Chapter Fifteen

 

On Tuesday morning, Sterling Ford customers were clustered around the service area. The dealership, located just off the Interstate 5 at the outskirts of Ashland, was garnished with red balloons and strips of multicolored streamers as if they were hosting a child’s birthday party.

Radhauser parked, then took a minute to call the hospital to check on Gracie—asleep and doing well according to the nurse. Next, he placed a quick call to Lizzie’s grandmother. He sighed. Both his girls were fine.

Sterling Ford’s showroom floor was so shiny Radhauser could see his reflection. He straightened his cowboy hat and browsed the new cars on display for a moment.

A cherry red Explorer. A bronze Crown Victoria four years newer than his police-issued one. A bright blue Mustang. He studied the lines of the car, wished Ford had kept the original crisp lines of the 60’s Mustangs. It was his favorite car in high school and he at one time hoped to restore a classic one with Lucas.

Now, it appeared life was giving him another chance and perhaps he and Jonathan would someday make that dream come true.

Radhauser read the sticker on the Mustang’s window. A starting price of a mere $16,470. The little bungalow he and Laura bought in Tucson, just before Lucas was born, had cost only a thousand dollars more. He sucked in a breath. The whole showroom was filled with that wonderful new car smell—leather, clean rubber and Simoniz car wax.

“In the market for a new car, Detective?” Reggie looked like a New York bank executive, dressed in a charcoal gray three-piece suit and a starched yellow dress shirt with a gray and yellow striped tie. His red hair was neatly parted on the side and looked as if it had been blown dry by a stylist. He wore a pair of loafers that competed with the floor for best shine. Reggie was what Radhauser’s father would have called a prissy pants.

“No,” Radhauser said. “I’m looking for you. I have a few questions I need to ask about Skyler’s death.”

“Why do you have questions for me? I wasn’t anywhere near that house when Bryce killed my son.”

His son? Now that Skyler was dead, it seemed Reggie took every opportunity to claim him.

Lie number one.

“Is there somewhere more private we can talk?”

Reggie led Radhauser into his office. With its thick red carpeting and mahogany desk and credenza, it was as posh as a New York law firm. Reggie sat, like a big shot, behind his desk in a leather chair as high as the one in Judge Shapiro’s courtroom.

Radhauser took one of the white leather chairs in front of the desk. An amazing collection of antique pewter Ford cars, from the Model T to the classic Mustang, lined the bookshelves above the credenza. He took off his hat and set it on the table between the two chairs, then shifted his attention to Reggie.

He fidgeted with his hands. The tips of his fingers and nails were stained yellow. Nicotine. Reggie was a smoker, and a heavy one from the looks of his hands. There was a no smoking sign on his desk.

“I’m dying for a cigarette,” Radhauser said.

“Me, too. My old man won’t let anyone smoke inside. Do you want to go outside to the smoking area?”

“No,” Radhauser said. “I actually quit more than ten years ago. I just have a few questions. It won’t take long.”

Reggie Sterling had an open face with a light scattering of freckles the same red color as his hair. There was no way he could doubt that Scott was his son. He looked just like his father. Reggie’s smile was eager and slightly forced, like an amateur actor performing the theater role of someone open-hearted and innocent who only wanted to be helpful.

“Would you care for a cup of coffee?” He nodded toward an expensive-looking coffee maker on top of a mahogany file cabinet.

“No, thank you,” Radhauser said. “I just had one with Dana.”

Reggie squirmed in his leather desk chair, but said nothing.

“Did you kill Skyler?”

“Are you kidding me? What the fuck are you talking about? That asshole Bryce killed my son. At the very least he wasn’t paying attention. Kids are unpredictable. They can get in a lot of trouble if you ignore them. Scotty was just being a little boy. He didn’t mean to push Skyler down those stairs. And Bryce should have fixed the latch on that storm door. Everybody knows you have to be careful with a toddler.”

