Nerves of Steel (37 page)

"I did kiss Hart."

Miller nodded, swallowing her flare of anger.  Drake always had to push the limits of everything.  Some days he was harder to deal with than her seventeen-year-old son.  Why couldn't he be more like his old man?

In some ways the son was the better detective, saw more, mind like a camera when it came to crime scenes and details, but he had a lot of growing up to do before he could begin to fill Drake Sr.'s shoes.

Drake sat slumped in the chair, eyes cast down, wringing his hands between his knees. God, he had it hard.   Miller recognized love stricken despair when she saw it.

"And," she prompted.

"After Weaver's post mortem, I took Hart to my place."  He looked up at her sound of disapproval.  "It was her idea, but I have to admit, I didn't need much convincing."  Miller could only imagine.  She remembered the energy sparking between Hart and Drake on the West End Bridge two nights ago.  

"Go on," she managed to keep her voice even.

"The next night we agreed to call it off, but--" his voice trailed off.  "One thing led to another.  She forgot her cell phone, so I went to her place to return it."

"That's why you were late to the task force meeting?" She raised an eyebrow.  Sleeping with a witness was bad enough, but allowing it to interfere with the running of her task force was intolerable.

"I wouldn't have been, except I found her with King."  He described the disturbance he witnessed, the broken glass, King's injuries.  "Yes, I went in with my gun drawn after hearing the commotion," he admitted, his face flushing as he disclosed his recklessness.  "But, I never touched him, never laid a hand on the man." 

"And when you saw him at the hospital?"

Drake got to his feet and stood at attention.  "He was threatening Hart.  I admit it, I was too involved, I should have never gone there in the first place."  He met her eyes with a level glance.  "I grabbed his shirt front.  I didn't shove him, but he was against the wall and I held him there for about a few seconds.  That was it.  Other than that, I never touched him."

"Just long enough for a witness to see it," Miller concluded ruefully.  "It still constitutes unlawful restraint and assault.  He could win this.  Any idea how Dr. King actually did receive his injuries?" 

"Hart, defending herself against him when he came to her house.  I tried to convince her to press charges but--"

"You realize this only gives Hart more motive to have given King the Double Cross, don't you?"

"She wouldn't, she didn't.   And I'm certain she had nothing to do with Trautman or the FX thefts."

He delivered the last with the earnestness of a school boy's recitation.  Miller turned her smile into a cough.  This was no laughing matter.  

"Will Hart collaborate your story that she's the one responsible for King's injuries?"

Drake remained silent, his fists clenched at his sides, the muscles at his jaw twitching.  Worse than a schoolboy in crush--he wanted to be Hart's knight in shining armor.

"We're talking about your career here, Detective.  A once promising one, I may add.  Do you really want ten years of hard work and service to this community to go down in flames?"

He remained silent.  Damn the man.  He was as proud as his father.  Her mind flashed on the image of Drake Sr., his cheeks flushed, lips turning blue as he gasped for breath, hands clutched to his chest.  His last words a faint whisper, begging her to watch over his son.

She had not been able to save the father.  Could she possibly salvage the son's career?  What an ungodly mess. 

"Am I suspended?" Drake asked, his tone formal.

Miller considered.  "Not until I say so.  King gave us a little time, let's use it wisely, Detective."

"Yes ma'am."

"And for God's sake, stay away from Hart."

CHAPTER 60

Andy Greally looked up from wiping the bar and scowled at Cassie. 

"You've got nerve coming in here right now."  He flung the stained bar rag onto the counter in front of her.

"Don't tell me, you think I'm a murderer too."  She took a seat, ignoring the barkeep's surly mood.  After what Kwon had said last night, she knew better than to call Drake at work.  She'd hoped she'd find him here.  "I told Kwon, I told Drake, and I'll tell you: I didn't try to kill my ex-husband, didn't kill T-man, and I didn't have anything to do with the FX thefts.  I'm tired of being treated like a criminal.  Where's Drake?"

"I don't care nothing 'bout the FX."  Andy leaned his bulk against the bar, glared down at her.  "DJ's has enough problems without you playing the King family against him.  I think he's well shut of you."

She looked up at that.  "This is about the tape?  I tried my best to get it back from Richard."

