A Discount for Death pc-11

by Steven F Havill

  She also knew, despite the powerful tugs of affection she felt for the children caught in the middle, that the family’s various troubles were none of her business until laws were broken. There was nothing in the statutes that prevented a guardian from doing all the wrong things.

  To force the crumpled, bloody figure of Richard Kenderman from swimming back into focus, she concentrated on the mistakes made by George Enriquez-and the mistakes made by the person who had murdered him.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  As she turned left on Guadalupe Terrace, Estelle switched off the headlights. She let the Expedition drift along Guadalupe so slowly that a power walker would have left her in the dust. The mobile-home park on the left was quiet, most of the porch lights on, a smattering of vehicles snuggled in beside the trailers. She passed Escondido and saw Bill Gastner’s Blazer parked in his driveway, fifty yards down the lane.

  Ahead on the right, just around the gentle southward curve of Guadalupe, the Posadas Health Clinic’s bulk cast a low, squat shadow against the trees. The front of the building featured a series of tall, narrow slots that passed for windows, perhaps the architect’s reminiscence of crevasses in the sides of red sandstone mesas. The clinic doors faced east, into the parking lot.

  That apron of macadam curved around the building where the pharmacy’s front door opened to the south. The outside security light over the door washed out any possibility of seeing furtive lights inside, an interesting phenomenon that she had pointed out to the architect during the early planning stages of the building. The architect hadn’t believed her, and neither had the insurance company.

  As she approached the clinic’s parking lot, Estelle braked to a gentle stop on the shoulder of the street. She could see the back of Louis Herrera’s yellow Mustang, nosed in close to the private staff entrance on the east side of the pharmacy.

  With the driver’s-side window down and her engine switched off, she listened to the neighborhood, dominated by the intermittent howl of tires on the interstate just to the north. Somewhere to the east, a ringing telephone prompted a small dog to comment.

  For five minutes, Estelle sat and watched her husband’s clinic, loath to do any more, even though she knew that every moment she waited worked in the meticulous, organized Louis Herrera’s favor. Could he actually be unaware that some of his pharmaceuticals were nothing but pressed talc or sugar? Believing that Louis Herrera had been duped was too comfortable.

  After a moment she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Dispatch. “Ernie,” she said when the deputy answered, “I’ll be at the clinic for a while, talking with Louis Herrera.”

  “Roger that,” Wheeler replied. “You doing all right?”

  Estelle almost laughed despite the helpless feeling that this night was headed downhill on a rocket sled. “Just wonderful, Ernie.”

  “Jackie came in early. Everybody’s still tied up over at Portillo’s, so she’s the only one on the road.”

  “You might have her stay central for a while,” Estelle said. “No mention of this location on the air, por favor.”

  “You got it.”

  She switched off the phone, started the Expedition, and eased forward, circling the outside of the parking lot until she pulled to a stop broadside behind Herrera’s compact. She saw the movement in the trees just as she was about to open the door. A large, slow-moving figure appeared, hands thrust in his pockets, head down…one of the clinic’s neighbors out for a stroll before bedtime. She waited until Bill Gastner was within a dozen steps before she slipped down out of the tall vehicle. She eased the door shut and stood silent.

  The former sheriff waited until Estelle was within touching distance before speaking. “I thought you were going to stop by the house.”

  “If I did, Francis would have wanted to come with me. I didn’t want that.”

  “Well, he wanted to come anyway,” Gastner said. “He knows that he’s got a hell of a stake in all this, but I told him as undiplomatically as I could that now was a really good time to stay out of the way.” He nodded toward the pharmacy. “You want some company?” Gastner flashed a grin. “Or should I stay out of the way, too?”

  Estelle reached out and squeezed the older man’s arm. When she didn’t release her grip, he chuckled, “Anyway, you never know when you might need a livestock inspector. There might be an unbranded calf or something inside.”

