Gospel

by Sydney Bauer

  ‘At face value your doubts are totally understandable,’ said King, standing from the small couch he was sharing with McKay to pace towards the front of the now crowded office. ‘Hell, when Ramirez first told me I was gobsmacked – big, rich Professor; smart, beautiful wife; positive profile – too much to lose, right? But the evidence is overwhelming. We’ve got the burden of proof, sure, but this is one of those sweet cases where the proof is no burden. On the contrary, it’s a gift. I’d stake my life on it.’

  ‘Well, not yours,’ said McKay, adding a third sugar to his creamy concoction of coffee. ‘His actually, as in Montgomery’s. His life is at stake – death penalty and all. Obviously.’

  Mannix saw Leo throw him a sideways glance as if to say: ‘Is this guy for real?’ to which Mannix just nodded and said, ‘All right Simba, enough of the sales pitch. Let’s have it. What have you got?’

  The answer was, a lot.

  King began by briefing the three Detectives on the workings of Congress and more specifically on the Congressional Appropriations process. He explained how each February, when the President submits his annual budget to Congress, the House and Senate Appropriation Committees hold full committee and subcommittee hearings on the sections of the budget under their jurisdiction. The subcommittees – thirteen in all – make recommendations on budget allocations within their specific areas including Justice and State, Defence, Foreign Operations, Homeland Security, Transport, Health and Human Services and so on.

  King described it like a huge pie that gets carved up and allocated to the various departments – and then each piece is carved up yet again as subgroups and administrations fight for the biggest bite of the allocated Departmental slice.

  ‘For example,’ King went on, ‘within the Department of Health and Human Services there are numerous administrations, agencies and centres lobbying for increases in funding. Children and Families, Ageing, Healthcare Research and Quality, Disease Control, the NIH and the Substance Abuse and Mental Healthcare administrations, for example, are all after more, more, more – and enlist some top-notch lobbyists to do their bidding. No dollar is allocated without a hell of a lot of forethought – and every submission for increased funds is pushed with fervour because . . .’

  ‘Because there is never enough to go around,’ offered Leigh.

  ‘Exactly,’ said King.

  Then he told them how Stuart Montgomery was in the process of lobbying, on behalf of the Agency for Healthcare Research, for a large increase in monies to fund a national survey on heart disease and more specifically set up a new national body alongside the NIH to carry out extensive cardiac research including an expensive and time-consuming study on rare and incurable heart conditions. He proposed the body be set up in Washington, with himself as Director.

  ‘The cause,’ said King, ‘at least on the surface, was a noble one. But those in the know also knew Montgomery intended to use this directive as a stepping stone to his ultimate goal, becoming the next US Surgeon General. It’s the plum job for a politically motivated physician in this country. A Presidential appointment which basically establishes the successful candidate as the nation’s foremost spokesperson on all matters of public health – and Montgomery wanted it, badly enough to kill.’

  King explained the US Surgeon General was appointed for a four-year term, and was responsible for the 6000 member Public Health Service Commissioned Corps. He told them how the PHSCC was a uniformed service of the same nature as the Navy, Marines, Army, Air Force and Coast Guard and, as leader, the US Surgeon General was given the rank of a Three Star General. Uniform and all.

  ‘You have to understand how important this was to a guy like Montgomery. The US Surgeon General not only gets to make recommendations as to which areas of health they believe need addressing, but they also testify regularly in Congress, throwing their substantial weight behind initiatives they want funded. In other words, he or she can have a major effect on where the health dollars are spent and then get the kudos for making it happen by touting their health programs in regular public speaking appointments all over the country.’

  ‘Sounds right up Montgomery’s ally,’ said Susan. ‘So what went wrong?’

  ‘Well,’ said King, now pacing the small office. ‘All turned sour about four months ago when Montgomery began to lose support from key figures within the Department and, subsequently, from those that mattered on Capitol Hill. The monies originally sought by Montgomery for his beloved research project were re-distributed to the Department of Justice, and more specifically the Drug Enforcement Administration, for its ongoing war against narcotics smugglers and dealers. In other words, Bradshaw had used his weight to redirect funds where he saw fit, his blessed obsession with the drug issue robbing Montgomery of a quick route to the top job.’

