“How many other doctors are at your clinic?”
“There’s three of us: me, Marshall and, uh, Bernie Shepherd.”
“You don’t like Bernie?”
He arched his eyebrows. “Why do you ask that?”
“You hesitated when saying his name. Why?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Bernie’s all right.”
I studied him in the darkness, not sure what to believe. “You don’t like him?”
“He’s fine,” he said with even more irritation. “Marshall’s the problem here, not Bernie.”
“Okay.” A car drove by and Pete shrank back into the alley. I glanced over my shoulder. The car continued down the street. I waited for it to go around the corner, and then I turned back to Hinton. “When did you join practices with Marshall?”
He took a step forward, still looking around, still wary. “I first met Marshall and Bernie at a conference. We were all from Denver, so we naturally gravitated to each other. After seeing them again at a different conference, we chatted some more and then decided to play golf together, and the subject of our practices inevitably came up. We were all seeing Medicare patients, and we’d discussed the pros and cons of that kind of practice. Medicare’s not a very good system. The payments aren’t good, so you need to see more patients in a short amount of time, and the rules keep piling up. It’s frustrating. You care about the patients, but not the system.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I could go on, but anyway, after a lot of discussion, we decided to consolidate our practices into one, to operate more efficiently and save money.”
“Whose idea was it to consolidate?”
He stared past me, thinking. “I think Marshall suggested it first.”
“By combining your practices, did that make it easier to scam Medicare?”
He paused, and then said, “I didn’t think about that, but I suppose so. We’ve been seeing more patients collectively than we each did individually, so more patients could mean more procedures to bill Medicare.” He seemed stunned. “Marshall could’ve set me up, that long ago?”
“What do you think?”
His eyes darted around as his mind raced. “I guess he could’ve wanted to do this when we first consolidated our practices. But even with a system like Medicare, that isn’t very good about identifying fraud, I would’ve thought he’d have been discovered by now.”
“Maybe he’s had the idea for a while, but he’s only been defrauding Medicare on a small scale. And when he wasn’t caught, he started doing more.”
“He does seem to be doing better in the last few years,” Pete said. “A nicer car. More vacations to exotic places, stuff like that.”
I switched gears. “What if Marshall is billing Medicare for your patients for services not rendered, would you know about it?”
“Not necessarily. I don’t do the billing.”
“Who does?”
“Karen Abram. We hired her to take care of the claims.”
“She could be in on the scam.”
“I guess so,” he said slowly.
“What about Shepherd? Is he involved?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“You said you found irregularities with Vanderkamp’s files, but what about Shepherd’s? Did you check them, too?”
“Some of his files, but so far I haven’t found any evidence of billing errors on Bernie’s part.”
“And your files? What if Vanderkamp fraudulently bills a few of your patients?”
“I haven’t found anything yet, but it’s possible he did that without my knowing,” he conceded. He ran his hand over his face again. “This could be worse than I thought.”
I leaned against the side of the building. “You said Vanderkamp may be buying Medicare numbers from homeless people and then billing with them.”
“That’s just a guess,” he said. “In looking at Marshall’s billing, it appears he’s seeing more patients than he has enough time for. That made me guess that he’s not even seeing some of these patients. I’d read about paying homeless people for their Medicare information, and I wondered if Marshall was doing some of that.”
I had a lot of information to assimilate, and my mind was all over the place. “Let’s back up for a second. How did you figure out Vanderkamp’s been doing this?”
“I happened to see one of his patients while he was on vacation. We were discussing the patient’s case and he mentioned getting a notice from Medicare about some tests that he didn’t recall having done. I checked, and he was correct. I talked to Marshall about it, and he said it was an innocent billing mistake and he would talk to Karen about it. But I followed up with her, and Marshall had never talked to her. Something about it all made me suspicious, so I started checking his files and billing. It took a long time, but that’s when I realized what he was doing.”
“And you think he knows you uncovered his Medicare scam.”
He nodded. “I don’t know how he could’ve, but he’s after me now.”
“So you said,” I murmured.
He glared at me while I thought about Vanderkamp. The constant drone of traffic on Broadway drifted to us. Far off, a man shouted and Hinton jumped. He glanced around nervously.
“I need to get out of here,” he said.
I held up a hand. “Hold on. What kinds of things does Vanderkamp do outside of work? You mentioned golf. Does he have a membership somewhere?”
“Cherry Hills Country Club.”
“Nice,” I said.
A lot of Denver’s elite liked to golf there. I’d been there myself, but there was no way I could get inside without an invite.
“Is Vanderkamp married?” I asked.
“Yes. His wife’s name is Becky. They have four kids. One’s in high school, two are in college, and one’s married. I don’t remember all their names. What do they have to do with this?”
I ignored the tinge of sarcasm in his tone. “Just trying to get a feel for who he is.”
“I already told you.”
“Does Vanderkamp hang around Shepherd?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he snapped.
“So you’re not suspicious of the two of them scamming the system behind your back?”
“No.”
“What do you think about Shepherd?”