“The medical examiner has a different theory. He says Skyler was poisoned with a drug overdose. I believe you visited Bryce’s house on two separate occasions last Monday, the day before Skyler died. Once around 11 a.m. and again around 7:30 p.m. Am I wrong?”

Reggie’s eyes widened and his pale skin turned red. “What is the medical examiner’s theory?”

An angry wave washed over Radhauser. He lifted a pen from the holder on Reggie’s desk, looked at it absently for a moment, then set it back down. “The medical examiner’s report concluded Skyler was murdered.”

“Negligent homicide,” Reggie said, as if he was an attorney pleading the case. “I told you, Bryce murdered my son.”

“I’m not so sure,” Radhauser replied.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because Caleb Bryce loved Skyler. Everyone I’ve talked to has told me that. I was wondering... How did you feel about him?”

“Am I a suspect? Is that why you’re here?”

“As I told your ex-wife and current girlfriend, Dana, everyone is a suspect until I can determine otherwise.”

Something flashed, mean and cold, in his pale blue eyes. “So what if I was in the house? I often stop by the Bryce house to see my son.” He paused, then corrected himself. “My sons. Why would I kill my own boy?”

Lie number two.

Radhauser could tell his questions were irritating Reggie, so he kept asking them. “Since when did you start claiming Skyler as your son? It’s my understanding you kicked Dana and both boys out of your house because you were certain Skyler was fathered by someone else.”

Reggie’s skin grew even redder.

When he said nothing, Radhauser continued. “I’d like to get a DNA sample from you today to establish Skyler’s parentage. Is that okay with you? You might as well say yes. Because if you don’t, I’ll return with a warrant.”

There was a moment of hesitation. “No warrant necessary. I got nothing to hide. Besides, it’ll be good to finally prove I’m right.” Reggie Sterling’s story flipped back and forth like a seesaw.

Radhauser wanted to punch him in the face. Instead, he took the swab from his jacket pocket, removed it from its plastic container, swabbed Reggie’s mouth with a little more force than was needed, and returned it to the container. He planned to drop it off at the ME’s office on his way home.

“Is the fact that you believed Dana conceived him with someone else the only reason you hated Skyler?”

“I didn’t hate him. He was a baby. Nobody hates a baby.”

Lie number three.

“Several people, including your acknowledged son, Scott, have stated that you did.”

Reggie’s disdain for Radhauser was palpable. He could feel it growing like bread dough.

“Skyler screamed all the time. Redheads have sensitive ears and I couldn’t stand that high-pitched sound he made when he wanted something. He wouldn’t use words. Even as a toddler, Scott never did that.” His voice faltered for just a moment, a pause or an intake of breath that didn’t seem quite natural. “Of course, it didn’t bother that deaf retard, but it drove me crazy.”

Radhauser wished he had enough evidence to lock up this arrogant asshole today. He would like nothing more than to slap some cuffs on his wrists and haul him to jail. “Crazy enough to want to silence him?”

“What are you trying to say here? Do I need a lawyer?”

“You’re certainly entitled to one,” Radhauser said. “But this is just routine questioning. I’m asking the same things of everyone who saw Skyler on Monday.”

Reggie’s gaze shifted to the glass wall of his office. “It feels personal.”

Several potential customers browsed the showroom, opening car doors and sitting behind the wheels, imagining what it would be like to own the car.

“Can we finish this up?” Reggie asked. “My dad is attending a Ford convention and I need to get back to work. He’ll kill me if he finds out I missed a sale.”

“Do you and Dana plan to reconcile?”

“I hope so. My mother died when I was ten. It was hard without her. I want Scotty to grow up with both his parents.”

“How noble,” Radhauser said.

Again, Reggie’s eyes flashed. “Look, I know you don’t like me much, but that doesn’t mean I’d kill a baby, even one I wasn’t fond of.”

“You have to admit, it’s pretty coincidental that that baby you didn’t believe was your son, that baby whose screams made you crazy, is out of the way just in time for your reconciliation with his mother.”