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ said Mannix. ‘Just because he didn’t get the money didn’t mean he wasn’t in line for the job. I mean, Bradshaw had to choose a US Surgeon General from somewhere and if Montgomery was the top contender then . . . ?’

  ‘True, but it wasn’t just about the money,’ said King. ‘Earlier this year the Vice President started singing the praises of a young female medical maverick named Dr Alexandria Weiss who had done some remarkable research on congenital heart defects in children born to drug-addicted mothers.

  ‘In March, Bradshaw spoke at a Health Department dinner, naming Weiss as a “gifted medical professional with vision and fine leadership qualities”, a thinly veiled public endorsement for the woman as a candidate for US Surgeon General when the position became available at the end of the current year.’

  ‘That still doesn’t give you anything,’ said Joe. ‘It’s all speculation. So the guy was out of favour. So what? This is Washington, remember. He was still Bradshaw’s physician and that was a public endorsement in itself. Next month he could have been king shit and the lady doctor sent back to triage.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said King. ‘Because you see, Bradshaw was about to change doctors, publicly. He and Montgomery were locking horns on another matter, and this one was a little closer to home.’

  King explained how Montgomery was known about town as an accomplished ladies’ man and, according to the DC rumour mill, the Professor had the knack of wooing and bedding a string of available and not so available Washington notables – politicians, lobbyists, health officials and more recently the wife of a prominent US Senator. Jessica Douglas was the third wife of Virginian Senator Raymond Douglas, an elderly statesman who became the Professor’s patient when he suffered an angina attack in Congress four months ago. Montgomery performed a successful bypass and while the good Senator was in recovery, made a beeline for his beautiful thirty-one-year-old wife who sought comfort in the arms of the compassionate and learned Professor.

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary,’ said King. ‘Except for the fact that Ray Douglas was also a doctor by profession. Forty years ago he had begun his career as a GP in the small rural town of Hamilton, Loudoun County, Virginia, opening a small practice with his good friend and fellow medical graduate Virginia Wills, soon to be Virginia Bradshaw, wife of Charles and mother of Benjamin, Tom and Alice. Bottom line, Douglas had known Tom Bradshaw since birth. In fact, he was as close as any blood uncle could ever have been. And when Tom Bradshaw found out about Montgomery’s opportunistic advances, he went for the jugular.’

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Leigh, now perched on the edge of her seat.

  ‘Bradshaw called Montgomery to the White House. Confronted him about it, told him to back off.’

  ‘You have witnesses?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Five of them, including Bradshaw’s personal assistant, his secretary and his Chief of Staff, who were all in Bradshaw’s outer office when Montgomery was copping an earful. According to our witnesses, the VP told his beloved doctor a few home truths. He said he knew about Jessica Douglas and that he was going to tell her husband as soon as he felt Ray Douglas was well enough to handle the news. He also reminded Mon
tgomery that Douglas was an old friend who held quite a lot of influence in the medical fraternity. In other words, the US Surgeon General thing was down the toilet.

  ‘And then, just before the VP gives Montgomery his marching orders, he tells him of his intention to change physicians. He thanks him for his previous care but says he had decided to, and I quote, “put his health in the hands of someone he respects, not just as a medical professional, but as a human being”.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Leigh.

  ‘Exactly,’ said King.

  ‘Why did Bradshaw need a heart specialist in the first place?’ asked McKay. ‘I thought he was in perfect health.’

  ‘He was, and he didn’t. Montgomery treated him for a heart valve infection years ago, a condition the VP incurred after a youth of drug abuse. The Professor monitored his heart, but he really didn’t need his expertise. Bradshaw saw him more out of loyalty than anything else, a loyalty Montgomery abused.’

  ‘But if the VP was dumping him,’ said Leigh, ‘why was he in Boston, at the dinner on the thirtieth?’

  ‘He wasn’t on Bradshaw’s original invitation list but word has it Bradshaw’s wife had a soft spot for him and wanted him close by just in case the VP needed any form of medical assistance on the Boston leg of the campaign tour. Apparently Bradshaw’s blood pressure had been a little high and she didn’t want to take any chances.’

