at the same time, with a glassed-in ATM replacing one of a pair of gracefully arched windows on either side of the front steps, and a brushed-steel nameplate not quite covering up the former name, chiseled out of New Hampshire granite 140 years before. The old front doors had been replaced, too, with automatically sliding bulletproof glass that made the entrance look like the outside of the Albany airport baggage claim. The whole effect was that of a dowager forced into hip-hop gear and Ray-Bans, suffering hideous embarrassment.
Russ ignored the wheelchair ramp at the side of the stairs and laboriously crutched his way up one step at a time.
“You’re not impressing me, you know,” Lyle said. “My definition of a fool is a man who works harder than he has too.”
Russ loosened his grip on one crutch just enough to spare Lyle a finger. Lyle was still laughing when they passed through the smoked-glass doors into the bank.
A young woman in a tight skirt rose from a nearby desk when she caught sight of them. She trotted across the floor. “Deputy Chief MacAuley?” she said.
“That’s me.” Lyle smiled, showing many white teeth.
“Mr. Smith’s expecting you.” She glanced toward Russ and made a pouty face that Russ suspected had been well practiced in order for it to appear natural. “I guess we’d better take the elevator. Security’s on the third floor.”
“We could always send my friend here up while you and I walk,” Lyle suggested. The young woman twinkled at him.
“Let’s not keep Mr. Smith waiting,
“Aw, Dad. You never let me have any fun.” Lyle winked at the girl. The elevator opened with a ping and they piled in, the door almost closing on Lyle and the girl because it took Russ too long to get himself and the crutches out of the way.
“I hate these things,” he said under his breath as they rose to the third floor. Lyle shrugged.
“This way!” The young woman was first out of the elevator, which gave them a chance to admire exactly how tight her skirt was. She led them up the hall toward security, an unremarkable door with only a number to identify it. Lyle darted forward and opened it for her. She beamed at him. “Aren’t you sweet? You remind me of my dad. He has these great old-fashioned manners, too.”
Russ swung past Lyle into the office. “Thanks, old-timer.”
He could make out only part of Lyle’s rejoinder, and decided it was better to pretend he couldn’t hear any of it.
The man who emerged from an inner room to greet then was tall, bald, and grim-faced. He had the rangy build of someone who had spent his whole life keeping in shape. “Hi,” he said, thrusting out his hand. “John Smith, director of security.”
Politeness kept Russ from checking out what Lyle made of the guy’s name.
“I’m pretty new here. I retired from my old job and we moved to these parts so my wife could be closer to her family. I signed on with AllBanc about eight months ago.”
