T Wave

by Steven F Freeman

  SUNDAY, JULY 8

  CHAPTER 3

  The next morning, Alton rose early and powered up his laptop, recalling a conversation with Mallory from several months ago.

  “I noticed you were looking up ‘romantic travel destinations’ on Pinterest,” he had said. “Did you find anything you liked?”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, no reason…”

  In truth, he intended to plan a surprise vacation. He had hoped the conversation about the Pinterest website would spur Mallory to share her preferred destinations, but she hadn’t volunteered any more information.

  At first, Alton had felt stymied but later began to consider alternative strategies for acquiring this intelligence. Mallory had left him no choice but to resort to subterfuge. Shortly after the Pinterest conversation, he had planted a Kruptos tracking program on Mallory’s computer to monitor her Pinterest activity, specifically to identify the vacation spots she viewed most frequently. He assuaged his vaguely guilty feelings regarding the minor invasion of privacy with the knowledge that his intentions were good. He felt confident he could surprise Mallory, but once he revealed the destination, he wanted assurance that the nature of her surprise would be delight rather than disappointment.

  Alton typed in a password to open the tracking program. He selected the “transfer” button in the program’s dialog box, and Mallory’s internet activities from the last two months were downloaded, indexed, and tallied. He scanned the Pinterest results: Aruba, Hawaii, St. Thomas, Italy, Australia…

  He studied Mallory’s activity in more detail and eventually decided on a destination for their vacation.

  At lunch time, he wore as casual an expression as he could muster. “Say, Hon, would you be interested in going to the beach in a few months?”

  Mallory looked pleased. “For work or for fun?”

  “For fun. I thought maybe we could go to Myrtle Beach. Would you like that?”

  “Sure. We used to go there all the time as a kid. I loved it. When did you want to go?”

  “I was thinking in a couple of months—September, to be exact. It’ll be cooler and less crowded that time of year, and planning the trip in advance will give both of us a chance to lock down the vacation time with our bosses.”

  “That sounds perfect,” said Mallory, beaming.

  Alton concentrated on appearing nonchalant. “Do you think you’d be able to take off two or three weeks?”

  “Yeah—that shouldn’t be a problem. I have vacation days I have to use by the end of the year anyway.” She approached Alton and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Two or three weeks together, just you and me…that sounds like heaven.”

  As they ate lunch together a little later, Mallory described a case to which she had been assigned the previous Friday.

  “Wiggins, my boss, assigned me to a drug investigation.”

  Alton arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that be a case for the DEA or at least the FBI’s Controlled Substances group? How do you, a forensic accountant, end up getting assigned to a drug case?”

  “Easy there, partner,” said Mallory. “It isn’t that kind of drug case. The administration at a hospice in the DC area suspects someone is stealing narcotics—the drugs they use to alleviate patients’ pain. In the hospice, these types of drugs are tracked via an automated dispensing system that produces documentation each time it disburses medicine. Since following paper trails is my cup of tea, Wiggins asked me to quietly review the hospice’s records and determine whether or not there’s a problem.”

  “Why quietly?” asked Alton.

  “The administrators aren’t positive there’s a problem. That’s not unusual, actually. In a lot of fraud cases, someone becomes suspicious but can’t prove that there’s a real issue. That’s where I come in. In this case, management doesn’t want to upset the hospice’s employees by making everyone feel under suspicion if it turns out no one is stealing drugs.”

  “I see. If you confirm that there really is theft going on, then you hand it off to the DEA or local police to make the arrest?”

  “Yes— or our Controlled Substances group.”

  “Sounds fun. I’ll be interested to see how it turns out.”

  Later that evening, Alton researched several travel options for the vacation destination he had chosen earlier in the day. He opted to withhold the destination from Mallory until only a few days ahead of time, figuring this would make the surprise even greater. He finally picked the best itinerary and made the necessary reservations. Now to wait…two months until heaven.

