Out Of The Deep I Cry (33 page)

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.”

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.”

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.”

Yes.
Russ clenched his fist, trapping the moment. “Was the video running?”

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.
Uh-huh. Uh-huh
.

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,
Deputy
Chief.” Russ swung over toward the elevator, a brass-doored relic that had mercifully missed out on modernization. He punched the call button.

“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.
John Smith?
Instead, he shook Smith’s hand. “Russ Van Alstyne, chief of police. I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

“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.”

“Lyle MacAuley. We spoke on the phone.” Lyle stepped forward and took Smith’s hand. “You look too young to be retired. What was your former line of work?”

Smith looked at him. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Russ waited for the punch-line grin. None came. “Okay,” he said. “Can we take a look at this tape?”