"Who cares about some stupid kiss caught on a tape?  I'm talking about King's brother bringing charges against DJ for assault and battery.  Is that what you like?  To get men so hot and bothered that they'll fight over you?  You're worse than that Pamela--"  He faltered when he saw her smile.  "What's so funny?  It'll cost DJ his badge--"

"Andy." Cassie held up her hand in truce.  "Drake didn't hit Richard."

"Like hell he didn't.  Jimmy saw the pictures.  King had a beaut of a shiner, and his nose was swelled out to--"

"I hit him," she interrupted.  "Several times in fact.  It's my fault, Alan warned me, but I didn't take him seriously.  He's using Drake to get to me, he thinks I poisoned Richard."

Andy straightened, moving the bar rag a bare inch back from her.  "You hit King?"

"Long story, things got out of hand."

The ex-cop nodded, swiped at the counter in front of her and threw the rag under the bar.  "Well, then, guess I owe you a drink," he conceded graciously.  "Or at least some lunch.  What'll it be?"

"Nothing, really.  I just need to talk to Drake.  You don't know where he is?"

Andy ignored her protests and ladled up a large bowl of beef stew for her.  "Eat this," he ordered, crossing his arms and watching her in silence until she obeyed.  "I don't know where DJ is and, after the lashing Miller gave him this morning, I'd stay clear of him for a while."

The stew was delicious.  She hadn't realized how hungry she was until suddenly she was staring at the bottom of the bowl.  "I'll go talk to Miller myself," she promised.  "Although I'm not certain how much good it will do.  Especially if she also thinks I poisoned Richard."

"Now, doc, you've to admit you sure look good for that one.  Trautman, too."  

"Does Drake really think I could do that?"  The question had been burning inside her.  Cassie hated to voice it, dreaded the answer.

Andy shook his head.  "Of course not.  Can't you see the kid's fallen, hard?  I just don't want to see him messed up again."

"Like after Pamela?"

"He told you about her?"

She took a sip of the coffee he poured for her.   "I can't figure him out," she confided to the barkeep.

"Maybe DJ's not as complicated as you'd like to think.  Maybe he's just human like the rest of us, makes mistakes like the rest of us, even blames himself when something isn't his fault, punishes himself for what he couldn't stop."  Andy stared at her as if weighing Cassie's worth.

"The gun was his, he had been dating the woman, why didn't he see it coming?"  There, the questions she wanted to ask were finally out in the open.

"I wouldn't say dating her, exactly.  It was no long-term commitment.  Pamela was a cop groupie, she'd gone out with a lot of the guys, always showed up at cop bars, softball games, parties, you name it.  One night she'd had too much to drink.  DJ took her home because Spanos and a guy from Zone Two were even more drunk and were going to take advantage of her.  It caused a bit of a confrontation with Spanos, who ended up flat on his butt, I might add.

"Anyway, after that Pamela began to call DJ, stop by the House, have the dispatcher page him.  I think he enjoyed playing the knight in shining armor, protecting her.  Until he realized she didn't really want him, that she was obsessed only with the idea that he was a cop.  So he broke it off.  But then, a few weeks later--"

"She killed herself," Cassie finished softly.

Andy twisted the bar rag between his hands.  "If she wanted to punish him, to humiliate him, she couldn't have planned it better.  DJ doesn't think that's why she did it, he really believes that she did it out of desperation--some warped cry for help."

"You don't believe that."

"No, I don't.  I saw her in here many a night, showing more flesh than any Liberty Avenue whore, hanging all over the guys, stroking their egos.  I tried to warn DJ, but he wouldn't listen to me.  I'll tell you, I think that dame belonged in Western Psych, and nobody's gonna convince me different."

She finished her coffee, feeling much better after hearing Andy's story and eating his stew.  "Thanks, what do I owe you?"

"Nothing.  Don't suppose you could get King to drop the charges against DJ?"

"I'll do my best," she promised, dreading having to face Alan again, but there was no other way.  She offered her hand.  He took it and shook it with a firm grip.

"You take care now, Cassie," he called out as she left. 

Things were getting out of control.  Like a tornado building--with Hart in the middle.  Ignoring Miller's orders, Drake headed out, determined to track her down.  He'd stay by her side until they found the real killer.  And she'd accept his protection even if Drake had to handcuff her to his bed.