  The remainder of Alton and Mallory’s weekend with Beverly Wilson flew by as if in a matter of minutes. In seemingly no time, they were saying their goodbyes on Sunday afternoon, Mallory to return to Washington and Alton to travel back to the tony north-Atlanta suburb of Alpharetta.

  “I hope you can visit again soon,” Beverly told Alton. “It’s a shame you have to leave. I feel like I’m just now getting to know you.”

  “I share your feelings, Beverly. I’ll try to visit again soon, but my weekends are pretty full these days,” he said, glancing at Mallory with a smile. “I look forward to seeing you as soon as I can.”

  CHAPTER 4

  In Washington, DC, “Scrubs” Abernathy heard a car pull into the driveway of his modest residence. His wife, a hospice nurse, entered through the garage door and wound her way to the den in which Scrubs reclined as he watched television.

  “I’m home, Randy,” Jeanette called to her husband. Everyone but she called him “Scrubs” on account of the uniform he wore to his job as a hospital orderly.

  “Hey, Babe,” he replied as a Camel dangled from his mouth. His unkempt hair and three-day beard matched the rough appearance of his ill-fitting uniform, a look he fancied made him appear a bit of a rebel. “Did you get any stuff today?”

  “Yeah,” replied Jeanette. She removed a package from her neatly-pressed, white lab coat. “We had three patients go downhill, and all of them were on pain meds. I got OxyContin and Percocet.” She handed him several varieties of pills stored in separate, sealed plastic bags. She also held a small vial of clear fluid.

  “What’s in the bottle?” asked Scrubs.

  “Morphine. We only give point two five milliliters at work, so be careful with that stuff. It’ll rock your world.”

  “So you shoot it up?”

  “Naw—it’s oral. You just squirt it under your tongue,” she said as she lit up one of her Virginia Slims. “So, what’s the plan? Are you going to sell that stuff or use it?”

  “We have plenty for ourselves. Let’s sell it. Maybe I’ll head down to Leroy’s later. He’s always looking for our type of product.”

  “That would be good. We’re late on the gas bill.”

  “Can you get more of this tomorrow? I’m sure Leroy’s gonna ask.”

  She ran a frustrated hand through her carefully-arranged, auburn hair. “Randy, you know it depends on the patients. They need to be so zoned out that they don’t know whether or not they took their meds. That’s the only time I can swipe it without anyone finding out.”

  “Okay, okay—I get it. We’ll keep our fingers crossed.”

  CHAPTER 5

  In the parking lot of Washington’s Serenity Hospice, a blonde thirty-something climbed into the driver’s seat of a Rav4 in the employee parking lot at the end of the workday. She wore a black skirt with a form-fitting red blouse and matching Sergio Rossi heels, all of which had the effect of showing her voluptuous figure to best advantage.

  She dialed a number on her phone. “Can you talk?”

  “Yep. What’s up?”

  “I should be asking you that,” she said with a snicker. “Can we get together tonight?”

  “I’ll have to move some things around, but I can make it work. Where shall we meet? The usual place?”

  “Hmm…why don’t we change it up? If we go to the same location too often, the staff will start to recognize us. Let’s do the Red Roof Inn off of exit thirtee
n instead. How about eight o’clock?”

  “Okay. That’ll work. Don’t keep me waiting,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  After ending the call, the hospice worker sat motionless in her SUV. Images of the evening’s pending activities flashed through her mind, and her expression widened into a wicked grin.

  “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I won’t keep either one of us waiting.”

  MONDAY, JULY 9

  CHAPTER 6

  The next morning, Mallory began investigating the possible theft of narcotics at Serenity Hospice. She entered the chateau-styled building and approached the nurses’ station.

  “Can you tell me where I can find Nancy Goins?” she asked a nurse who was busy at a computer terminal typing information into a patient’s electronic chart.

  “Second office on the right,” replied the nurse, pointing.

