What did you give her?
The young man’s question to Dr. Wykell echoed in my mind as I left the property, as did his anger.
I was confused about what I had witnessed and had no better idea what the unique protocol of the Renacido Center consisted of than I had before I walked in the door. Given Zoe’s drug history, it was easy to imagine that she may have received treatment there, but why tuck the pamphlet on the top shelf of an upstairs closet if she’d simply been using the basement as a crash pad? And what was the explanation for the thousands of brochures boxed and left behind?
Sitting in my car, I stared out at the building, running through what I knew of addiction treatment protocols and the sad, tragic end to Zoe’s life. How many others who had walked through these doors had lost their battle?
I reached for my phone. “Where are you?” I said the moment Michael answered the call.
“Well, that’s a nice hello.”
“Sorry, I got a little overly enthusiastic. I have something I want to talk to you about. Can I stop by?”
“I’m working a scene up in Lakeview. Can it wait?”
“I’m not far away. Text me the address. I only need a minute or two.”
“Okay, see you in a few,” he said, but his normal enthusiasm was lacking.
Fifteen minutes later, I got out of my car to a scene that was now familiar—four cop cars and an ambulance, police tape surrounding the building, and clusters of onlookers speculating about what had happened. I walked over to one of the cops, a guy I recognized from my legal days, and asked if he would let Michael know I was here. As I waited, I watched the officers corralling the crowd and listened to the buzz from the bystanders around me. The commentary seemed to focus on one local gangbanger apparently taking out a rival who’d made moves on his girlfriend, and to hell with them both.
Moments later Michael came out of the bodega. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, which meant he was in the thick of it all. Karl Janek followed behind him. What was he doing here? They walked over to the perimeter where I stood and motioned to the attending cop that it was okay to let me pass. I ducked under the yellow tape and walked toward the men.
“Karl, I’m so sorry about your niece,” I said immediately. “The funeral is tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes, thanks, Andrea.” His voice was hollow and flat. He had that robotic demeanor I’d seen in crime victims when all they were capable of was rote execution of tasks. Shutting down prevented us from focusing on the unfaceable. “The service is tomorrow at 11:00 a.m.”
This was one of the few times that I ever recalled the two of us addressing each other by our first names. Janek had saved my life the night Eric’s business partner tried to toss me off my eleventh-floor terrace, having decided I was an obstacle to his corruption. We had a complicated relationship, given his dislike of journalists in general and his disapproval of Michael dating one, but we’d forged a respect for each other over the past year. I didn’t always understand him, but he was the kind of man I’d want at my back any day.
Janek wasn’t warm and fuzzy on a good day, but if there were any more tension in his face, his skin would crack. The man should have been home with his family, but who was I to advise him on his coping mechanisms? Then again, I knew nothing about his relationship with his sister, and he had been divorced for a number of years; perhaps work was simply better than being alone to face the pain.
The clang of metal pulled my attention toward the bodega. I leaned over to look around Janek’s shoulder as the medical team brought out the first gurney. We all watched in silence as the body bag was lifted into the ambulance.
“One fewer piece of shit in the world today,” Janek said. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” Janek’s voice bristled with disgust and hatred. It was hard to imagine that he was able to separate his personal life and his professional life on a day like this. The business of rounding up gang members, who often made their living off of selling dope or guns, had to be hitting close to home.
“And the other guy?” I asked.
“Off to a term of fifteen to twenty, if I have anything to say about it,” Janek added.
Michael looked at his partner, his faced etched with concern, before turning to me. “So what brings you over here?”
“Well, it’s about Zoe.” I couldn’t see Janek’s eyes through his dark aviators, but there was no mistaking the raised eyebrows.
“I found a pamphlet in the house,” I said. “It’s for a drug treatment center called the Renacido Center. Does that ring any bells?” I looked at Janek.
“She did a couple of stints in rehab, saw a shrink, made a half-assed attempt with some support groups—I don’t remember the names of any of them. I doubt she did either, since she was high most of the time. What about it?” He crossed his arms over his chest, already irritated with my interruption.
“Well, I found it odd that this pamphlet was in the house, but it was up on the second floor tucked away on the top shelf of a closet, and there are also thousands of them in the basement.”
“I’m not following you, Andrea. What were you doing back in the house?” Michael said, with a look that wasn’t tough to decipher. “What’s this about?”
“I’m not sure. This program, it’s unusual, I’ll put it that way. They claim to have an unconventional but highly successful program. I don’t know any of the details, but there was this vibe about it that’s a little off, and it has me wondering if Zoe might have participated.”
Between Janek’s irritation and Michael’s “what the hell” tone, I was feeling foolish for even bringing it up. At the rate Janek’s jaw was tightening, he’d be needing dental work by Monday morning, and Michael was giving me that “what can of worms are you opening now” look.
“What do you mean it has this vibe, because that sounds like you’ve done something,” Michael said.
“The brochure indicated that they have an open house every Thursday. So I went.”
Michael opened his mouth, probably to give me shit, but Janek jumped in before he could get the words out.
“As in, investigative journalist wants the behind-the-scenes dirt? Maybe watch an overdose up close and personal?” Janek’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Did you get all 60 Minutes on them?”
“It wasn’t that dramatic,” I said, immediately regretting my timing and feeling the full brunt of Janek’s displaced pain. “I didn’t go in microphones blazing. I sat in the back and listened. But there’s something that isn’t sitting right with me, and I was curious if you’ve ever heard of the facility, and if maybe Zoe had sought treatment there. That’s all.”
“Jesus Christ, Kellner!” Janek exploded. “I know it’s your damn job, but can’t you just let this dead kid rest in peace? She’s dead because she put a needle in her arm one too many times. That’s the story. You want to go after somebody, go after that creep who got her hooked. He’s the one to investigate. Where the hell did he get his supply? What are they cutting it with? The synthetic crap that’s coming out of China is laced with all kinds of things. Things we’ve never even heard of before. They’ve got labs that do nothing but fabricate a bigger, better, cheaper high. None of them give a shit whether anybody lives or dies. They just want poor slobs hooked so that the money river keeps flowing. She could have been shooting up with rat poison for all we know.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Concocting some stupid story about one of the few places that try to help only takes the pressure off the real problem.”
I listened to Janek rant, watching veins throb on his temples, and wishing I’d kept my damn mouth shut. Michael looked at me, shaking his head, and Janek stormed back toward the crime scene.
“Your timing is shit,” Michael said, when his partner was out of earshot.
“I’m sorry. When I called you, I never imagined Janek would be with you. Any sane grieving person would be home with his family. What the hell is he doing here?” I was mad at myself and looking for a way to blunt my insensitivity.
“Key word, sane. And right now, sane isn’t how I’d describe Janek. We all process grief differently. And for Janek, the only thing that’s going to heal his grief is nailing the goddamn dealer who gave her the smack.”
“Has the ME confirmed this was an overdose?”
“Sweetheart, time to find another story to chase. Leave the man alone.”