Never Too Late (Brier Hospital)

by Larence Gold

  They chatted over lunch, and after the waiter brought them coffee, Hunter said, “I’m waiting, Mother. What has you so upset?”

  “I’m in the middle between you and your father, and I don’t like it one bit.”

  “That’s old news, Mother. What’s different now?”

  “I have no illusions about your father, sweetheart, but his emotional involvement with you and the marathon is completely out of proportion for him. He’s always been tough in asserting his will, but until this, I never saw him look back or regret any of his actions. Maybe he’s getting human in his old age?”

  Hunter laughed. “No way. It’s always been his way or the highway.” She paused. “What are you holding back, Mother. None of this is a surprise to you.”

  Beatrice looked into Hunter’s eyes, and then turned away.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  “Cedric can be rigid, unrelenting, and coarse when dealing with anyone who thwarts his objective, but unlike old-time politicians who could fight like cats and dogs, and yet remain friends, I’ve never seen such vitriol against Izzy Kramer and Mitchel Silverman. You, better than I, should understand his reasons.”

  “Reasons?” Hunter said, “he has no legitimate reasons—What else?”

  “He’s been particularly furtive. He’s had whispered conversations and refused my questions about them. While he was showering, I checked his call log and found several phone calls to the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley.” She paused and held her breath. “He’s not having an affair, is he?”

  “Do you really think, Mother that Cedric Blake would be having an affair? He’s not the type, and who’d have him?”

  “Maybe it’s a professional?” Beatrice said.

  “You’re watching too much daytime TV, Mother. Do you remember the number?”

  Of course, darling. Let me write it down for you.”

  “Thanks, Mother.”

  “If it’s not a professional, Hunter then what is it?”

  What, indeed, Hunter thought.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Al was meeting with Michael at his San Francisco office.

  “This investigation is going nowhere,” Al said.

  “We need a lead—anything,” Michael said. “He paused. “Do you think your boss would help us get a sample of Izzy’s urine from the USADA?”

  “Why?”

  “Both of us have access to reference laboratories that might be able to identify the specific anabolic steroid in her body,” Michael said. “Once we know that, we might be able to trace it to the manufacturer, the distributor, and even the pharmacy where someone purchased it. That could be a game changer.”

  “The DA will help, and I’m guessing that the USADA has little to lose by cooperating.”

  “We’re running out of time, Al.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  Ten days later, they were back in Mike’s office.

  Al handed Michael the reference laboratory report. “It’s a mixed blessing, Mike.”

  “Why?”

  Al stared at Michael. “The drug is Androgel, Dammit! That’s nearly as useful as saying it’s Tylenol. It’s so common that I don’t know how we can trace it to any individual—we’re screwed.”

  Michael smiled. “You’re getting too pessimistic in your old age, Al. Nobody eats or injects Androgel. There’s only one way it gets into the body—through the skin!”

  Michael Rose was dictating notes for the day when his phone rang. It was his answering service. “Dr. Rose, I have a Hunter Blake on the line. She wishes to talk with you.”

  “What’s it about?” Michael asked.

  “She won’t say, sir.”

  “Tell her I accept new patients only on referral.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Michael put down the phone, but it rang almost immediately. “What now?”

  “She’s quite insistent, Sir. She says it’s about Isabel Kramer.”

  Michael’s pulse increased. “Put her through.”

  “Thank you for taking my call, Doctor.”

  The voice is young and nervous, he thought.

  “What’s this about?”

  “I guess you don’t recognize my name,” Hunter said.

  “Should I?”

  “Yes, if you want to help Izzy.”

  “Go ahead,” Michael said.

  “I thought you might know me through my association with Izzy. We train and run together.”

  “Oh, yes,” Michael said, “Hunter Blake of the Hillsborough Blakes.”

  “Yes, but I’m not that person anymore. I’m Izzy’s friend and I want to help her.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “May we meet in person? I need to talk with you and inspector Russo.”