  Mallory turned down the indicated hallway and tapped on a door, which swung open within moments. The room’s occupant wore a fitted black dress, black stockings, and white heels. Shoulder-length, blonde hair lay in curls around her shoulders.

  “Hello, Nancy Goins?” asked Mallory.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m FBI Agent Mallory Wilson. We have an appointment to discuss a…confidential matter,” said Mallory, mindful of keeping a low profile.

  “Hi, yes…welcome. Come on in.”

  Mallory entered the cramped office. The entire surface of the lone desk was covered in paperwork. Nancy hoisted a pile of folders off a corner and invited Mallory to pull up a chair to the vacated spot.

  “Don’t let the clutter fool you. I run a tight ship around here,” said Nancy. She settled into a chair facing Mallory. “You’re here about our drug-theft suspicions, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Agent Wilson, I have to be honest. This investigation seems a little bit like overkill. We normally handle this kind of thing internally. But…my boss, William Cline, was worried and insisted we call you.”

  “I see,” said Mallory. “Well, hopefully we can put this matter to rest so neither you nor Mr. Cline will have to worry about it anymore.”

  “Fair enough. So tell me, how do we begin?”

  “First, why don’t you tell me what raised the initial suspicions that someone was stealing drugs?”

  “Well, we’ve had patients complain that they didn’t get their medicines. That always happens on a regular basis anyway, but we’ve had a higher incidence than usual the last few months.”

  “Is it possible the patients are mistaken?” asked Mallory. “They are sick, after all.”

  “Yes, some of them would definitely have a hard time knowing. But others are alert and oriented. We’ve also had a few complaints from family members who said their loved ones never received their medicines.”

  “I see. But does a missing dose necessarily indicate that someone stole the medicine? Couldn’t it just still be in the bottle?”

  “That’s the kicker. Most of the meds we administer here are narcotics used for palliative care—that is, they’re intended to make someone more comfortable, not cure them. Because these drugs are controlled substances, they’re safeguarded and dispensed as needed using an automated system called Pyxis. The records from this system indicated that the drugs were dispensed. So the Pyxis records all seem to be in order, assuming that the patients truly received their medicines. If they didn’t, our question is what happened to the meds? I can’t prove that there have been any thefts, but the number of complaints has made me wonder if Serenity has a problem.”

  Mallory considered the information. “If there are thefts, they would have to be carried out by a hospice employee, right?”

  “I would think so. I guess it’s possible that some supplier or third-party vendor—like a cafeteria worker—could do it, but they normally wouldn’t be around the narcotics. They would draw attention to themselves if they were.”

  “Assuming an employee is stealing drugs, do you have any suspicions who it might be?”

  “Not really,” replied Nancy with a shake of the head. “All our staff members are required to pass a pre-employment drug screen, and Mr. Cline didn’t want to upset everyone by running a new one out of the blue.”

  “I see,” said Mallory, rubbing her ear in thought. “Has your drug-tracking system revealed any suspects? Does anyone seem to make an unusually high number of ‘mistakes’ when they’re using it?”

  “No. There have been a few random errors in Pyxis, but nothing unusual. The mistakes were all made by different people and were all successfully resolved.”

  “How much medicine is missing?” asked Mallory. “It seems to me that a small amount would suggest someone is stealing it for personal consumption, whereas the theft of large quantities would be more suggestive of someone turning around and selling it.”

  “It’s impossible to say for sure. I would guess not much, but I really don’t know.”

  Mallory pondered for a minute. “Who is familiar with the drug inventory recordkeeping? Is there someone who can explain how the hospice’s equipment and processes are used in conjunction to track drugs? I need to become familiar with the end-to-end process controls that are used to try to prevent theft.”

  “Hmmmm…William Cline, my manager, would be a good place to start. As I mentioned, he’s the person who initiated this investigation. He oversees all the Stokely properties, not just this hospice.”

  “Stokely?”

  “Stokely is the company that owns Serenity Hospice.”

