I saw Michael immediately.
Between work, my jaunt to the club to speak to Levi, and the late hour last night, we hadn’t yet spoken about my ibogaine theory, and as far as I was concerned, it couldn’t wait another minute so I’d invited myself to the party, otherwise known as breakfast.
Michael was parked on a bench in the back of the coffee shop, a cup lifted to his mouth while Janek sat across from him in the booth. Unless something earth-shattering had happened or the chief was calling for an all-hands-on-deck early morning meeting, this very booth was where the men could be found from 7:00 to 7:45 a.m. Their regular waitress set up a reserved sign, least some unknowing fool had the audacity to try to home in on the seat.
“Good morning gentlemen. What’s on the greasy spoon menu today?”
I looked down at their plates, feeling my stomach curl with the heaping servings of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy. All likely cooked with enough lard to bring a cardiologist to his knees. Just the thought of the heavy foods was more than my system could handle. I asked the waitress for a glass of water and passed on the heartburn.
“I’m tempted to lecture you on the dangers of an unhealthy diet,” I said, “but we’ve been down this path before. I will let you clog your arteries in peace.”
“Sweetheart, you’re making a good choice.” Michael slid closer to the window to let me sit down, a smile on his face.
Public displays of affection were still an iffy subject, even when no one else from CPD was in sight, so I settled for a squeeze of his hand under the table.
“Good morning Karl. How are you? How’s your sister?”
“I’m fine,” he said, his tone telling me he wasn’t even in the same universe as fine. “Theresa, she’s balled up on the floor or balled up in bed. Can’t seem to find a way to stop the tears. It’s so senseless. She’s hurt, angry. All I want to do is take down that little fuck that did this to her.”
He stabbed a piece of egg dripping with runny yolk, along with a shovel of hash browns, and chewed like it was a spoonful of gravel. He wore his pain like a shield, but underneath it all, I had seen firsthand his warm heart. I looked at Michael, who drew in a breath and stared at his coffee mug.
“I think you need to ask for a deeper dive on the toxicology tests,” I said to the men, my eyes shifting from Michael to Janek.
“What are you talking about?” Michael asked.
“I’ve been talking to a few people. People who’ve had encounters with the center. And I think we’ve got to take a harder look at them. We have to look at their medication-assisted treatment protocols. At lot of these drugs don’t show up on the top screen unless you’re looking for them.”
The men looked at each other and then at me. “We?” Janek said, rolling his eyes. “Can you just get to the point? You’re always coming at us with these conspiracy theories and my breakfast is getting cold.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you from your grits,” I said, a bit more harshly than I should have. I had the urge to remind him of how often my so-called conspiracy theories had panned out, but today wasn’t the day. “Let’s just review, in addition to Zoe, we also have Paul Macanas. Both were connected to the center. And there was a third.”
Finally, I had the men’s attention.
“Okay, I’m listening,” Michael said. He looked at me with his cop eyes—probing, intense, waiting for a flaw or inconsistency—while Janek contemplated his java.
“The third death was a year ago. A young man named Owen Mosier, Jr., also a patient at the center. He died about three weeks into his treatment at Renacido. I spoke to his parents yesterday. According to them, they’d spoken to their son a few days before his death and described him as slurring his words. He also seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. Their religious beliefs disagreed with an autopsy, but given the man’s young age, the medical examiner performed one anyway and determined that the young man died because of a heart defect. He speculated that, similar to Zoe’s condition, the drug use amplified a heart issue.”
“And?” Janek chimed in getting impatient.
“That’s three dead patients in just over a year. Young people who other than their drug use, seemed to be in reasonable health. At the time of Zoe’s death, she had no heroin in her system, correct?”
Janek nodded.
“So how does that translate into a toxicology concern?” Michael asked.
