by Peter Kozmar
***
The pharmacy was quiet, and there were more staff than customers. Andy walked to the counter and waited patiently for a member of staff to finish serving. The staff member greeted Andy with a welcoming smile. “Good morning, how can I help you today?” she asked, the name badge simply read, Alice.
“I’m investigating an issue with the police. What can you tell me about these medications which were issued here?” Andy said as he removed the boxes from his pocket and handed them to Alice. She carefully studied each of the boxes and scrutinized their labels. A frown spread across her face and she looked up.
“Hey, Janet, have a look at this?” Alice called out to one of her colleagues. Janet appeared from the rear dispensing room dressed in the familiar white-coat. Alice handed the boxes to Janet who put on her reading glasses and studied the boxes.
“Have you seen anything like that before?” Alice asked.
“No,” Janet replied as she handed the boxes back. Alice opened each box in turn and took out the blister packs, most of which were unopened, her expression became more puzzled. “Hmm …”
“What can you tell me?” Andy asked.
“Where did you get these?”
“Someone’s gone missing and we found these in their home,” Andy replied.
“Well, what I can tell you is, we didn’t dispense them,” Alice informed him, “our labels are different, look.” She turned one of the boxes towards Andy so he could see the label, before picking up another box, that was waiting to be dispensed, and placing it next to the first box. With the two boxes side by side, it was obvious the color, print, layout and font were different.
“These medications were prescribed three months ago by Dr. Matthews,” Alice said, ‘so I can tell you it wasn’t him.’
“How can you be so certain?” Andy asked.
“He died over six months ago. I will admit, the medical practice has been slow, they haven’t updated their website to remove his name from their list of doctors. They’ve been too busy.”
Andy raised his eyebrows. “Okay, thanks,” he said calmly, working hard to hide any hint of the relief he felt. More evidence of a set-up. His momentary relief was replaced by concern, he needed to find Mark and keep him safe while he figured out what was going on. With no clues from the apartment he was at a loss as to what to do next.
“Oh, and one more thing you need to know,” Alice’s voice cut through his thoughts, bringing his focus back to her, “the packs have a strength which you can’t get in New Zealand. Our medications are controlled by a central purchasing agency and they dictate the strength of our prescription medications. The strength of this one,” Alice waved one of the packets at Andy, “isn’t available in New Zealand, but you can get it in Asia, Europe and, I think, the US.”
“Let me get this straight, the doctor who wrote this prescription three months ago, according to the label, has been dead for over six months and, even if he was alive, he wouldn’t have been able to prescribe this dose, as it’s not available in New Zealand?” Andy asked, trying to keep up the façade of an investigator instead of an emotionally-charged father.
“Yes, that’s right. This box,” she said waving one of the prescription boxes in the air, “is definitely a fake, the contents match what’s on the label, but we wouldn’t have been able to dispense them. In any case the labelling is not the same as ours, a close copy, but not ours. We’re required by law to notify the police of any fake prescriptions, so I need to log these and ring the hotline for collection.” Alice went to pick up the boxes.
“Look Alice, I’m sorry, but I need to keep them with me, I’m working with the police on this case and, if you don’t allow me to leave with the evidence, I’ll have to raise this as an obstruction of justice,” Andy bluffed, “I don’t want to make any trouble for you, but you’re limiting my options.” For dramatic effect, Andy reached for his cell phone.
“Okay, but I need to log them and take your details, then we’re covered,” Alice said while reaching under the counter to retrieve the log book which she placed on top of the counter.
“Thanks, Alice, you’ve been incredibly helpful,” Andy replied.
Once he’d given Alice his details including his US driver’s license, which she photocopied, Andy pocketed the boxes and headed for the door. Outside he removed his cell phone and hailed an Uber.