  “I see. What other properties does Stokely own?” asked Mallory.

  “They own another hospice near Arlington and three hospitals in the greater DC metro area, including Stokely Memorial just down the street.”

  “Got it. And William Cline oversees the process controls for all the properties?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay—it sounds like he’s the person I need to speak with next. Could you introduce me to him?”

  “Of course,” replied Nancy. “I’ll phone to let him know we’re on the way.”

  “We’ll be able to meet now?”

  “I think so. He’s usually booked solid, but he’s pretty good about clearing his calendar when something important pops up. And this is definitely one of those times. He told me to let him know if he can help, so now’s his chance.”

  Upon arriving at Stokely Memorial Hospital, Nancy guided Mallory to the executive suites on the top floor. After tapping on the door, they entered William Cline’s richly-appointed office. Cline himself was staring at the ceiling with a far-away, thoughtful gaze, as if considering some esoteric riddle. His graying temples and mild-mannered appearance were complemented by stylish glasses that did a reasonably good job of concealing thick lenses.

  Nancy introduced the two and quickly departed.

  “Thanks for helping with this, Agent Wilson,” said Cline. “The profitability of the hospice has been, shall we say, below expectations.”

  Mallory noticed a large framed print on the wall behind Cline’s desk: “The best prescription for outstanding patient care is hospital profitability.”

  Cline continued, “I’m sure you can appreciate the enormous cost of the narcotics we administer to the patients at Serenity Hospice. If you’re able to catch someone skimming off the top, it could help us put Serenity back on track. Of course, it would also keep some scumbag from stealing pain medicine from dying patients.”

  Mallory nodded. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Cline.” She outlined the information she had learned from Nancy Goins. “Can you explain to me what kind of purchase and inventory records the hospice maintains? I’ll need to know what kind of process controls are in place.”

  Cline explained the procedures for tracking medicine from the time it arrived at the hospital to its disbursement, destruction, or return to the hospital pharmacy or Pyxis system.

  “Could someone be taking the medicine of hospice patients after they die?” asked Mallory. “How is the medicine control
led then?”

  “There’s a procedure for disposing of the medicines of deceased patients. They’re deposited into a locked ‘narcotics destruction’ box with another nurse or staff member acting as a witness to the type and quantity. The witness must sign a log, so it would be difficult for someone to forge a record when putting drugs into the locked box. When the pharmacy picks up the box later, they verify that the types and quantities of drugs in the box match the log."

  Mallory mused for a moment and then said, “It seems like a long shot, but just in case, I could compare the drugs dispensed—based on the Pyxis records—to the drugs left over according to the log of drugs deposited into the ‘narcotics destruction box’, and then compare those results to the drugs recovered from the ‘narcotics destruction’ box. A mismatch between any of those three steps would be a logical starting point to investigate further. Assuming I don’t find anything there, I’ll have to dig deeper.”

  Cline smiled. “I can see you’re the right person for this job. You’re right—you probably won’t find any mismatches in those steps. If you’re a hospice employee who wants to skim meds, you know you’d probably be caught trying to take the meds of deceased patients. No, the most likely approach would be to slip the medicine of living patients in your pocket but log that you gave them their meds. Many of our hospice patients are too unresponsive to tell anyone whether or not they’ve taken their medicines.”

  Mallory remembered Nancy Goins suggesting the same theory. “Thanks. With your permission, I’ll eliminate the ‘narcotics box’ option and then explore the idea you just proposed.”

  “Excellent. If you’re ready to begin, I’ll take you down to the pharmacy so you can start with the dispensing records.”

  “That’ll be fine,” said Mallory.

  As they stood up to leave, an imposing figure filled the doorframe, a tall and thick man with a balding crown and steel-rimmed glasses pushed far down his nose. He wore a white lab coat over a plaid cardigan. His overall appearance was strangely reminiscent of the near-sighted scientist on The Muppet Show.