  A set of headlights appeared on Escondido and just as quickly winked out. Estelle watched as the vehicle coasted through the shadows. When it passed under the streetlight on the curve, she recognized the older Bronco that Deputy Jackie Taber drove on the graveyard shift.

  “The cavalry,” she said, and reached around to double-key the radio on her belt so that the two barks of squelch would alert the deputy that Estelle had seen her approach.

  “Herrera has a scanner in the pharmacy, as I remember,” Gastner said.

  “Yes, he does. I told Ernie.”

  The employees’ door was painted turquoise to match the building’s trim, but the color did nothing to hide the plain, utilitarian nature of the steel construction. Estelle rapped hard, the sound an intrusion in the quiet night. She and Gastner waited for a full minute before he said, “Try mine.” He walloped the door four times, and by the fourth knock they heard the dead bolt slide out of the striker. The heavy door opened noiselessly, and Louis Herrera peered out cautiously. He saw first Gastner and then Estelle, and his face brightened.

  “Ah,” he said. “You guys out for a walk?” He looked past them and saw Estelle’s county vehicle parked behind his. “I’m getting some paperwork done,” he said. “Some stuff that I’ve been ignoring for too long.”

  “Louis, we need to talk,” Estelle said, and her abrupt tone wasn’t lost on the pharmacist.

  Herrera frowned, his glance shifting from Estelle to Gastner and back. “Well, sure. Any time. You know that.” He stepped to one side, holding the door open wide. “Come on in.” As she slipped past him, he said, “Any progress on that big book?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Well…good. Come on in.” A few steps brought them to his work station. The computer was on, its screen saver just starting a display of pipes building into a vast plumbing snarl. Herrera flipped shut a thick computer readout and pushed it out of the way. He glanced at Bill Gastner, as if expecting the former sheriff to say something, but the older man’s face was placid as he scanned the various drugs on the shelf to his left.

  “So, what’s Francis up to tonight?” Herrera said.

  “He’s waiting over at my house,” Gastner said before Estelle had a chance to answer. He continued his calm examination of the shelf’s inventory, and Estelle could see that Francis had outlined for Gastner what she and her husband had looked at earlier in the drug reference guide. Gastner fell silent, not bothering to explain why Francis was waiting. It was the sort of flat statement that drew the conversation up short, and Estelle watched the pharmacist’s face.

  “This is going to be hard enough on him as it is, Louis,” Estelle said. His right hand drifted out to the counter beside him in what ordinarily would be a casual move but this time looked as if he was searching for balance.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Estelle regarded him for a moment. He held her gaze for ten seconds or so, then his eyes darted first toward Gastner and then to the floor. Estelle pulled the small evidence bags from her jacket pocket. “I know about the drugs, Louis,” she said, and even as she spoke she felt a wellspring of anger against this smooth young man. “These two are Daprodin DG.” She tossed the bags on the counter so that they landed just in front of Herrera’s outspread fingers. He didn’t move. She held up the second set of bags for a moment, then tossed them on top of the first set. “And those are counterfeit Daprodin DG.”

  Louis Herrera stood perfectly still, his eyes riveted on the four evidence bags. If he was still breathing, Estelle couldn’t tell.

  After a moment, he pulled his
hand away and Estelle saw the streaks of moisture left behind on the counter.

  “Should I ask where you got those?” he whispered.

  “I think you already know, Louis.”

  Gastner had moved down the shelf a bit, and now leaned back, neck cricked as he looked through his bifocals at the white bottle in front of him. “That Daprodin is popular stuff,” he mused as if talking to himself. He pulled a pencil out of his shirt pocket and with the eraser end moved the stock bottle of Daprodin half an inch to the right so he could scrutinize the label. Estelle could see that there was no second bottle behind it.

  “Why would I know?” Herrera said. He watched Gastner instead of Estelle.