CHAPTER 8
Fifteen minutes later he was knocking on the front door of Fiona’s home. Andy decided on calling on the Armstrong home first as Fiona had been the longest serving officer at the intelligence station. He hadn’t called ahead so wasn’t sure if her husband, Jake, would be in. After knocking loudly for well over a minute, a man in his late twenties wearing pajamas opened the door. It looked like he’d not shaved or, from his smell, taken a shower in at least five days. His eyes were red and bloodshot.
“Jake? Jake Armstrong? I’m Andy Flint,” Jake didn’t look interested, "I’ve been asked by the UN and the New Zealand Police to investigate what happened to Fiona and the rest of the team at Plimmer Towers. Could I come in and talk?” Andy could see the wheels slowly turning in Jake’s head. It looked like it could go either way.
“Come in,” he said, his voice surprisingly quiet. Jake wiped his nose with the right sleeve of his pajama top and held the door wider for Andy to enter.
“I’m sorry for your tragic loss,” he said as he entered, before shaking Jake’s right hand, gripping Jake’s shoulder with his left and giving it a firm squeeze. He could see Jake was just about holding it together.
“Go through into the kitchen,” Jake instructed, “we can talk in there if you like.”
Andy broke contact and walked down the corridor in the direction Jake had just indicated. At the end of the hallway he walked into a modern, well-equipped kitchen, but the pile of dirty plates, mugs and an overflowing garbage bin gave Andy a feeling of dejá-vu from his earlier experience at Mark’s place. A large pile of dirty laundry, heaped on a bar stool, hadn’t made it to the washing machine.
“Just throw it on the floor, I’ll deal with it later,” Jake said, as he saw Andy hesitate looking round for somewhere to sit. Andy did as he was instructed, grabbing the clothes with both arms he turned and dropped them on the floor in front of the machine. Jake took a seat opposite. Unopened post, junk-mail and a few editions of the local newspaper, still wrapped in the delivery plastic, covered the narrow table between them.
“Has anybody from the UN been in contact with you?” Andy asked.
“No, you’re the first. The only other people I’ve seen were the two police officers who broke the news to me. A day later they came back and took me to the morgue to make a formal identification,” Jake started to cry, he used his pajama sleeve to wipe the tears running down his cheeks, “you’re the first person from the office, but Fi never mentioned you.”
Andy felt for him. This guy needed help. “Jake, I’m not with the office. I’ve been brought in to look into what happened,” he said.
“You said you were with the UN?” Jake’s tone had changed, questioning, almost bordering on hostile.
“No. I’m not with the UN. I’m involved because my son, Mark Flint, worked at the office with Fiona and he’s missing.”
“Now I’ve got it, I thought the name, Flint, meant something, I just couldn’t figure it out,” Jake said brightening up slightly, the hostility evaporated as if they shared a common grief.
“Are you okay to talk?”
Jake slowly nodded, “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in days.”
“What can you tell me about Fiona’s work with the UN?”
“Fi had been a career Intelligence Officer. She’d served with British Intelligence for a few years before being shoulder tapped about a position at the UN working for the office of The Secretary General. It was supposed to be all very hush, hush. With a glowing reference from Her Majesty’s Government, she got the job. We spent two years in New York and then we came here five years ago.
Fi immediately fell in love with New Zealand and refused to be re-posted. We thought this a perfect place to start a family and later this year we were going to start trying,” Jake started to well up again.
“What about you?”
“I’m a primary school teacher. There’s a big shortage of teachers here, especially men. Teacher’s pay isn’t great, but, Fi earned more than enough for the both of us and her package included Business Class flights back to the UK twice a year, to see family and friends. We’re going back in two months …” Jake’s voice faded as he suddenly realized that it wasn’t going to happen. “I can’t believe she’s gone. It still doesn’t feel real …” Jake fell into silence as the tears streaked down his cheeks.
“Jake, you’re doing well, take your time, just breathe deeply,” Andy paused for a long moment before continuing, “Did Fiona say she had worries about anything at work?”
