Tony Brandt came out of his office with a large smile and met me as I entered from the side door off the parking lot. “Danvers called. The DEA report is on its way, but he gave me the top three contenders on the phone.” He handed me a sheet of note pad paper. “We also found out how Ski Mask got out. He had a rope strung between Hill’s building and the garage next door. Hand over hand and out he went, probably right over our heads.”
“Christ.” I looked at the names. “Are these doctors or patients?” v›
“The first names are doctors, the names after them are patients. By the way, Katz’s article on last night was a monument to restraint. Maybe you’re breaking through.”
I waved the list. “You want to wait for the full DEA report before deciding what to do about this?”
Brandt allowed an uncharacteristic grin. “Hell, no. In fact, I’d like to interview one of these guys myself.” He reached into his pocket. “Three duces tecums.”
A duces tecum is a writ or subpoena ordering the person served to hand over specified materials. Unless every i is dotted and every t crossed, they are the legal equivalent of skating on thin ice, especially if you’re trying to breach the physician/patient privilege.
Brandt read my thoughts. “They’re as tight as they can be. The patients are identified by name, as are the exact medical records we’re after. Even the dates are in there. If it’s specificity they’re after, I couldn’t get any better.”
He kept one subpoena for himself and handed the other two to me. I laughed and shook my head. “Busy as a beaver aren’t you? Can I bring Kunkle in for the third one?”
“You two courting or something? I didn’t think he was your type.”
“He’s not. Any objections?”
Brandt tilted his head slightly. “He wouldn’t be my first choice as an interviewer.” He paused for a moment and finally made an odd movement with his upper lip. “All right. I don’t suppose he’ll start slapping doctors around.”
There was an awkward pause. “Are you getting close to letting him go?” I asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Does last night have anything to do with that?”
“It didn’t help his career any.”
“Would you have thought to check out Hill’s room before he got there?”
He looked at me warily. “That’s not really the issue, is it?”
“None of us are overly trained-not for this stuff.”
Brandt took a deep breath and passed his hand across his mouth. “What’s on your mind, Joe?”
“I just want to know if you’re going to let him see this case through to the end.”
He smiled, just barely. “I can’t afford the loss of manpower just now.”
“Thanks. Did you arrange with the sheriff to set up tails for us?”
“They’re waiting in the parking lot. I’ll tell them who to follow.”
“Thanks. See you later.” I crossed the hallway to Support Services. Kunkle was laboring over his typewriter. I knocked on the open door. “Report?”
He looked up at me, his expression as sour as ever. “It’s not m?II knoy resignation, if that’s what you were hoping.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’ve got something else for you to do.” I put the subpoenas on his desk. “DEA just gave us three doctors who might have treated the guy with the hump. Brandt took Goldbaum; which one do you want?”
He glanced at the papers and leaned back in his chair. “Why me?”
“Why not?”
“You’re doing me a favor, right? Keeping me involved, showing what a good leader of men you are?”
I hesitated. There was always the option of crowning him with his typewriter. Instead I answered, “Yes.”
He stared at me for a long minute and then glanced again at the subpoenas. “I’ll take Morris.”
That left Duquesne-he had only one patient we were interested in. I headed out back to one of the unmarked cars. The lower the profile, the better.
Dr. Duquesne worked on the top floor of the Professional Building adjacent to the hospital. It was a brick structure, cheaply made and minimally maintained, with a screeching front door, threadbare carpeting and the general look of a motel on the downward slide. There were already two people in his small, paneled waiting room, despite the early hour. I went to the nurse’s window and showed her my badge.
“Is he available?”
“You’ll have to make an appointment.”
“I’m not here for treatment. This is official.”
“Will it take long?”
I closed my eyes for a moment. “I don’t know.”
She looked unsure. “I’ve only seen this happen on TV. Am I supposed to interrupt him now and tell him you’re here?”
“Is he with a patient?”
“Yes.”
“Is he almost finished or just starting?”
“He’s almost finished.”
“Then I’ll wait here, and you can tell him about me between patients. How’s that sound?”
She gave me a radiant smile. “That’s wonderful. That’s what I’ll do. Won’t you have a seat?”
I had a seat. It was shaped for a body other than mine. After five minutes of staring at the paneling, the two pictures of ducks on the wall, the coffee table laden with ancient magazines, and my two far more ancient co-waiters, I was rewarded by the appearance of a small boy and his mother and a tall, white-haired man in a lab coat. The man crooked his finger at me and faded back to the interior hallway. I went after him.
