Again, I met Marty Murray at the Pitstop TruckStop. He was in the same back booth that I’d met him in before. With him was a man who looked to be about Murray’s age but going prematurely bald. I sat down and was introduced to Dr. Frank Ericson who said, “I’m not supposed to be here. I could get in a lot of trouble for this, Marty.”
I said, “I’m not interested in getting anyone in trouble. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. Either way, I’ll forget we ever met.”
“That’s not as reassuring as I’d like it to be,” Ericson said. “The reason I came is because I don’t understand what’s going on. I trust Marty. We grew up together. He says it’s okay to trust you.”
Murray said, “Frank’s on the staff of Butterfield Memorial Hospital. He examined Skeen when he first came in. He’s seen the pathology report.”
A waitress came by. Murray and I ordered coffee. Ericson got nachos and a diet soda.
“What’s going on that you don’t understand?” I asked.
“All the reports have already disappeared on this case. All the regular doctors have been shoved aside. We’ve got interference.”
“Who’s making it happen?”
“It has to be hospital administrators.”
I asked, “Somebody can just make the Medical Examiner go away? People can practice medicine without a license? They can just walk in and get admitting privileges?”
“The hospital brass keep having meetings. It’s like after each meeting, something else odd happens. Right now, it’s as if Tyler Skeen never existed. For people working inside or outside the system, that shouldn’t be happening.”
I asked, “How’d you find out there was a problem?”
“I needed to look in the files to finish some paperwork. Last night they were gone. I asked a few questions and was told it was out of my hands. I was the one who examined him when he came in. I was the admitting physician. I’m the one who’s responsible if something goes wrong or if someone has questions. They told me reporters wouldn’t bother me.”
“The reporters are in on it with the team or with the hospital?” I asked.
“I don’t know that part. All I know is, I don’t have access anymore.”
Murray said, “Nobody’s talked to me or tried to silence me. But he’s right, Frank’s name is never mentioned when somebody talks to us. Rotella, the chief of police, handles all questions.”
I said, “Is there any way I could talk to other hospital personnel?”
“You can’t,” Ericson said. “If you do, they’ll know the information came from me. You can’t jeopardize my job.”
I held out a hand. “I won’t do anything without letting you know.” I’d have to find some way of talking to the hospital people.
“What killed him?” I asked.
“When the tests come back, we’ll know for sure, but someone brought in the pills that they found in his condo. I could open a drugstore with all the different stuff he had. Like I told Marty, I know it was his meds. They got whisked away pretty quick, but not before I specifically examined the pills he had on his night stand. Some of the pills left inside were the correct prescription, but some were not.”
“The pills looked that much alike that he’d make a mistake?”
Ericson said, “He had one of those daily pill containers. You’ve seen them. The kind with the day of the week on each little compartment. Of the seven compartments, three had pills. Four were empty. Each of the filled compartments contained eight pills.”
Murray asked, “He took that many each day?”
“Apparently,” Ericson said. “The police only found three prescriptions. About half of each was left in the original plastic containers. No one knows where the other pills came from.”
“Did the police talk to the pharmacist where he got the prescriptions filled?” I asked.
“Yes. The pharmacist is here in Butterfield. He claims that he gave exactly the right dosage for the prescriptions and that he gave the correct pills for those prescriptions, so the pharmacist isn’t seen as being the problem.”
I asked, “Would he admit it if he’d done something wrong?”
Murray said, “I know Harold Zaun. He has been in town two years. He graduated from the University of Wisconsin. I’ve got a source that says police have examined all of his records, and that they’re all in order. Nobody’s looking at Zaun. He’s in the clear.”
“Was Skeen going to local doctors?”
Murray said, “Bill Rohden consulted with Skeen’s regular doctor from the big club. Rohden’s a local man. Been a doctor in this town for forty years. Rohden’s got an impeccable reputation. Only the team doctor was prescribing for Skeen.”
I’d want to try and talk to any pharmacist or doctors myself. Never trust secondhand information was one of the dictums I lived by. I almost screwed up my first case because of that. Two people nearly died. I’d been lucky.
I asked, “What about the herbal remedies Old Charlie Hopper sells? Was Skeen using them? Was there a combination of them that, with his prescriptions, wittingly or unwittingly could have killed him?”
Ericson said, “I don’t know anything about what Hopper peddles.” He turned to Murray. “You buy drugs from Old Charlie?”
Murray blushed, “Sometimes I need a pick-me-up.”
Ericson thumped the table and frowned at Murray, “It’s snake oil.”
I asked, “What was it exactly that killed him?”
Ericson turned to me. “We’ll get technical names when the tests come back.”
“Why didn’t he just get sick?” I asked.
“The meds didn’t work that way,” Ericson said.
I added, “Or maybe he was too drugged up, doped up, or drunk to notice something was wrong.”
Murray said, “Lot of suspects. Anybody could have gotten to his meds. Half the town and most of the team has been to his condo for parties.”
Everybody was silent for a few moments, sipped coffee, or diet soda. Ericson ate some of the nachos he’d ordered.
Finished chewing, Ericson asked, “Why get rid of all the paperwork at the hospital?”
I said, “Simplest reason, somebody wants to control the information. Could he have possibly mixed them up accidentally or simply not have known a combination might be lethal? Maybe nobody did anything wrong.”
Ericson shook his head. “This much is certain, somebody switched meds. I saw the bottles. I saw the prescriptions. I took accurate notes. Those haven’t disappeared. I’ve seen the meds themselves. They don’t match. There were too many and some were switched. It’s murder. This was no accident. I’d bet my reputation on it. Your problem is finding out who knew what he was taking and who knew what would react with what.”
Ericson knew no more. After he left, I asked, “You sure your buddy is right? You trust him.”
“Implicitly.” He sipped coffee. “The only other thing new I’ve got is a rumor on a crazed fan. Guy named Edwin Hempil follows the team around to different cities. He was harassing Skeen.”
“Would he have been able to get into the parties at the condo? Would he even know which meds Skeen was on?”
“He wouldn’t have needed to know which specific meds he was on as long as he had meds to substitute.”
“Sure he would. Skeen was on lots of different little pills. He’d have to know if he needed to leave big ones or small ones, green ones or pink ones or little purple ones. I’m not going to rule it out, but I don’t think it’s likely that we’re going to have a crazed fan at the bottom of this.”
Murray said, “This guy comes to all the games. You can probably see him tomorrow.” He leaned closer. “I can get you into Skeen’s condo.”
I asked, “How did you get access, and why would you want to share that with me?”
“I’m a nothing reporter for a two bit paper. You’re a big shot detective with a name in Chicago. It is to my advantage to hitch myself to your star. I’ve got some connections in town. You’ve got an “in” to the team. I might be able to do a little more for you now, but you might be able to do a great deal for me later. I’m willing to risk a trade. Besides, I’ve got a key.”
“How’d you get it?”
“I called the builder. He’s my brother-in-law. Butterfield’s not that big a town.”
“When we search his condo, what are we going to find that the police didn’t?”
“We won’t know unless we go.”
I figure obeying the law is important. Getting help in a murder investigation is too. Besides, we had a key. It wasn’t totally illegal.