  ‘So suddenly the good Professor’s career is going from glow to blow,’ summarised McKay.

  ‘And all thanks to Bradshaw,’ said King.

  They looked at each other. Simba was right, the case was getting stronger by the minute, and Joe could tell by the look on his face that there was more to come.

  ‘Okay,’ said King. ‘So I know what you’re thinking. This stuff is good but not good enough, and you’re right. The fact Bradshaw was putting the brakes on Montgomery’s ambitions gives us some way to motive, but it doesn’t prove he actually topped the guy. We need something more concrete tying him to the crime, to the drugs, to the “weapon”. Am I right?’

  The question was rhetorical. King was on a roll, so Joe let him continue uninterrupted.

  ‘For the past ten years Montgomery has been treating a man named Oliver Caspian for a smorgasbord of heart problems. Caspian was a retired Governor from Connecticut, connected big time, in fact, he was remotely related to the Kennedys. Anyway, two years ago Montgomery gave him a new heart in a transplant which guaranteed the guy at least another five to ten years, but as it turns out Caspian is one unlucky dude because he gets sick again, this time with prostate cancer which has spread to his bowel.’

  Mannix noticed McKay sit up uncomfortably on his vinyl seat, adjust his trousers and wait for King to go on.

  ‘Now, according to Montgomery, on Saturday 16 April, exactly two weeks before the VP turns up dead, Caspian calls his old heart medico asking to see him urgently. The Professor, who says he has a soft spot for the old guy, arranges to meet him in his rooms at the Hospital.’

  ‘On a Saturday, which means there are no secretaries as witnesses,’ said Leigh.

  ‘Right. Anyway, Montgomery says Caspian is in a lot of pain and complains his oncologist is a sadistic bastard who refuses to prescribe anything stronger than Tylenol. Montgomery feels sorry for the guy, knows his days are numbered and writes out a prescription for OxyContin – which, from what the experts tell us, is some serious pain medication, a sister drug to morphine that can pack the punch of heroin.’

  Susan Leigh looked at Mannix and Joe knew she was surreptitiously asking for permission to interrupt.

  ‘It’s okay, Susan,’ he said. ‘Tell us what you’ve got.’

  ‘Well,’ she began. ‘I did a little research on OxyContin which is the brand name of the twelve-hour slow-release wax matrix formulation of oxycodone. It was developed by the pharmaceutical company Purdue Pharma L.P. and approved by the FDA in December 1995. The high concentration of active opioid in OxyContin creates two major issues of concern. First is the possibility of a drug overdose which can result if the tablets are chewed or pulverised rather than swallowed with their waxy coating intact. They are meant to provide twelve-hour slow-release pain relief, but if they are crushed in the mouth it can be like taking ten times the recommended dose in one sitting, potentially fatal.

  ‘Secondly, its quick acting mechanism has made the drug attractive to addicts. If the tablets are ground and snorted or dissolved and injected it leads to rapid release and absorption and provides the user with a rush not unlike that experienced when injecting heroin. It’s cleaner than heroin, but just as addictive.

  ‘As for the DEA, they classify it as a Schedule II, which means they watch it like hawks, as they should, considering it is now one of the most abused prescription drugs in the country with over half a million people taking it just to get high. As for OxyContin-related deaths, there are no reliable estimates as most OxyContin addicts are often taking other substances as well, but the DEA claim the figure is in the high hundreds, maybe even thousands, and that’s just since the end of last century.’

  They all sat there, staring at the serious-faced young detective, taking in everything her research had revealed.

  ‘Susan’s right,’ said King. ‘And Caspian was definitely a legitimate case, or he would have been if Montgomery’s story were true, which it wasn’t.’

  ‘The old guy never got his script?’ asked McKay.

  ‘No, in fact, we don’t think he ever even asked for it. We believe the whole Saturday consultation thing was one big story Montgomery came up with when we started snooping into his potential access to OxyContin.’

  ‘Can’t Caspian confirm or deny?’ asked David.

