Oath of Office

CHAPTER 14

Unable to clear John Meacham out of his thoughts, Lou headed back to the town of Kings Ridge.

The decision to share some of what he knew with Gilbert Stone had essentially been made for him by Cap Duncan and Walter Filstrup-the one, who was certain that there was a pattern of extremely odd thinking and actions at work in the community, and the other, who had decreed that Lou was to have an unexpected bolus of free, unstructured time on his hands.

Stone strode into the police station waiting area from behind an imposing steel door. He was dressed as on the night he and Lou first met-tan uniform, black tie, metal star. His engaging smile showcased what Lou guessed were top-of-the-line caps.

The night just past had been a frantic one for him, with calls from a dozen or so of his PWO clients, who had been informed by Filstrup of his suspension. The best Lou could offer them was his assurance that he would fight to restore his status and continue to be available to them in an unofficial capacity. In the meantime, he promised each of them that he would do everything within the limits of his new situation to continue to help them.

Lou had come away from his roadside encounter with Stone toting a wariness of the man’s oblique manner of asking questions, and an uneasy respect for the degree to which he had his finger on the pulse of his town. Kings Ridge may have looked and felt like Mayberry R.F.D., but this man was no bumpkin.

“Dr. Welcome,” Stone said, shaking Lou’s hand like a human garlic press, “good to see you again, son. That knot and cut there on your head look to have settled down pretty good.”

“It’s fine. Please, call me Lou.”

“Lou it is,” Stone replied, his expression as inscrutable as it had been at the scene of the accident. “I almost said, ‘Welcome, Dr. Welcome.’ I suppose you get that a lot.”

“From time to time,” Lou understated.

In fact, except to tell him and his brother that their name came from “someplace in England,” their father had no knowledge of or interest in its origin. Over the years, Lou had developed a number of different responses to inquiries about it, ranging from that it was modified from the Finnish word velkommen, which was a soft, incredibly cuddly arctic hare, to that his great-great-grandfather had it officially changed to Welcome from the Welsh, Getthehellawayfromhere.

“Thanks for seeing me,” he said this time.

“No problem at all. When a person calls with something to talk about pertinent to a multiple-homicide investigation, well, naturally that person becomes an immediate priority. Now, let’s go chat in my office.”

The sprawling redbrick, one-story station was, according to its cornerstone, just four years old. Stone’s office occupied the entire end of one wing. Two long opposing walls of glass were shielded by drawn blinds, the wall facing his massive oak desk was a bookcase filled with law tomes and other professional volumes. In addition, there were a number of contemporary thrillers, including what appeared to be close to the entire Colors collection of John D. MacDonald, one of Lou’s favorites. The wall behind the desk featured laminated testimonials and a variety of photos of Stone, posing with a who’s who of state and national dignitaries.

Nice digs.

On the trip back to Kings Ridge, Lou had wrestled with a serious moral dilemma: how to discuss his relationship with John and Carolyn Meacham without violating the legally protected confidentiality of the PWO. It certainly seemed from news broadcasts as if Walter Filstrup had already released details of the murderer’s relationship with the organization. It was safe to assume that wily Gilbert Stone knew at least some of Meacham’s history, information probably unearthed beginning the day the physician first moved to the area.

How much Lou should disclose now was the issue. Since he’d signed on as an assistant director of the program, he had protected its clients the way he protected the anonymity of people in AA.

Still, as things stood, the odds of his winning reinstatement from the PWO board of directors were about as long as those of a mule taking the Kentucky Derby. To win out, Lou would need to prove that Meacham’s actions were the result of something that no monitoring program could ever have predicted. And to do that, he was going to need Gilbert Stone’s help.

First, he had to convince the chief of police, and himself, that there might be something wrong at the DeLand Regional Hospital and in his town.

Stone took a spiral-bound notebook from his desk drawer and motioned Lou to a Danish modern chair across from him. “So, let’s have it,” he said.

“Okay,” Lou replied, leaning forward. “Beyond the obvious, I’m beginning to wonder if there might be something really strange going on in Kings Ridge.”

“Son, I’ve been chief of police here for over twenty years. Trust me when I tell you, there’s a lot of strange things going on in Kings Ridge. Now, if by strange, you mean an explanation besides insanity for John Meacham’s rampage, well, I’m all ears.”

“What if I told you that the shootings were a case of flawed reasoning on John’s part, and that there might be a similar pattern of seriously flawed reasoning at work in other people?”

“I’d want to know about it right here, right now.”

It took fifteen minutes to share what Lou had decided he would-his role with the PWO, Meacham’s alcoholism and anger management issues, the verbal abuse of a patient four years ago that had gotten Meacham into hot water with the D.C. board of medicine, and finally the verbal assault reported to the police by his patient, Roberta Jennings.

“First of all,” Lou went on, “there was no alcohol in his system. Tests for other drugs of abuse are pending, but alcohol was always the one for him-the trigger for his outbursts. Secondly, it seems as if he kept repeating ‘no witnesses’ during the attack. What did he mean by that?”