  “When and where?” Michael asked.

  “When can you reach Mr. Russo?”

  “I’m expecting him at 6:15 this evening. How does that work for you?”

  “Give me directions, and I’m there.”

  When Al arrived, Michael told him about the call from Hunter.

  “This could be it,” Al said.

  “I’m trying not to get too excited,” Mike said, “it could be nothing.”

  They both turned to the soft knock on the door.

  Hunter entered and stared at Michael. “Dr. Rose?”

  “Yes, Ms. Blake. Come in and have a seat.” He nodded toward Al. “This is Inspector Al Russo.”

  Hunter smiled and then took a seat, tugged at her dark-denim, mini-skirt, and crossed her thin, but shapely legs. “I’m not sure, but I may have information that might help Dr. Kramer.”

  “How did you hear about us?” Al asked.

  “I overheard Izzy and Mitch talking about it. Izzy’s a wreck. You can’t imagine how such charges can affect someone like Izzy.”

  “I think I can,” Mike said. “Izzy and I were partners for several years and we remain friends. Just like anyone who knows Izzy, the prospect that she would use performance-enhancing drugs is unthinkable. If you can help, we’re all ears.”

  Hunter shifted in her seat, straightened her skirt again, brushed her hair back, and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, if anything, but Izzy and I didn’t get along in the beginning. It was my fault to be sure. It isn’t easy to escape from your upbringing, not that I really tried.” She faced Michael. “I’m sure you understand, Dr. Rose.”

  Michael nodded.

  “My father, Cedric Blake, is a man used to getting his own way. In this case, my success as a marathoner. I accepted that and never thought even one time, what might be the consequences of actions by a man dedicated to winning at all costs.”

  “You think that he had something to do with Izzy’s positive test for anabolic steroids?” Al asked.

  Hunter nodded. “It would be just like him.”

  Michael sat upright. “Please tell us that you have something concrete—something that we can use to exonerate Izzy.”

  “My mother examined the call log on my father’s phone, and found several calls to the Claremont Hotel Spa.”

  “And, that’s unusual?” Al asked.

  “Distinctly,” Hunter said. “We belong to a club just minutes away. I can’t think of a service that we don’t have that would have led my father to the Claremont.”

  Michael stared at Al, and both burst out with broad smiles.

  “Spa,” Michael said.

  “Massage,” Al said.

  “Androgel—son-of-a-bitch. That’s it!”

  Al turned to Hunter. “Does your father use Androgel?”

  “I don’t know,” Hunter replied.

  “It’s either in packets or applied with a pump,” Michael said.

  “He has a blue pump on the bathroom counter,” Hunter said.

  Al faced Michael. “That’s compelling circumstantial evidence, but the drug’s too common to prove he used it or had it used on Izzy. We need more.”

  “Do you know with whom he spoke?” Michael asked.<
br />
  “No. Just the spa,” Hunter said. She paused. “Does any of this help? Can you access all his phone records and the records of Benson something, his chauffeur—I suspect that Benson might do some of my father’s dirty work.”

  Michael looked at Al. “Phone records?”

  Al shook his head. “Not without probable cause.”

  Michael turned to Hunter. “How far are you willing to go to help Izzy?”

  “I don’t know what that means, Dr. Rose.”

  “It means,” Al said, “would you be willing to wear a wire?”

  “I don’t know,” Hunter said.

  “It may come to that, yet,” Al said. “For the moment, we’ll be looking into the Claremont Spa.”

  Mike picked up the phone and called Izzy. When she picked up, Mike said, “We may be on to something.”

  “My God,” Izzy said, “tell me.”

  “You’ve gone to the Claremont Spa before?” Mike asked.

  “Once in a while in the past, but after the Napa Valley Marathon, Mitch bought Hunter and me a series of massages.”

  “Hunter went, too,” Mike asked.

