The Bitterest Pill

Twenty-seven

Jesse called Molly as soon as he got back into his Explorer.

“I need you to do a little investigative work. You might have to charm Lundquist a little bit to help you.”

“What do you need?”

“Dr. Farah Nour. She’s a spine and back specialist at Paradise General and her practice is in Boston. I need to know whatever you can find out about her.”

“You suspect her of something?”

“No, but she is the first link to Heather’s addiction. She prescribed Vicodin for her last year. I doubt she’s involved beyond that, but we should do our due diligence. See if we can connect any other cases like Heather’s to her.”

“Sure thing, Jesse. Where are you headed now?”

“I think I’ll circle back to the Mackeys.”

That was met with a curious silence. Jesse sensed Molly had something to ask but was holding back. And since Jesse was still working his way through things on gut feelings, he wasn’t ready to share.

He said, “I’ll check in later,” and clicked off.

Jesse approached the Mackeys’ house slowly. He wanted to be certain Steve Mackey wasn’t around, and when he saw that the selectman’s BMW wasn’t parked in the driveway, as it almost always was, Jesse pulled over to the curb.

Patti Mackey was a wreck. The other day, when he’d come by to ask about Heather’s recent behavior, Patti had acted the part of the brave parent. The woman who would push on in spite of her girl’s death. The woman who would somehow find a way to make Heather’s death mean something. None of that was in evidence today.

“Jesse!” she said, gasping as she realized the state she was in. “God, I’m a mess. I’m sorry.”

She was dressed in a ratty pink bathrobe and slippers. She wore no makeup and, from the smell of her breath, had been using vodka as a mouthwash.

“What parent wouldn’t be?” he asked. “No need for apologies.”

A light went on behind her reddened eyes. “Have you found something?”

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, please forgive me. Sure, Jesse, come into the kitchen.”

The kitchen. It was almost always the kitchen where people felt most comfortable talking to him. He was suspicious when people asked to speak to him in libraries, offices, or dens. There was just something about kitchens that put people more at ease and made people more willing to speak the truth.

Patti tried to excuse herself once she made coffee for Jesse, but Jesse grabbed her wrist, gently, and guided her into a seat at the breakfast nook.

“It will only get harder,” he said, holding her hand, “if you don’t just talk to me.”

Patti Mackey broke down, sobbing, laying her head on the table. Usually Jesse made sure to never act in any way that could be misconstrued, but Patti was a friend and in pain. He stroked her hair until she was ready to talk.

“The other day, when I was here,” he said, voice soft as he could make it, “I knew there were things you wanted to say to me without Steve present. That’s why I’m here, Patti. I spoke with Dr. Nour. She told me about your other visits with Heather. She told me about the Vicodin.”

Patti Mackey’s hand tensed. All of her muscles tightened at the mention of the drug, but she didn’t stop crying. And then, finally, she lifted her head up from the table, wiped the tears away, and said, “It was me, Jesse. I killed her.”

His first instinct was to be a friend, to tell her she was wrong and that she wasn’t responsible. But as a cop he knew to just let her talk and let the guilt that was eating away at her out into the open.

“I let the doctor prescribe Vicodin even after she explained the possible side effects, but Heather was in so much pain, Jesse. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Sometimes I even had to help her up in the bathroom. I didn’t know what else to do. It’s hard to watch your child be in that much pain.”

“Steve doesn’t know about the follow-up visits and the Vicodin?”

She shook her head. “You know Steve, Mr. Straight Arrow. He doesn’t even like it when I have a few vodkas when we’re at the Gull with friends and everyone’s drinking. He would have disapproved. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I might’ve done the same thing. I hurt my back a few times when I played ball and the spasms were so bad sometimes I couldn’t stand up straight.”

“I swear, Jesse, I didn’t know she was hooked for a long time.”

“I’m not here to judge or punish you, Patti. Just tell me what you have to say.”

“Heather seemed much better after the fifteen days on the drugs. The PT and massage therapy were kicking in. Like Steve said, eight weeks after the injury, Heather was back at it. She said she didn’t want a refill on the Vicodin. She was herself again. And then one day in the spring I was cleaning her room and—”

“You found pills.”

Patti nodded and turned away. She was embarrassed. “I’m so ashamed, Jesse. How could I not have known? How did I miss the signs?”

“Come on, Patti. Teenagers are often strangers to their parents. Even parents close to their kids can’t really know them or what’s going on in their heads. What did Heather say about the pills?”

She laughed a sad laugh. “What you’d expect. That they weren’t hers and that she was holding them for someone else. When I asked who she was holding them for, she said she wouldn’t rat out her friends. I wanted to believe her. I guess I almost did until I went to pour the pills into the toilet and Heather flipped out. She was like a wild animal, Jesse. She grabbed them out of my hand, scratched my wrist when she did, and swallowed a pill right in front of me. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. I was afraid to tell Steve and afraid to ask around for help because of Steve’s position. Heather begged me not to tell and said she could kick it with my help, that she could cut back gradually.”

Jesse said, “It seemed like it was working, didn’t it?”

She laughed that sad laugh again. “I financed her habit for a few weeks, doling out the pills as we had agreed. By May, I thought we had done it. I even took her into Boston, shopping to celebrate. What an idiot I was, a prize fool. In July, I noticed some of my things started to go missing: a pair of diamond earrings, my iPad, a watch. I pretended with myself for a week but knew in my gut what was going on. It was Heather. I confronted her and told her she had until the end of summer to kick it or she was going to rehab. And voilà,” Patti said. “She did it... I thought she did. What an idiot I was. Arrest me, Jesse. I killed my daughter sure as you are sitting here. I killed her with blindness as faith.”

“Patti, there’s nothing I’m going to say that will make you feel better, but drinking isn’t going to help. That I am sure of. I think you need to talk to someone about this, someone more qualified than me.”