Jake wiped his cheeks with the palms of his hands, lost in his thoughts. He looked up at Andy, his face lit up, “Actually something had come across her desk. It was unusual for her to talk about work at home, but this time she wanted to talk about it over dinner a few weeks ago.”
“Go on,” Andy encouraged.
“She said it bothered her enough to flag it with the British High Commission and ask for it to be forwarded to the Foreign Office in London.”
“What happened?”
“Well, the Foreign Office passed it back to their MI6 man at the Commission and he contacted her.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“No, Fi may have mentioned a name, but I can’t remember it.” Andy frowned, he needed the name. Jake sniffed and fidgeted with the cuff on his left sleeve, then he added, “There’s only one man from MI6 at the Commission. She said he was bloody useless, she and Tom were pretty pissed.”
“Tom?” Andy queried.
“Tom Evans. He’s the office ‘mister fix-it’. He’s a former British Royal Marine Commando. I think he served in the Special Boat Squadron. A great guy. Has a sharp sense of humor. A bit of a fitness and outdoor nut. I think he used to go into the mountains with your son. The office used him to do a bit of breaking and entering, planting listening devices, accessing sensitive material, following people, that sort of thing. Tom was working with Fi on this one.”
“That’s great background. Why were you interested in knowing whether I’m with the UN?”
“Whatever Fi found, it could have been about the UN. For some reason Fi didn’t report what she’d found via the UN chain of command.”
“Did Fiona have a habit of breaking rules?”
“No, she was a straight down the middle type of person. She believed rules and processes were in place for a reason. Being involved with intelligence and accessing classified material meant rules had to be followed, otherwise operations, sources or field officers could be compromised.”
“Is there a problem with the UN?” Andy asked.
“At the morgue, the police mentioned they’d sent a team from the Singapore office. I think they are part of the clean-up crew. I just wanted to know if you were part of their team.”
“I’ve met Marcel Durand. He’s already got it all figured out. He won’t let the facts get in the way of completing his report.”
“That sounds about right for the UN.”
“Could I have a look around? Maybe Fiona left something which might help.”
“Sure. Just don’t touch anything of hers in our bedroom. It’s still got her scent and I just need to feel her presence,” the tears welled up again.
“Jake, thank you. I’ll only look and if I do need to handle anything it’ll only be paperwork, that kind of thing. I’ll not disturb her personal items.”
“When Fi worked from home, she used the study at the back of the house. It’s more of a reading room. There was no computer access from outside the office which limited what she could do from home.”
Andy stood and headed towards the back of the house. He peered into the first room, the master bedroom. The curtains were still drawn. The bed unmade. Jake’s clothes lay crumpled on a single chair in the corner of the room. Nothing unusual jumped out to him … a man in grief at the loss of his dreams slept in here, his wife’s belongings untouched as if he was waiting for her to return and end the nightmare he was living.
Andy moved to the study. Andy slowly looked around the room. A large desk, facing the window dominated the room. Perched on top was a laptop with a 43-inch flat screen and a printer with a few reams of paper neatly arranged next to it. On the wall, to the right of the desk, a framed picture of the London Eye. Below the picture, a bookcase, heavily represented with action adventure thrillers, detective stories and murder mysteries. There were no biographies, travel or practical publications.
Andy turned his attention back to the desk. He took his cell phone out and switched it to camera. He needed to record what was in each of the desk drawers, starting from the top, so he could remember what they contained before he removed anything. The first drawer revealed a horde of stationary neatly arranged in a plastic tray. Pencils in one compartment, black, red and blue pens in their own compartments, a stapler, staples and staple remover in another. Finally, a set of scissors and a small roll of sticky-tape. The second drawer held a well-thumbed Oxford English dictionary. Andy removed it, held it so the pages were pointed down and flicked through the pages to dislodge any loose pieces of paper. Nothing. He placed it back and opened the third, and final drawer.