  “Louis,” Estelle said, “Francis and I were in here earlier. The real Daprodin DG came from that bottle on the shelf. I took two samples.” She separated the bags. “These two were taken from the second jar. Earlier, the second jar was stowed behind the first, on that shelf.” She nodded across the room, and Gastner tapped the shelf in front of him with a knuckle. “Whoever manufactured this second batch didn’t get the taste quite right.”

  The young man’s round face had gone from flushed to pale. His lips tightened. “You were in here going through my inventory? What do you think…” He settled his fists on his hips in a half-hearted show of umbrage.

  “It’s too late for that, Louis,” she said quietly. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “What’s the ‘it,’ Estelle?”

  “Let me make it crystal clear for you, Louis. You can either help us, or you can be arrested right now and try to tough it out.” She smiled without humor. “I’d sort of like to see you do that.”

  She saw Herrera’s weight sag against the counter, and he closed his eyes.

  “You tell me what you want to do,” she said. “Just don’t take too long to do it.”

  The room was so silent that Estelle could hear her pulse. She could see Louis Herrera’s, pounding through his left carotid artery as he regarded the counter and the four little bags. Bill Gastner had finished his examination of drugs that interested him not in the least, and he stood with his hands loose at his sides, watching Herrera.

  After a moment, the pharmacist appeared to reach some sort of conclusion with a little shake of his head. He drew in a long breath, one hitch halfway sounding almost like a hiccup. “This isn’t about the drugs, is it.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Herrera’s right index finger traced little circles on the counter. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said, sounding pathetic. Estelle didn’t respond. “Francis had nothing to do with any of this,” Herrera said. “He didn’t.”

  “I know that,” Estelle said.

  “He didn’t know anything about any of it.”

  “Right now, I have only two concerns,” Estelle said. “I want you out of my husband’s clinic so he can start repairing the damage you’ve done. And I want to know who killed George Enriquez.”

  Herrera flinched as if he’d been struck. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  “How well do you know Owen Frieberg, Louis?”

  He shook his head. “Not well…but I mean, well enough. He didn’t do it, Estelle.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “No. I guess I’m not sure of anything.” He hunched his shoulders high and held them there. “I don’t know what I know.” He let his shoulders sag. “Owen came and got the drugs just a little bit ago. He said he had tried to reach me at home, then drove by the clinic to see if I was here.” Herrera shrugged. “I’d gone out to get something to eat, so he missed me. Frieberg said that he’d driven by earlier and seen your county car parked in the lot. I told him I didn’t know anything about that, but that you’d been to see me earlier with the pharmaceutical reference, so we knew that you were on to something.” He paused and made a face. “Funny.”

  “What’s funny?”

  He looked up and tried to smile. “Yesterday, Francis and I were talking about the Kenderman thing, you know? About that young cop being so stupid. I remember saying to Francis, ‘I’d hate to have her after me.’ ” Herrera sighed. “And I guess you are, right?”

  I’m fresh out of sympathy, Estelle wanted to say. “Owen came here and picked up the counterfeit drugs. That’s what happened?”

  “Yes. He figured that we should stow them, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  “Just in case that’s what you were after.”

  “And if it wasn’t, you were going to put them all back on the shelf? Is that it?” Estelle felt the flush on her face. “Why did Frieberg call you in the first place?”

  “I don’t know, Estelle. I really don’t. And I’d tell you if I did.”

  “Tell me what you do know, Louis.”

  “About?”

  “Frieberg and Enriquez were bringing the counterfeit drugs into the country. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do they get them?”

  “He never said. And I didn’t ask. In Mexico someplace.”

  “Who else was in on this?”

  Herrera shook his head vehemently. “I don’t know. I really don’t. And like I said, maybe I didn’t want to know. It could have been just them…just Owen and Enriquez. I don’t know.”

  “You knew the drugs were counterfeit.”

  He nodded. “But they had regular ones, too. The counterfeit part only started a few months ago.” His cheeks flamed scarlet. “Sometimes, a patient would come in, and I’d know just as well as anyone that the drugs were a waste on ’em, you know? And sometimes, the medication might be actually counterproductive. So I’d slip in a placebo.”