The image that thought brought made him grin.

He tried her home first, but she wasn't there, so he headed to Three Rivers.  She wasn't at Jane Doe's bedside.  He wandered down to the ER and was surprised to meet Janet Kwon coming in from the parking lot, dusting snow off her parka.

"Have you seen Hart?" he asked.

"I just hung up from talking to her.  She's at home."  She hesitated for a moment, then looked up.  "She actually called me, wanted to talk about the case."

"I must have missed her.  Why did Hart call you?"

"She didn't want to get you into trouble--knew better than to contact you."  Her tone made it clear she thought Hart was doing a better job of watching Drake's back than Drake himself was.  "Hart told me she had suspicions about Krakov, the head of the pharmacy. Then the lab guys called.  It wasn't Double Cross that poisoned Richard King, but a mix of pharmaceutical quality drugs that caused similar symptoms.  I thought it'd be best to start from the beginning, re-think everything."

He matched her stride as they headed down to the Annex.  A chance to close this once and for all, today?  No way he could pass that up.  They entered the pharmacy.  Krakov's office door was ajar, and the sound of his voice was clearly audible.

"You don't work for Dr. Hart, you work for me!  I don't care what it is you think you found, this is garbage.  I swear, I'm going to dock your wages for the time you spent on this nonsense--"

"What nonsense would that be?" Drake asked, pushing his way into the office.  Krakov was livid, standing over a scared looking kid in his middle twenties.

Krakov turned his ire on the detectives.  "This," he dropped a thick computer printout onto his desk.  "A mass of meaningless statistics that won't do anyone any good.  And which wasted my personnel's time and energy."

"It wasn't a waste of time," the kid said.  "Dr. Hart was right, there is something going on."

"What did Dr. Hart ask you to do?"  Drake asked.

"She wanted a list of our most expensive drugs cross referenced with expired patients and what drugs they were on."

"Told him it'd help find the killer," Krakov put in.  "Isn't that your people's job?  Now, I suppose Hart will make a stink if I don't get it to her.  Doctors, everything is an emergency to them, think their time's more valuable than everyone else's."  He turned to leave, but Drake restrained him.

"Mr. Krakov, I'm sure you want to assist us in anyway possible."  He escorted the pharmacist to the desk chair.  "After all, it was one of your people who was killed."

"You know, I have a doctorate in pharmacology.  Do you think anyone bothers to call me Dr. Krakov?" the pharmacist sputtered, then took a seat. 

Drake cut his eyes to Kwon.  She took her cue and slid into the chair beside Krakov's, effectively blocking his escape route. 

"Dr. Krakov, couldn't you give us a few minutes of your time," she purred.  Drake raised a hand to cover his smile.  "You could explain these printouts to us so much faster--"  She laid a hand on his forearm, and the pharmacist melted beneath her touch.

"Well," Krakov cleared his throat.  "All right."

"So what are these?"  Drake raised the top sheet of the printout and dangled the list of mysterious drug names in front of the pharmacist.  He motioned to the kid to join them.

"Those are the top twenty drugs rated for expense.  Most of them are chemo and immune therapy agents, a few antimicrobials," the kid put in before Krakov could reply.

"So this top one, somaquin, how much does that cost?"

Krakov pursed his lips.  "For a seventy kilo man, about twenty five hundred a dose.  It's given four times a day."

Kwon and Drake exchanged glances.  "That's more expensive than gold," she said.

The pharmacist nodded.  "Yes, ounce for ounce, it is."

Drake thought about it.  "If there was a way for someone to steal these drugs, the profit would be much greater than dealing in FX.  And the safety margin much larger."

"I don't know," Kwon argued.  "There's no black market for drugs like this." 

"And the people who died?"  Drake called Krakov's attention to the rest of the printout.  "How many were there?"

"Last month we had thirty-one deaths here in the hospital."

Not bad for a place with ninety thousand ER visits a year and over five hundred patients at any one time.  "So that's about usual?"

"Actually not," the kid said, almost bouncing in his eagerness.  "I think that's what Dr. Hart was looking for.  I compared it to the same month last year and there were only twenty-two deaths.  Then I compared the numbers for the past four years.   For some reason we've had a marked increase in our mortality rates since March of last year."