“He’s a nice guy and honest.” He peered around me again. “Listen, I’ve spent too long with you. I need to go.”
I took a step toward him, talking fast. “What else does Vanderkamp like to do?”
He shrugged. “He hangs out at The Ridge Club on Thursdays, when his wife is at her bridge club. Other than that, I don’t know.”
The Ridge was a private men’s club near downtown, and it was very exclusive. The only reason I’d heard of it was because my father, who had made a lot of money in his own right, had friends who were members at The Ridge. I’d never actually been to the club myself, but I’d heard it was a nice place to be served overpriced drinks and to socialize with Denver’s famous and powerful people.
Hinton started to walk down the alley.
“Pete?” He didn’t hear me so I said his name louder.
“Huh? What?” he finally turned around.
“If you see anything – or anyone – suspicious, I’d advise calling the police, and then me.”
“No police.”
I frowned at him, but I’m sure he didn’t notice. “At least let me know.”
“Right,” he said.
With that, he fled into the darkness.
Chapter Six
I mulled over the conversation with Pete Hinton as I walked back to the 4-Runner. The first thing was to do some research on the guy. His story sounded plausible enough on the surface, but my gut said he was lying about something, or hiding something, or both. And I wanted to know what that was. Then I’d deal with Marshall Vanderkamp.
I fingered the money in my pocket as I m
ulled over this new case. It wouldn’t hurt to poke around a bit. Whatever I found on Vanderkamp I could report back to Hinton. What he did with the information was his business. As for finding a hired killer, I didn’t know how I’d go about that. And confronting the killer, if there was one…well, I’d deal with that if I found him.
“Everything okay?” Ace asked as I got into the 4-Runner. He was in the front passenger seat, and Deuce was sprawled across the back seat, napping.
I glanced back at Deuce. “Too much excitement for you?”
“Sorry.” He sat up. “I got bored.”
I’d heard that a time or two.
“You want to go back to B 52s?” I asked.
“You bet,” they both said.
I took Ace and Deuce back to the bar, played a couple of games of pool with them, and then went home. Willie was working the swing shift, so she wasn’t home yet. I grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and strolled into my office. Leaning against the side of my desk was a framed movie poster of The Postman Always Rings Twice, with Lana Turner and John Garfield. Willie had given it to me as a wedding gift, and I hadn’t had time to hang it yet. It had been the perfect gift, and I smiled, thinking how she knew me so well. Then I sank into a desk chair and logged onto the computer. I gulped some soda as I glanced at the posters for the Big Sleep and The Maltese Falcon – both starring Humphrey Bogart – that hung on the wall.
“Okay, Bogie,” I said. “Let’s find out more about Pete Hinton.”
I knew there would be a lot of Peter Hintons on the Internet, so I’d have to narrow down my search. That brought up Lakewood Medical Clinic in the search results. I clicked on the link.
It brought up a basic website with a few pages, some of which said “Under Construction.” I bypassed the ones that discussed the type of care Lakewood Medical Clinic provided, and went straight to the staff page. It said that new photos would be coming soon, and among the staff of nurses and physicians’ assistants, it listed three doctors: Marshall Vanderkamp, Peter Hinton, and Bernard Shepherd. That matched what Hinton had said.
I read through the bios and was impressed. All three had attended top-notch schools and had years in private practice. Hinton was from New York, but he’d been in Colorado for fifteen years. Vanderkamp was a local, returning to Colorado after he’d completed a medical residency in Minnesota. Even though I wasn’t investigating Shepherd, I read his bio anyway. If I had to schmooze him, I might be able to put the information to good use. He’d gone to Harvard, like me, and had completed his residency in Boston. Lakewood Medical Clinic had been in business for fifteen years, and it was located near Wadsworth and Florida Avenues. I made a note of the address, and then went back to my search on Hinton.
I found a few more sites that listed his medical background, and I found his LinkedIn profile, but none had any more information that was helpful to me, so I searched on Marshall Vanderkamp. Like Hinton, I found websites that listed Vanderkamp’s professional experience, but nothing else. I’d hoped to find a picture of him, but none of the sites had one. I sat back for a second, and then looked for a Facebook page – something Deuce had originally thought to do on a previous case – but I couldn’t find a profile for Vanderkamp or a family member. I tapped the desk, thinking. Some people were that way; they kept a low profile. I did that myself. In my line of work, it just made sense. I didn’t want anyone I’d made an enemy of to come after me. The less they knew about me, the harder it would be. I poked around the Internet some more, but didn’t find anything else on Vanderkamp. Time to bring in the big guns.
I picked up the phone and dialed a number, then took a gulp of my soda while the phone rang.
“What’s up, O Great Detective?”
Cal Whitmore is my best friend, and that is his standard greeting for me. I wish I could live up to that billing, but I guess I hold my own.
“I’ve got a new case, and if you have a moment, I could use your help.”
