by D P Lyle
“We can get a subpoena,” T-Tommy said.
Dr. Beck nodded. “When you do, I’ll give you their medical records. Until then, I can’t.” He looked from T-Tommy to me. “You guys know that.”
I glanced at T-Tommy, getting a slight nod in return. “Look,
Dr. Beck—”
“Please. Call me Charlie.”
“Okay, Charlie. This doesn’t leave this room. Understand?”
“Sounds sinister.” He smiled.
I didn’t. “It is.”
His smile dissolved. “What is it?”
“We’re working on the murders you’ve no doubt read about in the papers. We’re simply following leads, and one has led us to Mr. Kurtz.”
“You think he’s the killer?”
“Don’t know. We do know that the killer massacred a couple last night.”
“Jesus.”
“It appears his killing spree is escalating. Rapidly. There will be others. Soon.”
Charlie sighed and then gazed toward the ceiling, shaking his head. “I knew there was something wrong with him. Not this off-the-wall, but something.”
“Tell me about it.”
“His attack was way over the top. I’ve seen trauma, lots of trauma, in my career, but nothing quite like this.” He forked his hair back from his forehead. “When the police brought him here just after the altercation, I wrote it off as a heat-of-the-moment sort of thing.”
“Wrote what off?”
“His tension. Anger. He was … what’s the word … wrapped too tight. Like he could explode at any minute.”
T-Tommy grunted.
“That was right after a fight,” Charlie went on. “He was still hyped up. Adrenaline is a powerful drug. Then when he came back, it was different.”
“He came back?” I asked. “When?”
“Two days later. Wednesday. Routine wound check.”
“I see. What was different?”
“He was calm, even quiet … until … he started talking about his psychiatrist.”
“Dr. Hublein?”
I could see a flash of surprise on his face and the question in his eyes: How did you know that? He recovered quickly and said, “Yeah. After he was here the first time, I visited Dr. Hublein to tell him about what had happened with Brian. Brian was angry … very angry … that I had done that. It was like he went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. Scared the hell out of Marcia and me.”
“What did Dr. Hublein say about him?”
“I guess you know about the research project?” Charlie said.
I shook my head. “What research project?”
“The drug study.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh. Since you knew about Dr. Hublein, I assumed you knew about that, too.”
“We haven’t talked with Hublein yet.”
Charlie massaged his temples and then told us what he knew of the situation.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Brian Kurtz is part of some experiment run by Dr. Hublein. You know this because you took care of Kurtz after his mugging and his over-the-top attack on the mugger made you suspicious that something might be wrong with Kurtz. So you met with Hublein, who told you that Kurtz was on an experimental drug, and Kurtz got angry when he found out you had talked with Hublein. Now you think this drug might be part of Kurtz’s problems.”
Charlie shrugged. “Many drugs, particularly psychotropic ones, have some pretty nasty side effects.”
I knew that was true. “What type of drug is it?”
“All Hublein told me is that it’s in the benzodiazepine family.”
I looked at T-Tommy. “A common class of tranquilizers. Things like Valium, Librium, Xanax. All good meds, but in some people they can cause problems.”
“Like anger and aggression?” T-Tommy asked.
“And worse,” Charlie said.
CHAPTER 54
THURSDAY 1:11 A.M.
T-TOMMY AND I RETURNED TO THE TASK FORCE ROOM AND GATH ered everything we had on Brian Kurtz. Alice, Luther’s assistant, pulled together what she could find on Dr. Robert Hublein. We had talked about going to see Hublein after we left Memorial Medical Center since his office was essentially right around the corner, but we decided to dig a little deeper into Brian Kurtz first. I had the feeling that Hublein just might be on the wrong side of all this, and I wanted more information before talking with him. Don’t know why I felt that, but I did. Probably had to do with the term experimental drug. It had an old horror movie ring to it.
I flipped open Kurtz’s file. “An assault six years ago. Charges dropped. Two others two years ago, just after he left the military. Those were prosecuted. No jail time, but he’s on probation now.” I turned to the next page. “Now this altercation with a mugger.” I read the one-page report again. “Looks like he was attacked outside work. The mugger was hospitalized. Kurtz wasn’t charged. Deputies Rodriguez and Oakley called it self-defense. Looks like the mugger had assaulted others over the past few months.”
“Paul Rodriguez is a good man. If he thought it was clean, it probably was.” T-Tommy took the report from me. “Says Kurtz is a big guy. Paul wrote down ‘approx six feet, two hundred.’ That fits who we’re looking for.”
“Look at this?” I handed him another page from the folder. “Kurtz was referred for psychiatric care after the assaults two years ago. That’s how he got sent to Dr. Hublein.”
T-Tommy scanned it for a moment. “Part of a plea bargain deal. I see more and more of these. Jails overcrowded, so judges pass the buck to some shrink. Dude remains under the shrink’s care until the doc says he’s no longer a menace. Then he’s free to go whack around some other citizen.” He slipped the page back into the folder. “Guess it’s time to pay Hublein a visit.”
I nodded. “Then stop by and chat with Kurtz.”
“Anything new?”
I looked up as Luther walked in. I explained what we had discovered about Brian Kurtz.