  ‘No, not anymore, unfortunately the guy died on 20 April, six days after his supposed weekend visit to Montgomery. His wife,’ King referred to his notepad, ‘one, Eleanor Caspian, was at the supermarket on said Saturday morning so she can’t clarify one way or the other.’

  ‘So was the script filled?’ asked McKay.

  ‘Yes, but according to Mrs Caspian she knew nothing about it and his local pharmacist comes up blank. Also Ramirez says Mrs Caspian thinks it would be highly unlikely that her husband would visit Montgomery or take any medication without telling her about it.’

  ‘So you think Montgomery used Caspian’s name and filled the script himself,’ Leigh asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what about the autopsy, wouldn’t that have shown whether or not the old guy took the pain killer?’ asked Mannix.

  ‘Caspian had a routine blood test the day before he died. They didn’t look for OxyContin at the time, but we had it re-tested. It came up negative.’

  ‘Maybe he held on to the tablets,’ said Joe pushing the issue. ‘Just in case the pain got too much.’

  ‘But then his wife would have found them and once again, she’s coming up blank.’

  ‘How many tablets did the script cover?’ asked McKay.

  ‘The tablets come in 20, 40, 60, 80 and 160mg concentrations. Montgomery’s script was for two packets of twenty 160mg tablets. Big volume, high dosage.’

  ‘And more than enough to kill,’ said Leigh.

  ‘Twenty times over.’

  Maybe King was right, thought Joe as they sat there taking it all in. Maybe Montgomery was guilty. The evidence was overwhelming just as King had said. Perhaps Ramirez was just a super-talented asshole. But somehow Joe still didn’t think so.

  ‘Finally,’ said King, interrupting his thoughts, and Joe knew Leo would be closing with a ‘clincher’. ‘We found something else – a piece of plastic so big.’ King used his thumb and pointer finger to indicate a square about an inch long and half an inch wide. ‘It was the corner of a piece of packaging of a standard pharmaceutical cover for syringes.’

  ‘And let me guess,’ said McKay. ‘This packaging is the same used for syringes at Montgomery’s hospital.’

  ‘Yes, Frank, but it gets even better. The piece of plastic found under Bradshaw’s be
d contained a perfectly formed thumb print.’

  ‘Montgomery’s,’ said Susan.

  ‘In one,’ said King, unable to contain his smile. ‘The man is guilty as hell, guys, and if we have anything to do with it, that is exactly where he is headed.’

  The evidence was overwhelming, Joe had to agree. But it all seemed so neat, so precise, so convenient.

  ‘The pieces are falling into place all right,’ said Joe at last. ‘But let me ask you this, Simba. Doesn’t it worry you that they all fit so perfectly?’

  ‘What?’ said King. ‘Jesus, Joe, what is it they say? “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. Montgomery is not as smart as he thinks, he made mistakes and now they’re coming back to bite him. We just got lucky on this one. That’s all.’

  18

  Stuart Montgomery was cold. Freezing! It was indeed a myth, he knew, that those born in cooler climates became accustomed to the chill. Absolute rubbish.

  The last time he could remember being this uncomfortable was when, at roughly age eight, the central heating in his parents’ sixteenth-century eight-bedroom Richmond Estate went out with a groan. His mother had been furious, their staff humiliated at not being able to fix the problem and his father oblivious to the whole debacle given he was spending another night at their impeccably furnished South Kensington flat. Strange, he thought to himself. It had been years since he had thought of his father’s infidelities and he had no idea why his highly intelligent brain had chosen tonight of all nights to recall it. ‘It’ in any case had always been a non-issue – more a discreet state of affairs that was considered a ‘normal’ part of upper class British society.

  Montgomery lay back and closed his eyes, blocking out the overhanging shelf, jutting out from the concrete brick walls over his pathetically narrow cot, which was jammed into a corner of the triangular shaped cell. Everything in this ridiculously claustrophobic single cell was painted a blinding white, no doubt compensating for its tiny size. The elongated window over a small laminated desk was covered by vertical blinds which gave the impression of, well . . . being behind bars.