  “No, she begged out as Daddy had a regular masseuse for her.”

  “Was there anything unusual about those sessions?” Mike asked.

  “No, not really,” Izzy said, then paused. “Oh, wait a minute. My regular masseuse, Heather was away. A young woman, Kelly something, took her place. She was great.”

  Mike and Al looked at each other knowingly.

  “Great, all right,” Al said. “Maybe better than any of us think.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The next morning, Al and Michael walked into the Claremont Spa, and asked for the manager. Carl Sharp was a tall and muscular man who served as manager and tennis pro.

  “Heather had arranged for Kelly to cover her.” Carl picked up an employee folder and looked up. “She was gorgeous and she had worked for us before.”

  “Do you have her phone number?” Al asked.

  “It won’t do you any good,” Carl responded. “Her phone has been disconnected and we don’t have a forwarding address.”

  “May we talk with Heather?” Mike asked.”

  “Of course,” Carl studied his watch. “She should be finishing with her 10 a.m. in moments. Let me call her for you.”

  “That’s okay,” Al said, “let’s surprise her.”

  Carl walked with them into the modern spa and showed them to Heather’s room. She was sitting outside on a sunny deck reading a book.

  “Heather,” Carl said, “this is Dr. Michael Rose and Inspector Al Russo. They’re looking to help Dr. Kramer in her problem with the USADA.”

  Carl stood. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

  Heather shook both their hands. “I couldn’t believe it when they accused Izzy of using illegal drugs. That’s impossible. She’d never do that. It doesn’t fit her personality.”

  “We agree,” Michael said. “That’s why we’re here to see you.”

  Heather’s eyes widened. “Anything—I’ll do anything to help Izzy. She’s one of my favorite people.”

  “Since we all agree,” Al said, “that Izzy would never use performance enhancing drugs, the question is how they got into her body. We’re grasping at straws for an explanation.” Al looked at Michael and nodded.

  “Tell us about Kelly. She worked with Izzy in your absence. What do you know about her?”

  “Heather tensed. “You don’t think…”

  “We don’t think anything,” Michael said. “For the moment we’re just asking questions.”

  “Kelly and I went to school together and she has substituted for me on occasion. She’s a beautiful and sweet girl. I can’t believe…”

  “If you have any reason to suspect that she might be involved in a plot to smear Izzy,” Al said. “Now’s the time to say so.”

  Heather trembled. “Just considering that’s possible drives me nuts. You may not know this, but massage therapists consider themselves part of the healing profession. Doing something like administering anabolic steroids would be beyond the pale. I can’t believe she would do that.”

  “Have you seen Kelly recently?” Al asked.

  “No. She lives right here in Berkeley. I can get you her number.”

  Al studied Heather, and said, “Her phone has been disconnected and nobody has seen her in a month.”

  “Oh, my God,” Heather shouted. “It can’t be.”

  “When someone comes to replace you,” Al asked, “do they use your massage material, oils, creams, etc. or do they bring their own?”

  “Massage therapists use their own materials. Everyone has his or her preference.” Heather looked from Al to Michael. “You don’t think she put something in the massage oil…?”

  “We’re beyond speculation, Heather. If we’re going to help Izzy, we must prove that the steroids got into her system without her knowledge and cooperation. Maybe then, she’ll have a chance with the USADA.”

  The next morning Al and Michael met with Izzy, Ross, and Mitch in his office.

  Al outlined their conclusions, “We think, no we’re sure, that the Claremont Spa was the likely source of the anabolic steroids, specifically Androgel, found in your body, Izzy. We believe that Kelly mixed it with her massage oil.”

  “Why would she do such a thing?” Izzy asked.

  “For the usual reasons,” Michael said, “threats, intimidation, jealousy, revenge, and our all time favorite, greed.”

  When Al repeated the conversation that they had with Hunter, Izzy began to cry. Ross brought her into his arms and held her for a long moment.