“What can I do for you?” His tone was meticulously neutral.
“I need to ask you about a prescription you wrote three years ago for a patient named Steven Cioffi.” ‹"0e›
“I’m not sure I can tell you that.”
I gave him the duces tecum, which he read slowly and carefully.
“He’s a murder suspect,” I added when he’d finished.
Duquesne pursed his lips and looked at the floor. “Maybe I ought to call my lawyer.”
“You can. It’ll probably mean tying all this up long enough for Cioffi to get away, assuming he’s our man. If he’s not the one we’re after, he’ll never know about it.”
Duquesne hesitated a little longer, tapping the subpoena against his thumbnail. Finally, he cracked open the door to the receptionist’s office. “Lisa, get me the file on Steven Cioffi.”
His office was small and compulsively neat, which I suppose is a good sign in a specialist. I sat in one chair; he sat in the other. His desk lay between us like a dock.
“So, who is this man suspected of killing?”
“Kimberly Harris.”
His neutral eyebrows rose. “I take it the wrong man is in jail?”
“Not necessarily. It gets a little complicated. Several people may have been involved. Did Cioffi have Cushing’s at that time?”
“Oh, yes. I was treating him for acute asthma. The Cushing’s episode lasted only a few weeks, and then we brought it and the asthma under control.”
“Is he still your patient?”
“As far as I know. I don’t see him very often now that he’s on regular doses.”
“Still prednisone?”
“Yes, but in lesser quantities. That heavy dosage was only to bring him back from the brink. How did you know he had Cushing’s, by the way? The hump?”
“Initially it was a semen sample found on the victim. The hump was identified later. Do you happen to be friends with this Steven Cioffi?”
The doctor smiled thinly. “I’m not friends with many of my patients. If I were, Mr. Cioffi would not be among them.”
I sensed that had been a factor in Duquesne’s decision to cooperate. The nurse appeared at the door with the file. The doctor took it from her and nodded her away.
“Not one of your favorite people?”
He opened the file and began leafing through it slowly. “No. He’s not a nasty man, mind you; he’s just totally lacking in… I don’t know what you’d call it… Charm, maybe.”
“Charm?”
“Well, you know. He’s not particularly bright or well spoken. He seems dull and single-minded. He has absolutely no sense of humor or curiosity. He’s just kind of blah… You know the type?”
Looking at Duquesne, I decided to duck the subject of type. “Does he e. entifhave the makings of a killer, in your personal view?”
“We all do. It is interesting that you think he may have been involved in a murder just as the Cushing’s was manifesting itself, however.”
“Why?”
“Well, it gives him an extra edge in that department. Heavy doses of prednisone can make one moody, depressed, sometimes even delirious.”
“And you think that may have happened with Cioffi?”
“He was more prone to it than others I’ve treated-it may be some reflection of sociological background. Of course, that isn’t my field.”
“What’s a man capable of when he has Cushing’s? I mean, is he as strong as usual? Can he run around the block?”
“Under normal conditions, I’d say no. His inclination is to rest. There is some muscular weakness associated with the syndrome. In Cioffi’s case it was not debilitating. If his adrenaline were pumping high enough, he’d have normal strength. However, I don’t see him running around the block, as you say, under normal conditions. He’s kind of a tubby, flabby man.”
“How is he now?”
“Fine-for the moment. The asthma is under control. His looks are back to normal.”
“What’s ‘for the moment’ mean?”
“He’s developed aseptic necrosis in the right hip-it’s a degeneration of the femoral head. Prednisone does that sometimes.”
“So he limps?”
“Now he limps. He uses a cane. Later, in two or three years, he’ll be in a wheelchair.”
“Jesus. Isn’t that a high price to pay for asthma?”
“It’s a trade-off. His asthma wasn’t just a little wheezing. It was about to kill him.”
“But he can get around now.”
“Oh, yes. He could even run around your proverbial block, again if he were adequately stimulated. Of course, it wouldn’t improve his hip any.”
“Do you have an address on him?”
Duquesne closed the folder and passed it across his desk to me. “I suppose most of this is yours now anyway. You’ll find everything you need-or at least everything I know-in there.”
“How about blood samples? Do you have any of those?”
“Several. I take them and urine samples periodically for monitoring purposes.”
“Do you have any that date back to when he had Cushing’s?”