Reggie stood, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. “This interview is over. If you want to talk to me again, I’ll have my lawyer present.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Sterling. I’ll be in touch.” Radhauser stood, put his cowboy hat back on, and turned to leave. He felt the heat of Reggie’s stare on his back. Halfway through the office door, Radhauser turned around. It was a hunch, based on something Dana had said. And the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book on Reggie’s credenza. “One more thing. Have you ever been treated for alcohol addiction?”

Reggie opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His clenched his eyes shut and seemed to be biting back against something he preferred not to talk about.

Radhauser waited.

“Why is that any of your business?”

“In a murder investigation, I make everything my business.”

“I might as well tell you.” Reggie opened his eyes. “Because I know you’ll find out anyway. My dad did an intervention a few months ago. I was drinking pretty heavy. I hated him at first. But the old man probably saved my life. I went through the Sunrise Drug and Alcohol Treatment Center last summer. I got myself in pretty bad shape after Dana and Scotty left.”

Radhauser noted he made no mention of Skyler.

“The withdrawal was hell. They practically had to put me in a coma. But I’m okay now. I go to meetings. I stopped all the hard stuff. And I only drink a beer every once in a while. Only one. And only with Dana.”

Lie number four.

It would be a rare alcoholic who could stop at one beer. And Bryce already told him about the beer Reggie took from his refrigerator while Dana worked at the Lasso.

Radhauser tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice as he thanked Reggie for his honesty, then turned and smiled to himself.

Nothing made him happier than when one of his hunches turned out to be true.

He left the showroom, then phoned Vernon to get a warrant for Reggie’s treatment records.

“Consider it done,” Vernon said.

Tomorrow, Wednesday morning, after he picked up Lizzie and her grandmother, they would bring Gracie home from the hospital. Once they settled in, he planned to pay a visit to the Sunrise Treatment Center.

* * *

As the receptionist instructed, Radhauser grabbed a cup of pretty-good coffee in the lobby area and took a seat in one of the modern, burgundy leather chairs in the Sterling Library. It appeared to be a newly-completed addition to the Sunrise Treatment Center and first class all the way. You entered the library through double French doors. The walls were richly paneled in cherry with bookcases on three of them to match. The room smelled like fresh paint, new carpet, and leather.

Gracie had cried happy tears when she saw Lizzie—as if they’d been separated for a month instead of just three days. The early morning rain had washed the fields on their ranch and they glittered with moisture. Puffy white clouds moved across the bright blue sky. A perfect Oregon day. Radhauser had wished he could stay home with them.

But Murphy was antsy.

And Radhauser, obsessed with learning who killed Skyler Sterling and why, needed to speed up his investigation, go where the evidence took him.

The French doors of the library opened and the medical director of Sunrise Treatment Center, Dr. Barry Collingswood, joined him. He was a handsome, tall, well-built man with tanned skin. The director gave Radhauser an easy, dimpled smile, with a perceptible gap between his front teeth.

Radhauser stood and the two men introduced themselves.

Collingswood’s hair fell over his left eyebrow as he reached out to shake Radhauser’s hand. He tossed his head back to keep the shock of hair out of his eyes. He wore brown trousers and a pale green shirt, covered by a lab coat with his name embroidered in navy under the pocket. His black-rimmed glasses made him look a little like Clark Kent. After they shook hands, he took the chair across from Radhauser.

Director Collingswood looked around and nodded, a man well-pleased by what he saw. “Isn’t this a lovely space? It’s been open about six months now.”

“Was it a gift from Reginald Sterling, Sr. at Sterling Ford?”

He stared at Radhauser for a moment. “As you can imagine, Detective, our benefactors like to remain anonymous,” he said in a way that told Radhauser he hit the nail on the head.

“The receptionist called it The Sterling Library,” Radhauser said. “Nothing very anonymous about that.”

“Whatever the source,” Collingswood said, “it’s a wonderful place for our patients to read and contemplate.” He nodded towards a line of small desks that faced windows looking out on the manicured gardens. “Perfect for completing 4th step personal inventories and getting to work on the 5th step as well.” He raised his right arm and swept it across the air, pointing to a wall of windows. “What better place to find health, forgiveness and peace.”