Stone’s expression was puzzled. “We know all this, son,” he said. “Our detectives and the staties are the ones who are conducting the investigation and doing the interviews.”

“Except it doesn’t make any sense,” Lou countered. “Did anyone ask Carolyn Meacham or any of their friends if he had been acting weird lately? Stange thoughts? Unusual mannerisms? Any neurologic signs-a tic, perhaps? How about Roberta Jennings? What did she have to say? What did she see that afternoon in the office?”

“A man killing his neighbors and coworkers makes no sense at all, I agree. But what’s your point?”

“Let’s say Meacham was worried about there being witnesses because he knew his behavior would cost him his medical license-possibly for good.”

“So, you’re claiming that’s why he shot all those people?”

“Exactly-to keep there from being any witnesses. Except, he never went after the most important witness of all-Roberta Jennings herself.”

Stone just frowned. “Crazy is just that,” he said. “Unpredictable. Inconsistent. Maybe the bubble just popped and he saw all that blood and all those bodies, and just like that came to his senses-took his own life before he could do any more damage.”

“That’s exactly my point. He waited until Roberta Jennings had left the building before he acted. If his real motivation was to eliminate all witnesses, he should have started shooting before Roberta got out the front door. Check with any profiler who knows about workplace violence. I’m sure they’ll agree. First kill the object of your rage; then go after the others. Something was going on in the chemistry of Meacham’s brain. It may not be something physical like a tumor or blood vessel malformation, but something had disrupted the delicate balance of transmitters connecting the neurons of his brain.”

“I suppose we could look into that,” Stone said. “I appreciate you sharing your theories with me.” Stone looked as if he were about to end their session.

“But I told you there’s more,” Lou said. “I was there at the hospital for a few hours before John officially died. Some of the doctors and nurses treating him were not following standard protocol for a gunshot victim. Some of their actions were poorly thought out to the point of actually being dangerous.”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Stone said. “You can slander my dog, and even my children, but don’t you go disparaging our hospital. We take a lot of pride in that place. As a doctor, I’m sure you know its reputation.”

Lou saw that he had hit a nerve and immediately backed off. But he did tell Stone about Prichap’s odd fishing expedition into Meacham’s brain.

“Dr. Prichap is pretty new here,” Stone replied, “but I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about him. I have a cousin the man operated on-a disk, I think, or a spur of some sort. She’s dancin’ around like a chicken now.”

“Well, I don’t like to speak badly of any doc, and Dr. Prichap may just have been having an off day, but what he did was illogical and didn’t demonstrate the best judgment.”

Stone sighed. “You’re the doctor, but I’m not sure you’re giving me much to go on here. “Meacham could have just snapped after Roberta left the office. Prichap might have felt getting that bullet out was the only chance he had. This doesn’t scream pattern to me.”

“What about Carolyn Meacham?” he asked, trying another tack. “She almost killed us trying to chase down a driver with one busted taillight. She was trying to prevent an accident that would never have happened. Afterwards, she couldn’t figure out why she had done it. Flawed judgment again.”

Stone appeared slightly more interested. “So, what we’ve got here are three seemingly illogical acts, each resulting in undesirable outcomes-a shooting, a medical procedure, and a car accident. Is that about right?”

“That’s right.”

“And what is it you suggest we do from here, Doctor?”

“Let’s keep looking for patterns. Something strange and out of the ordinary.”

“Other than the obvious.”

“Other than the obvious. I think we should interview Carolyn Meacham and the people close to her. Same for Anthar Prichap and the staff who cared for Meacham in the ICU.”

“No way we’re going to allow you to do anything of the sort,” Stone said. “But I will speak to the staties in charge about your theories.”

Lou felt his future with the PWO slipping away. “Chief Stone,” he said. “I’m in some real hot water at the Physician Wellness Office. In fact, I’ve been suspended. The only way I’m going to get my job back is to prove I didn’t totally misjudge John Meacham’s capacity for violent outbursts. And the only way I’m going to do that is to speak with some of the people involved. How about Roberta Jennings? Is there any way I could talk to her-ask her about John’s demeanor right before the shootings?

Stone mulled over the request. “Bobbi’s pretty shook up about things,” he said, “but she did say she’d try to cooperate in any way she could.…” Lou held his breath. Without warning, Stone stood up. “Let me talk with her,” he said. “See what she has to say.”

“Thanks, Chief. I really appreciate that.”

“Well, I appreciate you bringing all of this to my attention.”

Lou sat alone for several long minutes, thinking about Filstrup, Meacham, the PWO, and all the docs his suspension had left adrift. He was thinking about calling to check in with Emily when the policeman returned.

“Well, I got good news, Lou,” he said, slipping on his wool-lined bomber jacket. “It took a little convincing, but Roberta’s agreed to meet with you.”

Lou brightened. “That is great news,” he said. “What did you have to do?”

“Not much,” Stone said, grinning. “I just told her that I’d be right there beside her while you did your questioning. Turns out that was all the convincing she required.”