“And?”
T-Tommy shrugged. “He fits … mostly.”
Luther frowned. “I don’t like mostly.”
“I know,” I said. “We got a few things to check out on him, but he’s at least a candidate. That’s more than we had this morning.”
“Make sure he’s the guy before you grab him,” Luther said. “The media will eat up anyone we bring in, even if it is just for questioning. Keep me in the loop.” He left the room.
I buzzed Alice on the com line. She looked up Hublein’s number for me. I dialed it, got past his assistant by saying I was with the sheriff’s department—amazing how that works—and Hublein came on the line. After explaining to him who I was, what I wanted, and asking if we could drop by, that it would only take twenty minutes tops, he balked.
“I have an important meeting at three. Can this wait until tomorrow?”
“We only need a few minutes, and it’s important.”
Hesitation. No response.
“If tomorrow morning at the sheriff’s department would be more convenient, we can arrange that.”
“No. No. Since it’s important, please come on over now. I’ll push back my meeting if necessary.”
Hublein hung up the phone. “We’re dead, Mel. That was the sheriff’s department. They’re on their way here to ask questions about Brian.”
“Jesus Christ.” Wexlar flopped onto the sofa. “Did they say why? What they wanted?”
“Maybe Brian’s been arrested.”
“We would have heard from Pearce.”
“Where the hell is Pearce, anyway?” Hublein asked.
“Don’t know.” Wexlar stood and began to pace. “Maybe they’re coming here to arrest us.”
“They wouldn’t call and warn us. Let’s wait and see what they have to say.”
“We should destroy the files. If they confiscate them, we’re dead for sure.”
Hublein shook his head. “We talked about this. A few changes to Brian’s f
ile and a few of the others and we’re okay.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Better than getting caught shredding files, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER 55
THURSDAY 2:21 A.M.
DR. ROBERT HUBLEIN WAS A BIG MAN. HIS HANDSHAKE WAS FIRM, his smile genuine if a little strained. He invited us to take a seat, and then asked, “What can I do for you?”
“A couple of questions about one of your patients,” I said. “Brian Kurtz.”
Hublein smiled. “You know I can’t discuss my patients without their permission.”
Here we go again. “And you know we can subpoena th records.”
His smile never wavered. “No, you can’t. The courts frown on opening up doctor-patient records, particularly those of a psychiatrist.”
I wanted to swipe the smug look off his face. So I did. “Which you aren’t. You’re a neurologist. Med school at the University of Wisconsin, residency at Michigan, neuro training at NYU.” Always paid to do your homework.
Hublein seemed momentarily flustered. I loved it when people realized you knew a lot more than they thought. Does the soul good.
“We’re involved in a homicide investigation,” T-Tommy said. “Multiple. We’ll get what we need one way or the other.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”
T-Tommy leaned forward. “No, Dr. Hublein. We don’t want to play hardball, but we’re investigating several homicides. So brutal they’d curl your toes. The trail has led us to Brian Kurtz, and his trail has led us here. We know he’s on some experimental drug and that you’re giving it to him.”
To his credit, Hublein didn’t waver. Much. Just that quick flash of fear that’s so hard to hide.
“Wish I could help you”—he turned his palms up—“but my hands are tied. Without Brian’s permission, I can’t say a word about his care.”
“Mike Savage … ex-Sheriff Mike Savage … was one of the victims. He was a very close friend of ours.” I nodded toward T-Tommy. “Very close. That means that this is personal.”
“I fail to see how that is germane to this discussion.”
I felt T-Tommy tighten. His voice came out hard. “It means we can dig into the dark corners of your life. Tell you what you had for breakfast last Wednesday if need be. God forbid if you’re humping your secretary or hiding money in the Caymans. We can shine a light on your research here. Follow the money trail.” He waved a hand around the office. “Quite a palace you’ve got here. Money like this always has dirt attached.”
Hublein’s face reddened, and a vein on his forehead seemed to throb an angry rhythm. “I don’t take threats and blackmail very well.”
Time for the good cop again. “We’re just trying to find out who killed Mike Savage and hopefully prevent more killings. We’re not even sure being here is the right track, but we have little to go on in this investigation. Sort of grabbing for straws right now. If you could just answer a few questions, we’ll be out of here.”
Hublein hesitated and then sighed. “What do you want to know?”
That was better. People always have secrets to protect. Hublein was no exception. I suspected he realized throwing us a little info was better than us digging around in his life. Or maybe he just liked me.
“Whatever you can tell us about Mr. Kurtz would be helpful,” I said. “We know he came to you about two years ago.”
Again a flicker of surprise. “I’m sure all of this is in his police file, but yes, he came to me as part of a plea bargain to keep him out of jail. Brian has had a troubled past. Mostly due to his parents, who were alcoholic and not the most competent of parents. Apparently his maternal grandmother helped raise him. She was the one shining light for Brian, but she died in a home accident.” Hublein seemed more relaxed now. “Brian was quite a gifted athlete. Football and wrestling were his sports. There was talk of an athletic scholarship, which would have been his ticket out from under his parents’ roof. Might have changed everything for him.”
“But?” I said.
