A Discount for Death

Chapter Thirty-three

“Where do you want to start?” Dr. Francis Guzman held open the heavy door that separated the pharmacy from the clinic. Estelle stepped into the darkened pharmacy and paused. She didn’t want to start at all, and even more than that, didn’t want to find anything once she did.

“The best-sellers,” she said, without enthusiasm.

Her husband switched on the panel of lights directly over the pharmacist’s work counter. The pharmacy was tidy. Rows of white boxes and bottles trooped on narrow shelves as if they’d been lined up with a laser. Estelle lifted the weighty pharmaceutical reference book and laid it on the counter.

“Of the eight that were marked, which ones do you prescribe the most often?”

“Me, personally, or physicians in general?” Francis asked. He saw the impatience flick across his wife’s face. “I’m just asking, querida. There are some drugs that some physicians prescribe a lot, that I don’t,” he continued. “I don’t know if that makes a difference or not in this case.”

“I don’t either.”

“Petrosin is an example.” He folded his arms across his chest. “To me, it’s sort of like using morphine to counter the pain of a stubbed toe. Obviously, not everyone agrees with me.” He shrugged. “Of the eight drugs that you’ve marked there, I commonly prescribe Deyldiol. When they remember to take it and stay on schedule, it’s pretty dependable.”

“It’s fairly inexpensive,” Estelle said.

“Well, remember that ‘inexpensive’ is a relative thing,” Francis said. “Of all the prescriptions we give out that we know we’re not going to be paid for, Deyldiol probably heads the list. That wasn’t always the case.” He shrugged. “Birth control by chemical wasn’t always an option, especially south of the border. It’s interesting,” he added, and then frowned as he fell silent. Estelle waited, watching her husband’s face.

After a minute, he said, “You know, that’s an interesting spectrum. I was going to say that the other drug that is prescribed frequently is Daprodin. It’s a real powerhouse antibiotic, and so far we haven’t seen too many side effects. But we’re getting good results with it-sometimes even spectacular-with really tough, persistent infections. Urinary tract, prostate…things like that. It’s really effective against some of the strep infections. On top of that, Daprodin is the most expensive of the group that you’ve got there, by far. Four, five bucks a pop.” He held up a hand. “But even that isn’t near the top of the list as far as expense is concerned. We can hit forty grand a year with some of the injectable drugs that AIDS patients take as part of their daily smorgasbord.” He reached out and tapped the book. “But none of those are on your list.”

“Let’s start there,” Estelle said. “With Daprodin, I mean. If they were counterfeit pills, could you tell the difference?”

“That depends,” Francis replied. “People counterfeit things as complicated as currency all the time. I don’t see why it would be hard to knock off a fake tablet that would fool most patients. Probably their doctors, too.”

He stepped to the shelves and ran his hand along the edges, reached the end of a section and turned the corner. After a moment he straightened up with a large white plastic bottle. “Daprodin DG.”

“What’s the DG stand for?”

“ ‘Damn good,’ at this price, I suppose.” He flashed a quick grin. “I don’t know, querida. If it’s not in that tome that you’re carrying around, you’d have to ask the company.” He turned the bottle so he could read the bottom of the label. “Kleinfelder and Schmidt Laboratories, Darien, Connecticut.”

“Is that the way it’s normally shipped? In an opaque bottle like that?”

“I don’t know. I would suppose so. Those are questions that Louis could answer.”

She reached out and took the bottle. “One thousand count. Ay. This little bottle is four thousand bucks.”

Francis nodded. “Sure enough, but a thousand pills means a lot of dead bugs, querida. ” With the tips of his fingers, he rolled a second bottle, the same size as the first, forward toward the edge of the shelf. Estelle saw the Kleinfelder and Schmidt label.

“Why would both bottles be open?” she asked.

“Are they?”

“Yes, they are. This one has the remains of a heat-shrunk sealing band. That one has nothing at all.”

Francis made a face. “Sharp eyes.” He handed her the second bottle.

“May I look?”

“Sure. Use the thingy, there.” He pointed at the counter behind her. “The counting tray.” He thrust his hands in his pockets. “And they don’t go back in the bottle once they’re out.”

Estelle opened the first plastic bottle and carefully shook two of the white capsules onto the plastic grid. With the small white spatula, she flipped over one of the pills. “Daprodin DG,” she said, and then examined the second pill. “And five hundred on the other side.” She leaned against the counter, regarding the two pills. Her free hand idly screwed the cap back on the jar and then reached for the second container. She pushed the first two pills to one side, neatly lined up on the grid, and then deftly shook out two pills from the second jar. “Daprodin DG, five hundred,” she said, and frowned. “I took this stuff last year, didn’t I.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Horse pills. I can remember trying to swallow them without gagging.”

“Break ’em up first.”

“I did that.” She reached out and tapped one of the pills with the spatula. “And they taste awful.” She looked up at her husband. “You’d have to counterfeit the taste, too. Otherwise, they wouldn’t fool anyone.”

“Quinine,” Francis said.