“Owen Mosier’s parents believe that their son was receiving experimental treatments. They claim Owen chose this specific center because of those experimental treatments, against the family’s wishes, by the way, although they didn’t know what that treatment entailed. They believe it may have been some kind of drug cocktail. He referenced an IV protocol but because his speech was impaired, it wasn’t terribly clear to them what he was saying or what he was taking. When they attempted to get his medical records from the center, they were met with nothing but obstacles, strong legal obstacles, from the treatment center.”
“Okay, that’s odd,” Michael said. “If the center is not cooperating after the death of a patient, one has to ask what they have to hide.”
“Exactly,” I said, watching Janek. “The center contends that this young man was an adult and therefore the parents really had no right to see those records without authorization, which had not been provided before his death. Seeing nothing on the surface, the medical examiner ran the standard box panel, nothing more.”
“Did the family get lawyers involved?” Michael asked.
“They started. They hired counsel and began a wrongful death lawsuit.”
“And what happened with that?” Janek asked. “As if we don’t already know.”
“Not much. You’re right Karl, without more to go on, it wouldn’t seem to be much of a case. However, I spoke to the attorney who represented the Mosiers. A subpoena had been issued for the medical records and a deposition with Dr. Wykell was scheduled, but Wykell walked out of the questioning almost as soon as he arrived.”
“And the medical records?” Michael asked.
“Before the records were produced, the family was paid a visit by the center’s attorney. Completely out of line, of course. The guy is not going to win any awards for ethics, but he played a bet and essentially threatened to destroy them, and their son’s reputation, if they continued with the lawsuit.”
The men were looking at each other, their partner telepathy at work.
“The Mosiers are people of modest means and didn’t know quite what they were up against, but they knew enough to be scared and they backed down. Paying for their son’s previous attempts at rehab had drained them financially and they just didn’t have the resources to carry on with the case. Not when they were up against legal slime like that.”
Michael nodded. “Okay, we’ve got some similarities here. What are you thinking on the tox results?”
“I spoke to a forensic psychologist and I asked him about experimental treatments. He gave me some drug protocols that, although not approved for use in this country, are being used in Mexico and other places where the legal requirements are less restrictive. He said individuals fly down, spend chunks of time in these offshore treatment centers. Sometimes making multiple trips. I think it’s worth looking into.”
“And you think that these kids all finagled a trip to Mexico or someplace?” Janek asked.
“Probably not. I’m thinking that the center has a connection and may be illegally importing drugs that aren’t approved here. Whether that’s individual drugs or some kind of drug cocktail. One particular drug that’s come up is called ibogaine.” I paused, looking at Janek. “It’s side effects correlate with heart-related symptoms, specifically bradycardia, a slowing of the heart. I think that’s the first place the ME should go. Apparently, LSD is also being used off-label, but a regular screen would pick that up if they were expecting to see opioids. I assume the report hasn’t come back on Paul yet?”
Michael shook his head, then added, “We can also shake down some of the center’s employees, hopefully get them on the record with off-label product claims.”
I opened my mouth intending to tell the men about my financial suspicions, but thought better of it. I was already pushing my luck on additional toxicology, but it wasn’t something I could accomplish on my own—I needed their help. The financial piece I could manage.
“That might be difficult,” I said instead, my mind on Darna, aware that I needed to take another pass at her, this time with reinforcements. “They’re secretive. Employees sign NDAs that specifically spell out the treatment protocol as off-limits.”
Janek grunted. Cops hated dealing with NDAs because it also meant they had to deal with lawyers.
“That’s why it makes sense to have another go at toxicology,” I said. “Find out if some of these substances might have been in Zoe’s system or in Paul’s. It’s probably been too long to test Owen without having the body exhumed, unless the lab still has samples.” I looked at Janek. “I know this is a big ask, but I think this will play out faster if Theresa asked the ME for the additional tox screen. Would she do that?”
“I’m not sure. But I think I can convince her. Thanks, Andrea,” Janek said, looking a little less tight now that he had a task.
“Okay, I’m gonna run.” I turned to Michael. “Give me a call later.” I leaned over and gave him a kiss, smiling. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” I winked and left the coffee shop.