Cal – a true computer geek who hates leaving his house in the foothills west of Denver – has ways of getting information that would either take me a long time to obtain or I wouldn’t be able to access at all. He likes to be called a “Clandestine Information Specialist” – read “hacker” – and he’s brilliant, but with little common sense.
Cal and I have been friends since we were kids, and he had been the best man at my wedding. He owns his own consulting firm and specializes in computer viruses and virus protection, stuff that I know nothing about. He also keeps odd hours, which was why I had no doubt that he would be up and working when I called.
“I’ve got a lot of work right now,” Cal said, “but if it’s quick, I’ll do it.”
“It should be quick,” I said. “Can you look up a man named Peter Hinton? He’s a doctor who works at Lakewood Medical Clinic.”
“A doctor, huh.” I heard the click-click as he started typing. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
I gave him a quick lowdown of what Hinton had told me. “But I’m not sure I buy his story.”
“Why?”
“A gut feeling. Someone may be after him, but I don’t think Hinton told me everything.”
“And that’s why you’re checking him out, too.”
“Yep, but I didn’t find much with my Internet search.”
“I’m assuming you want the usual background check?”
“That’ll work for now.”
“Hold on.” Cal started humming and I pictured sailing with Willie on our honeymoon. Then he finally said, “I’m not finding a lot on this guy. He was born in 1961 on Long Island. No financial issues, although he doesn’t have a lot of money. You’d think that with being a doctor he would, but he’s got expensive tastes. Nice house near Chatfield State Park, an expensive BMW that he leases with a high payment, country club dues, lots of credit card debt.”
“Any arrests?”
“Not seeing anything.”
“He said he was divorced, and jokingly said his ex-wife might want him dead.”
“Yeah, I was getting to that. He paid a lot in alimony and child support, but not anymore.”
“How many kids?”
“A daughter. She went to Cornell. Good school.”
Cal was a Harvard man as well, and his tone was begrudging.
“And expensive,” I said.
“True.”
“What’s the ex-wife’s name?”
“Denise Hinton, and here’s her address.”
He was thinking ahead of me. “She’s on my list to talk to.” I jotted down the address.
“I figured that. Anything else?”
“Can you do the same for Marshall Vanderkamp? He’s the one Hinton thinks is after him.” I spelled the last name for him.
“Sure.” The keyboard clacked again. I took my soda and silently toasted Bogie while I waited.
“Okay,” he said after a minute. “Vanderkamp doesn’t have any red flags. Good financials, no arrests. He’s married, with four kids.”
“Does it look like he has too much money?”
“Oh, right, he’s supposedly scamming Medicare.” More typing. “Nothing in particular looks fishy, but he does have a nice amount of money in his savings. If he’s worried about the IRS, he’s probably being careful about hiding a lot of extra cash.”
“Can you look into his patients and Medicare billing?”
“Yeah, but it could take some time, and I need to wrap up what I’m doing for my client first.”
“Whenever you can is great. I’ve got some footwork to do anyway.”
“You going to talk to Vanderkamp?”
“Uh-huh. I want to get a feel for what he’s like. And if I can, I’m going to talk to others at the office. And I’m going to check out Hinton as well, talk to his ex-wife and see if she raises my suspicions.”
“Sounds like loads of fun,” he said sarcastically. Cal hardly interacted with others, and he didn’t seem to miss the human connection at all. He did everything that he could online, so he
wouldn’t have to leave his house.
“Oh, can you get Vanderkamp’s driver’s license photo and send it to me? I can’t find a picture of him online.”
“I’ll email it in a few minutes.” I exhaled loudly, and then said, “I still have a problem.”
“What?”
“How would I find out if Hinton called the authorities and reported Vanderkamp for Medicare fraud? No agency is going to tell me if Vanderkamp is being investigated.”
“Hmm, I don’t know.” Rare words from Cal, but I heard him typing again. “Looks like you can contact Medicare.gov. I’ll poke around their site and see if I can find any reporting documents on him, but I’ll need a little time.”
“Thanks, I owe you.”
“No problem. I’ll call you in a day or two. Tell Willie ‘hi’ for me.”
I ended the call, then did a search on Medicare fraud. It was interesting reading. It turns out Medicare fraud can be quite lucrative, and it wasn’t necessarily risky. Along with what Hinton had told me, I read that Russian and Chechen gangs in the States were now getting into Medicare fraud because it was easy to get Medicare numbers from the homeless, and it was easy for the scams to go undetected. Apparently some gang members sat outside shelters and signed up Medicare patients who were never actually seen by a doctor.
“Nice,” I said with a shake of my head.
I read a few more articles, and then turned off the computer and wandered into the living room. It was after eleven and Willie would be home soon. I popped Roadblock into the DVD player. It’s a noir crime thriller starring Charles McGraw as Joe Peters, an insurance investigator who falls for femme fatale Diane, a gold digger played by Joan Dixon. She makes it clear that she has expensive tastes, and so Peters sets out to get money, even if it’s by illegal means. It’s a B-classic, and one I hadn’t seen in a while. I sprawled on the couch and watched it until Willie came home.
Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5 Page 4