“That’s what’s in them?”

“In part. Daprodin is a quinolone, one of a fairly large family of drugs that’s derived from quinine.”

“Ay. Four dollars a pill for powdered bark.”

Francis laughed gently. “Almost. Rare powdered bark, though.” He frowned as Estelle took one of the pills from the first bottle and touched it to her tongue. For a moment, she closed her eyes.

She made a face. “Oh, si.” She regarded the damp pill for a moment, then dropped it into a small plastic evidence bag. After jotting a note on the label, closing the top, and tucking the bag into her jacket pocket, she pushed one of the pills from the second bottle to the side of the tray and picked it up.

“The scientific tasting test,” Francis said.

“You bet. Sophisticated laboratory analysis, as Guy Trombley would say. Let’s hope it’s not rat poison.”

“I don’t think so,” Francis said.

She let the capsule rest on her tongue, eyes closed. After a moment, without moving the pill or closing her mouth, she opened her eyes and looked at her husband.

“Well?”

She dropped the capsule into her hand and nodded at the tray. “Try one.”

“You’re serious?”

“Oh, si.”

Francis Guzman picked up the remaining pill and popped it into his mouth. Almost instantly, his eyebrows crumpled together, meeting over the bridge of his nose. “Talc,” he said. “That’s what it tastes like. That kind of musty, sweetish…” he waved a hand and then spat out the pill. He turned it this way and that, inspecting it. “Ain’t Daprodin, querida.”

“Most definitely not.” Estelle fell silent for a moment.

“Now what?” he asked, sagging his weight against the edge of the counter. “Christ, Louis,” he whispered. He hefted the second jar and turned it slowly, reading the label. “I can’t believe he’d do this. I mean, this means we’ve got patients out there who might as well be taking sawdust, as much good as this crap will do them.”

Estelle started to reach toward the second jar of capsules with the spatula when her cell phone rang, a shrill warbling. She looked heavenward. “Guzman.”

The phone remained silent long enough that Estelle repeated herself. The voice was tentative. “Is this…Undersheriff Guzman?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She recognized Barbara Parker’s light alto, complete with the woman’s characteristic waver of indecision. “How can I help you?” She glanced at her watch.

“Well, I…” the line fell silent, and Estelle waited, able to hear the woman’s breathing. “I probably shouldn’t have called,” Mrs. Parker said. “But I…well, I just don’t know.”

“Mrs. Parker,” Estelle said, “what is it?”

“You said to call, and then I wasn’t going to, and now I think I should say something,” Barbara Parker said. “Rick was here not too long ago. He wanted to talk, and I didn’t see any harm in that.”

Estelle felt her stomach tighten. The hand with the plastic spatula sank to the counter. The woman continued quickly now that she’d breached the dam. “We talked for nearly an hour, Undersheriff. Now it turns out that there’s a really good day-care center in Las Cruces that’s just a few blocks from Richard’s apartment, and he thought he’d be able to place Ryan there right away.”

“Mrs. Parker…”

“I knew that you wouldn’t approve, but…”

Estelle tossed the plastic spatula on the counter in disgust. “Mrs. Parker, it’s not whether I approve or not. You’re the guardian of your daughter’s children at the moment. We placed them in your custody because we believed they’d be safe there. That would be the best place for them. Richard Kenderman has no legal claim until a paternity test establishes that he’s the father. For both children. He hasn’t been living in the household. He hasn’t been contributing in any way toward child support.”

“I know,” the woman said, sounding as if she clearly didn’t know.

“Do you believe that Richard Kenderman is Ryan’s father, Mrs. Parker?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“And I don’t think he does either, ma’am. Perry Kenderman is also claiming that honor.”

“He is?”

“Yes, he is. And I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Well…”

“And when Ryan isn’t in that wonderful day-care center down in Las Cruces, when he’s stuck in Richard Kenderman’s apartment the rest of the day, during the evening, at night, what then, Mrs. Parker? You trust Richard with Ryan?”

“No,” Barbara Parker said, and for the first time she sounded positive of something.

“That’s why it seemed reasonable to leave the children with you, Mrs. Parker. I’m as sorry as I can be about your daughter, but the fact remains that you’re Ryan and Mindi’s grandmother. They’ve been living in your home all along, and there’s no reason to change that now. Richard Kenderman might be the father of one or both of the children, and he might not be. If he wants custody, then he’s going to have to agree to a paternity test to establish his claim. Then, the courts will decide. Otherwise…”

“That’s why I called. Rick can be so persuasive, you know. Everything he said made sense, and he sounded so earnest. And he loves Ryan so, I think that’s clear. But now I think I made a mistake. In fact, I had decided that before he left. I told Rick that I’d consider it…what he was talking about, I mean. And apparently he didn’t like that very much. You know that temper of his.”

“Well, no I don’t, Mrs. Parker. I’ve met the young man once, and that wasn’t under the best circumstances. What happened?”

“I told him that I didn’t want Ryan going to the city, especially at such a late hour, and that we should talk about it more later. That I wanted to talk with you.”