  “Did Frieberg and Enriquez peddle the drugs to anyone else?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “To Guy Trombley, for example?”

  “Estelle, if I knew that, I’d tell you. But I don’t. I didn’t ask, and Frieberg never said.” Lifting both hands in the air, he looked at the undersheriff beseechingly. “Tell me what to do.”

  “What does Joe Tones know about all this?”

  “Tones? You mean the hardware guy? How would I know anything about him? I told you…I accepted some of the pharmaceuticals from Freiberg. I knew where they came from…I mean, in general, I knew. And I knew some of them were fake. That’s it.” He held out his hands. “You gotta tell me what to do.”

  “Find yourself a really good lawyer, Louis. That’s the first thing you might want to do.”

  “I’ll cooperate any way I can. You know that.”

  “That’s nice,” Estelle said. She chose her words carefully. “Let’s start with what Dr. Guzman would want you to do.” She didn’t add step in front of a bus, which is what she wanted Louis Herrera to do just then.

  She pulled the portable radio off her belt. “Three oh three, three ten.”

  Deputy Taber responded instantly. “Three oh three.”

  “Three oh three, ten eighty-seven this location.”

  Estelle slipped the radio back in its clip. “Louis, Deputy Taber will be here in a few minutes. She’s going to assist you in any way she can. I want a list compiled of every prescription drug, fake or not, that you received from Frieberg. Date, name, amount. And then I want a list of every patient to whom you dispensed those drugs. Every last one.”

  “I don’t know if I can remember that,” Herrera said.

  “If you can’t, then the computer can,” Estelle said icily. “When you’re finished here, Deputy Taber will escort you to the Public Safety Building. The information you provide from here and what you say in your deposition will determine in part what course the district attorney may wish to take against you.”

  “It has to go that far?”

  “Yes, it does.” She nodded as she watched him listen to the faint sound of a car door closing outside. “You’re free to take some other route if you wish.”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

  “You a
lways have a choice, Louis. But we’re not leaving you alone here.”

  “You think that after all this, I’d do something to try and…” Herrera waved his hand hopelessly.

  “That’s just the trouble, Louis. I don’t know what you’d do.” The door opened and Deputy Jackie Taber stepped inside. Her eyes locked on Louis Herrera, her face expressionless. “As far as I’m concerned, you have two choices,” Estelle said. “You can cooperate with us, or you can be arrested and spend the night in the lockup until Judge Hobart decides what to do with you.” She glanced at her watch. “That’s the only break I’m going to give you. And we’re wasting time.”

  Herrera held up his hands. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  Estelle nodded curtly and then quickly explained to the deputy what she wanted. “And when you’re finished, you need to put a sheriff’s lock on the door. On the inside of this one,” and she nodded at the door they’d entered, “and a chain on the front doors.” She glanced at Herrera once more. “We don’t want any more surprises.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Owen Frieberg hadn’t achieved his status as Nate Salazar’s partner at Salazar and Sons Funeral Home by being uncooperative. When Frieberg opened the side door of the mortuary in response to the bell, Estelle was sure that his head-to-toe glance was a measurement. All she had to supply was her choice of ash, oak, mahogany, or walnut for the casket, brass or wrought iron handles, and satin or velvet lining.

  “Ah,” he said as if that explained everything. He closed his eyes and shook his head, extending both hands in anticipation of that comforting, enveloping hand clasp he had practiced so often.

  “Mr. Frieberg, I’m Undersheriff Estelle Guzman. I think you know Bill Gastner.”

  “Oh, yes,” Frieberg said as his eyes reopened and flicked from Estelle to Gastner and then across the parking lot to where Deputy Tony Abeyta was striding across toward them from his patrol unit. No greeting hand had crept into his, and he brought them back to parade rest at his midriff.