“Yes. They’re at the hospital-in the deep freeze.”
“If you could call the hospital as soon as I leave and tell them to release those samples to us, I’d greatly appreciate it.” ate he
He frowned. “Am I obligated to do that?”
I opened his warrant and showed him the paragraph that dealt with the specific and dated materials in question.
He sighed and muttered, “All right.”
I thanked him and stood up. “There is something else I ought to tell you, doctor. We aren’t the only ones looking for Cioffi.” Duquesne just stared at me. “Have you been aware of what the newspaper’s been calling ‘the man in the mask,’ or Ski Mask?”
“Certainly. I’d have to live in a cocoon not to.”
“Well, he’s the other one interested in Cioffi, although he only knows him as a mysterious hunchback right now.”
“Why tell me?”
“He’s a very motivated, dangerous man. He’s also very resourceful. If he does happen to discover your connection to all this, he’ll come knocking at your door, one way or the other. It’s happened before.”
Duquesne was very still. When he spoke, the neutrality had tilted toward the hostile. “Then you’ve just exposed me to a certain amount of danger, is that right? As you did with that prostitute?”
“Not necessarily. If he does contact you, just tell him everything he wants to know. That should be the end of it.”
“Are you going to give me some protection in the meantime?”
“He may not even get in touch.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Giving you protection might cause more harm than good. If Ski Mask senses an obstacle, he’s usually pretty good at removing it.”
“That sounds more like your area than mine, Lieutenant. Perhaps I can be more persuasive: let’s say that if any harm does come to me while I’m unprotected, my lawsuit against your department will stand a far greater chance of success.”
He smiled. I smiled. I showed myself out. It occurred to me that for all her street smarts, Susan Lucey could learn a thing or two from an operator like that.
It turned out Dr. Duquesne wasn’t the only one not living in a cocoon. Town Manager Tom Wilson was waiting for me in the hallway back at the Municipal Building.
“Give me an update, Gunther.”
“I’d prefer to let Chief Brandt do that.”
“I don’t care what you prefer. Tell me what’s going on-right now.”
“We’re digging, and it’s getting easier and easier. We should have something before long.”
Wilson stabbed my chest with his finger. “Don’t give me that crap. You guys are not the CIA. You work for me and the board, and you are accountable for everything you do. Early on, I let you play coy because we were all trying to duck the publicity. That, iici" wn case you haven’t read today’s newspaper, or heard the radio, or seen Channel 31, is no longer a consideration.”
“I know. We’re famous.”
“Don’t be cute. I’ve been fencing with the press from Rutland and Keene for a couple of days already. Now I’ve had calls from the wire services and two of the three networks. A Boston TV station has a news crew due here this afternoon, for Christ’s sake. We’ve got to do better than ‘We’re digging and it’s getting easier.’ They’ll eat us alive. Even worse, they’ll start digging on their own. I can’t believe you want that.”
“All right, but I’m still not going to say anything without Brandt. He should be back any second.” I crossed over to Maxine’s window. “Any word from Tony?”
“He’s heading back. He just called in.”
I turned to Wilson. “Why don’t you wait in his office? I’ll be right there.”
He grumbled, but he went. I took a left into the squad room and poked my head into Billy Manierre’s office. “I need someone to run a blood sample to a forensic pathologist in West Haven, Connecticut. Can you help me out?”
“Whose blood?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy who sexually molested Pam Stark or Kimberly Harris or whatever you want to call her.”
“Yeah, I can get someone. Give me names and addresses.”
I quickly scrawled o ut what he wanted on a sheet of paper and then made a fast track to my office-still clutching Duquesne’s file-to draw up requests for two search warrants: one for Cioffi’s office, one for his home. I was halfway through when my phone buzzed.
“Joe?” It was Brandt. “What are you doing right now?”
“Preparing warrants for a guy named Steven Cioffi. He’s the guy with the hump.”
“All right. Go to it. Don’t bother to come powwow with Wilson and me. We’ll sort that out. It’ll probably mean some kind of press conference later today, so don’t skip town.”
“Right.” I hung up and finished typing, praying I would find a judge available across the street at the courthouse.
I did-in the men’s room. He wasn’t terrifically pleased about it-probably something about his dignity-but he signed on the dotted line against the tile wall. I returned to Brandt’s office and brought him up to date.
When I finished, he stood up, pocketed his pipe and smiled. “Well, maybe this press conference won’t be such a bad idea after all.”