“He collided with the goalpost during a football game. Depressed skull fracture, brain injury. In a coma for a week.”
“Which ended his football career,” I said.
“Exactly. He became increasingly difficult. He did manage to join the military and apparently did well. For a while. Then his behavior did him in. Got an honorable discharge, but I suspect he didn’t deserve it. They probably just wanted to get rid of him. After that he had a few problems with the law.”
“This is where the experimental drug comes in?” I asked.
Hublein nodded. “I diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder … PTSD. This new drug holds great promise.”
“Any side effects? Behavioral changes? Anger or aggression?”
“Actually, quite the opposite. The drug has a calming effect. Lessens aggression in males prone to acts of violence. Not just in PTSD, but apparently in anyone with violent tendencies.”
I nodded. “I understand it’s in the benzodiazepine family?”
Hublein flashed a quick look of surprise, and then his eyes narrowed. “Now I recognize you. I hadn’t made the connection. Dub Walker. I’ve read your books. Can’t say I agree with all your theories, but I enjoyed them.”
“Thanks.”
Hublein smiled. “My own theory is that many violent people actually enjoy the anger, the rush. So each episode reinforces the behavior.”
“I happen to agree with that,” I said. “In some cases.” Hublein seemed pleased that I agreed with him. “Would you say that Brian was one of those types?”
He hesitated as if weighing whether to go into this part of Brian’s care and then said, “It’s possible.” He straightened some papers on his desk. “Brian has progressed well. He’s had no problems, no fights or scrapes with the law since starting the medication.”
“Until earlier this week?” I said.
Hublein nodded. “That wasn’t without provocation.”
That was true. “Dr. Beck treated him in the ER. He thinks Brian is angry and unstable.”
“Yes, I spoke with Dr. Beck. Seems like a nice guy and a competent and caring physician. It’s not often that a treating physician will take the time to visit another doctor. A phone call, sure, but not a face-to-face visit.”
“Which might indicate his level of concern?” I said.
“That’s why I brought Brian in for a visit.”
“And?”
“He was normal in every way. A little embarrassed by the entire ordeal. I checked the level of the drug in his system, and it was in the therapeutic range.”
“So you disagree with Dr. Beck’s assessment?” I asked.
Hublein gave me a benevolent-appearing smile. “Dr. Beck isn’t a psychiatrist.” He raised a hand, palm out. “I know. I’m not, either. But I do perform research in the arena of neuropsychiatry, so I’m well versed in the field. I’ve seen thousands of psychiatric patients in my career.”
Maybe we were on the wrong track here. Maybe Kurtz was the proverbial red herring. Maybe the phone calls were a coincidence.
Of course, I didn’t believe in coincidences.
“This drug?” I asked. “Are you the only center doing this project?”
“Oh, no. It’s an NIH—National Institutes of Health—study. Partially anyway. The manufacturer picks up most of the tab. There are five other centers across the country involved.”
“How many patients?”
“Each center enrolled twenty-five subjects.”
CHAPTER 56
THURSDAY 3:07 P.M.
BRIAN WAS ON THE LAST SET OF BENCH PRESSES IN AN EXHAUSTING two-hour workout. He hoped it would relieve the anger that rumbled around in his gut. After leaving Hublein’s office, he had launched into a rage, driving erratically, screaming at any car that got in his way, before finally reaching the safety of his apartment. Even this haven hadn’t dampened his anger. He threw a chair against the door and punched half a dozen new ho
les in the wall, gypsum dust flying with each blow. Still the fire refused to give way. He stripped to his shorts and began working the iron.
He pressed the 325-pound barbell upward for the fifteenth and final rep, before returning it to its cradle. He wiped sweat from his face and stretched out on the floor to cool down, his inner turmoil finally ebbing.
The phone rang.
He crawled to his desk and picked it up. “Yes.”
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out now. Detective Tortelli and Dub Walker are on the way there.”
“Good. It’s time to take them on.” “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“You still have things to do. Tonight?”
“Who?”
“McCurdy. Remember him?”
Yes, he remembered. An exceptionally arrogant prick. Had called him names. Screamed at him. Called Wanda and complained that Brian had been rude to him when the truth was the exact opposite. “I remember.”
“You want him?”
“Yes. But I want that asshole that has been talking about me, too.”
The man laughed. “And so you will. But now is not the time. Trust me on this.”
“Why should I?”
“Haven’t I been the one to help you through all this? The only one?”
That was true. Brian still didn’t know why the man had helped, but he couldn’t deny that he had.
“I have a surprise for you later. Something you’ll enjoy.”
“What?”
“Later. Right now you have to move.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
“Service station. Corner of Wall Triana and Capshaw. Men’s room. There’s a cell phone taped to the bottom of the paper towel dispenser. I’ll call it in twenty minutes.”
“Then what? Where will I go?”
“It’s taken care of. Don’t worry. Just leave now. Take your gun but nothing else. They’ll be there in fifteen minutes tops.”
Brian slipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, stuffed a few things in a canvas bag, and looked around. Anything else?
A knock at the door. He froze. Were they there already? He peeked through the curtains. Laranne. He didn’t have time for this. He yanked open the door.