“Mrs. Parker,” Estelle said, and glanced at her husband. “What happened?”

“Well, Rick took my grandson, Undersheriff. I told him that he shouldn’t, but he didn’t want to listen. He’s such a strong-headed young man. And I could smell alcohol on his breath, and I know what he can be like when he’s drinking.”

“He took Ryan, Mrs. Parker? He took the boy from your home?”

“Yes.” The woman choked on the single word.

“How long ago did he leave, Mrs. Parker?”

The woman hesitated. “I think no more than ten minutes. But it could have been longer.”

“He was going to Las Cruces?”

“I think so. I don’t know anywhere else that he’d go. I mean, that’s where he lives, after all.”

“Mrs. Parker, if you voluntarily relinquished custody to Richard Kenderman, then that’s your business. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“But I haven’t done that. I mean…”

Estelle leaned heavily against the counter and rested her head in her free hand. “Let me ask you a yes or no question, Mrs. Parker. Did Richard Kenderman take your grandson after you specifically told him not to?”

“Well…it’s more complicated than that.”

“I’m sure.” Estelle took a long, slow breath. “Mrs. Parker, let’s see if we can make it un complicated. Did Richard Kenderman take your grandson from your home against your will?”

“Well…”

“Mrs. Parker, please.” The phone fell silent. “Did you try and restrain him in any way?” The silence continued. “Mrs. Parker, if you allowed Richard Kenderman to take Ryan, that’s one thing. If Richard Kenderman kidnapped your grandson, that’s another story.”

“Kidnapped?”

“That’s what it’s called, Mrs. Parker. If Kenderman came to your home and took your grandson against your will, then it’s kidnapping.”

“If he contends that he’s the boy’s father…”

“It doesn’t matter what he contends, Mrs. Parker.”

After another long silence, Barbara Parker sounded both irked and resigned. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, it’s not kidnapping in this case.”

“All right. I’ll take your word for it.” Estelle turned and looked at her husband. He shrugged helplessly.

“What do you think I should do?” Mrs. Parker asked.

“What I think is not at issue,” Estelle said. “If you say that Richard was drinking, that’s enough probable cause for us to stop him.”

“I want Ryan back, that’s all,” Barbara Parker said. “I made a mistake. All right, now I want to correct that.”

“Mrs. Parker, if you swear out a criminal complaint that your grandson was kidnapped, we’ll go find him and bring him home. And we’ll put the person responsible in jail. And then the courts will sort out who’s who.”

“A complaint?”

“Mrs. Parker, much as there are a dozen things we’d like to be able to do, there’s nothing we can do if you willingly gave custody of Ryan to Mr. Kenderman. If we stop him on the highway, and then it ends up that he doesn’t blow at least impaired, then we have to let him go. It’s that simple. And then the whole mess starts over again. If Mr. Kenderman took Ryan from your home, against your will, then yes, there’s something we can do about that. If he threatened you in any way. Make up your mind, Mrs. Parker. And I wish you’d do it quickly.”

“I want Ryan back,” Barbara Parker said.

“I’ll ask you again.” Estelle pulled the microcassette recorder from her pocket and deftly punched the tiny controls. “And Mrs. Parker, my tape recorder is turned on now. Think before you answer.” She hesitated, letting the phone fall silent. “Did Richard Kenderman take Ryan Parker from your home against your will?”

After the barest hesitation, Barbara Parker replied, “Yes, Undersheriff, he did.”

“Did you try to restrain him in any way?”

“I don’t see how I could. The more we talked, I could see that he was getting angrier.”

“He threatened you?”

“Well, not in so many words, but his meaning was clear. He was determined to take Ryan.”

“Was he driving the old red Mustang?”

“Yes, I believe that he was.”

“I’ll be back to you,” Estelle said, and flicked off the phone and then the tape recorder. She stood silently for a long time. “What a mess.”

“What’s this character want with the boy?” Francis asked. “I gather that paternity is an issue?”

Estelle nodded. “And I don’t know what Kenderman wants. I don’t know what’s wrong with Barbara Parker that she can’t seem to stand up to this kid. All I know is that the whole thing scares me to death. All I see is lose-lose.”

“You can put Ryan with the state’s protective services division for forty-eight hours,” Francis said.

“I know that. And that’s exactly what I would do if I was holding his hot little hand in mine right now. But that’s not the case.” She flipped the drug I.D. book closed. “Right now, we’ve got a four-year-old riding on the interstate in an old hot rod driven by a drunk. And it goes downhill from there.”

“What do you want to do about all this?” He watched as she folded the small plastic evidence bags and slipped them into her pocket.

With the heavy book under one arm, she turned toward the door. “They’re going to have to wait,” she said. “Can I drop you off at Padrino ’s?”

“I’ll walk over,” Francis said. “Don’t worry about me. But you be careful with this guy.”

“Right now, it’s Richard Kenderman who needs to hear that. And what I know about him scares me, Oso. Listening isn’t his strong suit.”