  “I hate to say this,” Mitch said, “but you were right about Hunter. She was worth salvaging.”

  Michael faced Izzy. “When we practiced forensic psychiatry together, we spent an enormous amount of time trying to understand evil. It proved to be a senseless undertaking, for evil done with or without a conscience has the same destructive outcomes. I’m guessing that this was the act of a conscienceless psychopath, and, this one has a name.”

  “You mean the beloved Cedric Blake,” Izzy said.

  “Yes,” Michael said. “We just need to prove it. Hunter may be our answer.” He paused. “Do you think she might help and can she do it safely?”

  Al faced Izzy. “If we lay it all out for her, will she cooperate? Will she help us take her father down?”

  “Frankly,” Izzy said, “I don’t know. I’ve been at this so long that I have a difficult time believing that people can change. That may sound strange from a psychiatrist offering counseling—it feels dishonest and even smacks of a betrayal of sorts.”

  “Maybe,” Michael said, “but it offers Hunter the possibility of,” he paused, “I was going to say redemption, but that seems too strong a word. Change for the better may be more accurate.”

  Al paused for a long moment. “Meanwhile, I have another idea.”

  Al Russo and Michael Rose were walking to the virtual reality lab. “According to Izzy,” Michael said, “they have blood samples going back well before the first positive test. If this comes out as we expect, it could nail it for Izzy.”

  Jodie escorted Al and Michael into David Rice’s office.

  David looked up angrily from his desk chair. “I told everyone I was not to be disturbed. I’ve got to complete this damn grant application.”

  “It’s about Izzy,” Jodie said.

  “I think I’ve heard enough of that name for a while. I regret our association with her and all the trouble it’s brought to our laboratory.”

  “You think you have trouble, what about Izzy?” Jodie asked.

  “Well, I…” David muttered.

  Michael walked up to David and swiveled the chair until he faced David directly. “So you conclude that she’s guilty?”

  David paled at the aggressive approach. “Not necessarily, but our association with her has damaged our image.”

  “Damn your image,” Michael sho
uted. “An innocent woman’s reputation is on the line and all you care about is your image?”

  David turned to Jodie. “Why don’t you step out for a moment.”

  Al blocked the door. “She stays.”

  “Please, David,” Jodie said. “Why not give them a chance—give Izzy a chance?”

  David leaned back in his chair. He looked at Michael, Al, and Jodie, and took a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right. I’m under too much pressure with threats against my lab and my research grants. Please, I’m sorry. I like Izzy and I’ll do anything I can to help her.”

  Al faced David. “Jodie told us that you have samples of Izzy’s blood taken at different times. Can you make them available for testing?”

  “We have blood from her first visit to her last. I hope you don’t need much as we need some to complete our studies.”

  “Al has arranged for the DA’s forensics laboratory to measure for anabolic steroids and identify them. It’s a micro method and we can complete the analysis on less than one ml.”

  “No problem. When do you need the specimen?” David asked.

  “Yesterday,” Michael said.

  “I’ll have my technician here in an hour,” Al said. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  David managed a weak smile. “I can only imagine what you think of me. I, myself, never believed that Izzy would use any performance enhancing medication…” he paused. “I was just too involved in my own world and its problems that I forgot my humanity.”

  “You’re not the first,” Michael said, “and you won’t be the last.” Michael stretched out his hand to David. “But, pardon the cliché, when push came to shove, you were there for Izzy. In my book, that makes you a…do you know the Yiddish word, mensch?”

  David smiled. “My grandfather’s real name was Richman, and I like to think that all the Richmans, and now the Rices, are menschen.”

  As Mike and Al were driving away from the VR lab, Mike asked, “How long will it be before we get the test results?”

  “I’m putting the screws to the lab. We’ll have it as soon as humanly possible.”

  “If it comes too late…” Michael said.

  Al shook his head. “I know, Michael—I know.”