The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [109]
Ulansky’s moon face crinkled as he worked the name through his memory. “We’ve got something on the man someplace,” he said. “I’m almost sure of it. What about a C two twenty-two?”
“Quigg’s got one. The doctor claims it was stolen from his office, that he never ordered any morphine.”
“Signature?”
“Only a maybe from the guys at ident. They tell me Shelton’s signature is a scrawl. Easy to duplicate.”
“So maybe it is his,” Ulansky said.
“Maybe.” Dockerty shrugged. “My hunches have been wrong before.”
“Sure, about as often as a solar eclipse.”
Dockerty accepted the compliment with a tired grin. “I need a handle on that pharmacist, Ted,” he said. “The man bends, but he won’t break. I figure if he’d take a payoff to do something like this, he must have dirtied his hands on something else at one time or another.”
“Well,” Ulansky offered, “we can go through the files and check the computer for you. I have a feeling something’s down on paper about him.” He paused, then continued in a softer voice. “Dock, you know that if we can’t find anything on him we can easily set something up that will work just as well. Maybe better. You want that?”
Dockerty tensed, then rose and walked slowly to the far side of the room. Ulansky moved to add something, then sat back and let the silence continue. Dockerty rested one arm on a filing cabinet. For more than a minute he studied the blank wall. “You know, Ted,” he said finally, “in all these years on the force I’ve never once purposely set anyone up. If I did it this time, I know it would be to make up for mistakes I’ve already made.” He shook his head and turned back to Ulansky. “I don’t want to do it, Ted. No matter what my fuck-ups may have put that doctor through, I don’t want to do it.” Ulansky nodded his understanding. “Look,” Dockerty added, “check everything you can to dig something up on Quigg. Call me first thing tomorrow. If I’ve got nothing and you’ve got nothing, we’ll talk.”
“Don’t worry, Dock,” Ulansky said stonily. “If Marcus Quigg has so much as pissed on a public toilet seat, I’ll find out. Don’t worry your ass about that at all.”
“That was it, that was the exit. I told you one twenty-seven and you just breezed right past it.” David, bundled in an army blanket, sat wedged against the passenger door. He glared at Christine, but turned away before she noticed.
“Sorry,” she said flatly. “My mind was on other things.” She took the next turnoff and doubled back. Traffic was light, but her difficulty concentrating was such that she kept their speed below fifty. For a time they drove in silence, each aware that the tension between them was building.
Finally Christine could stand no more. She pulled into the dirt parking lot of a boarded-up diner and swung around to face him. “Look, maybe this wasn’t a good idea—maybe we should go back.”
David stared out the window, struggling to comprehend the existence and the incredible scope of The Sisterhood of Life. Christine had given him only the roughest sketch of the movement, along with the promise of more details in the morning. Still, what she had told him already was awesome. Several thousand nurses! Dorothy Dalrymple one of them! He had listened, his eyes shut, his head close to exploding, as her factual, curiously dispassionate voice divulged secrets that could easily decimate the hospital system to which he had dedicated so much of his life.
Now he felt sick. Tired and angry and sick.
Christine sensed his mood, but could not contain her own growing frustration. “Dammit, David,” she said, “I’ve been trying to explain to you as best as possible what has happened. I didn’t expect a reward, but I didn’t expect the silent treatment either.”
“And just what did you expect?” Irritation sparked in his voice.
“Understanding?” she said softly.
“My God. She kills one of my patients, gets me thrown in jail for it, causes my friend to be murdered almost in my arms, and wants me to understand. And … and that Sisterhood of yours. Why of all the presumptuous, insane …”
“David, I told you about The Sisterhood of Life