Radhauser tried to imagine Reggie in the library. Maybe he sat at one of the desks his father paid for and completed his personal inventory—didn’t like what he found. Maybe his time here caused him to reevaluate his life and what mattered. Perhaps it was what accounted for his desire to try again with Dana.

As if giving a tour to the family of a prospective resident, Collingswood continued. “We have a large selection of inspirational books. Some of the best fiction ever written. And, of course, all the Hazleton publications on alcoholism and its most effective treatments.”

Radhauser said nothing.

“But you’re not here to talk about our library, are you? How may I help you, Detective Radhauser?”

“I’d like to talk with you about one of your patients. Reggie Sterling.”

“As I’m sure you’re more than aware, our patient records are confidential.”

“And as I’m sure you’re more than aware, Dr. Collingswood, even patient confidentiality can be waived when it’s part of a criminal investigation, especially murder.” Radhauser handed him the warrant.

Collingswood looked it over, pushing his hair out of his eyes with his right hand. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, then stood and walked out of the room. He came back a moment later with Reggie’s file in his hand. “What exactly do you want to know about Mr. Sterling’s stay with us?”

Radhauser asked the preliminary questions. Date he was admitted and released. Did he enter of his own accord or was it a family intervention? Was he a compliant patient? Did he complete the program?

According to Collingswood, Reggie entered the center in July after an intervention arranged by his father and other members of the Sterling family. This confirmed what Reggie had said.

“He arrived with a blood alcohol five times the legal limit and enough to kill someone with a system not adapted to daily consumption of large amounts.”

“Did he complete the program?”

“Yes. Reggie spent three weeks longer than the average patient. He was released a little over two months after he entered. According to the center’s records, Reggie attended the recommended thirty meetings in thirty days. As far as I’m concerned, Reggie was a compliant patient who contributed to the group sessions and seemed to be committed to his recovery. But the recidivism rate for alcoholics is very high.” Dr. Collingswood shrugged. “I can’t predict whether or not Reggie will remain sober.”

From what Heron told Radhauser, Haloperidol was often prescribed for hallucinations during acute alcohol withdrawal. “Did he suffer hallucinations during withdrawal?”

“Reggie’s withdrawal was difficult—one of the worst the center had ever seen.”

“Did you or your staff administer any drugs to help him through the withdrawal phase?”

Collingswood opened the file. “I’m sure we did. We don’t like our patients to suffer any more than necessary. Alcohol withdrawal is not a pretty sight.” He spent a moment reviewing the patient notes. “Reggie hallucinated. He believed spiders and snakes crawled all over his skin. He screamed, tried to scratch them off and actually caused his skin to bleed.”

“So, what did you give him to help with the withdrawal?”

“Benzodiazepines are the medications of choice for treating alcohol withdrawal because of their rapid onset sedating qualities. But they have a high risk of liver failure. Antipsychotics may lower the seizure threshold and, consequently, increase the risk of seizures associated with alcohol withdrawal. Even after using benzodiazepines, Mr. Sterling exhibited psychosis and acute agitation, which is not uncommon with acute withdrawal. We administered Haloperidol or more commonly, Haldol. It has the benefit of a rapid tranquilization.”

Perfect. Just what Radhauser wanted to hear. “Did he go home with a prescription for Haldol?”

“No,” Collingswood said. “We wean our patients off once they complete the acute phase of withdrawal. Usually after a week or two at the most.”

“Do your nurses use a hallway cart to distribute nighttime medications?”

“Yes,” Collingswood said. “But at all other times, medications are locked in a cabinet at the nursing station.”

“Is it possible Reggie stole Haldol from the hallway cart when the night nurse delivered drugs?”

“Anything is possible. Alcoholics are devious. Denial and lying are part of the disease. But we’re pretty careful with our drug documentation and nothing was reported missing.”

It wasn’t what Radhauser hoped for.

But at least it was a connection.