This looked a little more interesting. On top he saw, ‘The Dummy’s Guide to Minimizing Your Tax’, below this, another curious publication with the title, ‘Off-shore Trusts and How You can Easily Create Your Own’. Fiona didn’t strike him as someone with access to large sums of cash which needed to be hidden from the authorities. Could he have misread her? The house was nice, but not located in one of the more exclusive neighborhoods. Jake’s car was old, probably second hand and functional.
Andy picked up the publication and flicked through it, a small piece of paper fell out onto the floor. He picked it up and read the three words written in blue pen. ‘Tom’, ‘O’ and ‘Trust?’ It could it have been a question on whether she could trust Tom O. He put the paper in his pocket and replaced the book in the drawer.
Andy looked at his watch, he’d agreed to meet Carter at the hotel at eleven so needed to get back to the city center. He used his cell phone to catch another ride from an Uber driver. It told him he had two minutes before it would arrive. Andy left the study and found Jake sat in the kitchen where he’d left him. “Jake, thanks for speaking with me and allowing me to look around. I’ve got to leave now. If I find anything out, I’ll let you know. Can I have your number?”
Jake reached for a pen and tore off a small strip of paper from the side of one of the unread free sheets and scribbled his cell phone number. He handed the paper to Andy. “How can I reach you?” he asked, seemingly more out of desperation to connect with someone than to share information.
Andy followed Jake’s example, as he tore a strip of paper and wrote his cell phone number and email address. “Use either of these, I have my cell phone with me most of the time, but you can leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” He shook hands with Jake and headed outside, leaving Jake sat staring at the kitchen table lost in his grief once again.
CHAPTER 9
Carter was waiting patiently near the reception desk as Andy strode into the hotel at five-past-eleven.
“Hi, sorry I’m a bit late, good to see you,” he said as he shook her hand.
“Have you been exploring the city?”
“Something like that. How about we go find a coffee and compare notes?”
Carter nodded and the two of them headed out of the hotel. The sun was warm and, unusually for Wellington, there was no wind. Carter led Andy to a small, non-descript table on the sidewalk outside an equally unremarkable café.
“They serve great coffee here,” she said, taking a seat.
<
br /> “I thought they served great coffee everywhere in Wellington,” Andy said with a smile, “Isn’t that what it’s famous for, the coffee culture?”
“It is. I’d love to show you around. You can’t beat Wellington on a day like this.” The waiter arrived, took their orders and disappeared inside. “So, where have you been?” Carter asked.
“I went to Mark’s rental and had a look around. Then I went to Fiona Armstrong’s home, where I met Jake, her husband. He allowed me to look around the house,” he replied
“What did you find?” Carter asked.
“Hey, before I trade, what have you got for me?” Andy responded, nodding towards Carter’s large leather case by the side of her seat bulging with its contents.
“I’ve got Mark’s credit card records and his cell phone meta data for the last 12 months. Do we have a trade?” she said, with a smile that said she knew she was good at her job.
“Okay,” he said, “Mark’s place was nothing special. I found sports gear and outdoor equipment.” Andy paused for a moment while he thought of what to say next. “I also found a quantity of white powder next to a credit card with Mark’s name on it. At a guess, it was probably cocaine and it was set-up to look like Mark used the card to cut it and snort a line. There were three boxes of powerful anti-depressant medications which had been prescribed by a local doctor.” He stopped to allow the information to sink in.
“That ties in with Marcel’s concerns over Mark being highly stressed and on drugs,” Carter said, “I’m sorry, it must have been hard to see for yourself that Mark wasn’t coping.”
“It would have been, except it all seemed a bit convenient,” he said, watching Carter’s reaction before continuing, “I don’t take things at face value, so I took the medications to the pharmacy which had supposedly dispensed them to check it out. My instincts were right, the prescribing doctor has been dead for over six months and the labels on the boxes were fake, or at least different, from the ones the pharmacy uses. They told me that, while the medications inside the boxes were probably real, they couldn’t have been dispensed in New Zealand, because the strengths weren’t licensed for New Zealand.”