Fatal Dose (4 page)

They both showed their shields and ID’s. “Good afternoon, Special Agents Farrell and Matthews. We need to speak with you and your husband. May we come in?”

The door opened and she gestured them in. She closed the door and led them into an old fashioned parlor with a sofa and side chairs covered with flowered slipcovers. The throw rug on the floor by the door was threadbare in spots, but the rest of the hardwood floor was covered with a faded faux Persian rug. The floorboards creaked as they entered the room. Pictures of brightly colored floral arrangements hung on all four walls. She gestured to the two chairs and sofa at the far end of the room. “Have a seat, please.”

They chose seats opposite each other so they could play off of each other as needed.

“Is Mister Bennett at home?” Mark asked.

“John’s at the library. He called on his cell phone about twenty minutes ago, so he should be here any minute. What’s this about?”

Wendy said, “If it’s all the same with you, Mrs. Bennett, we would prefer to wait until your husband gets here.”

“That’s not a problem. He’ll be right along. If there is one thing about John, he’s very punctual. He knows that I worry about him. Can’t help it, we’ve been married for over forty-seven years. Can I get you folks something to drink while we’re waiting?”

“Perhaps a glass of water,” Mark said.

“Make that water for me too,” Wendy piped in.

Mark was certain that Brice’s mother knew why they were there. Their presence at her door must have been reminiscent of that day a while back when two marines showed up to tell her that her son Peter died in the service of his country. He could already see the deep sorrow in her eyes. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in the front door.

“Whose car is that by the curb, Mandy?” a voice came from that direction.”

“Please come into the parlor, John. We have guests.”

John was a tall burly man stooped by forty years of route service for the US Post Office; retired now for over three years.

“These are Special Agents Matthews and Farrell. They’re with the FBI.”

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I ask to see your ID’s, would you? You can’t be too careful these days.”

They showed him their shields and ID’s. He looked at them slowly. “Well they seem okay. Our son Brice works for you fellas and his badge and ID look like yours. Do you know my son? He works in downtown Cleveland.”

“Yes, Sir, we do,” Wendy said. “In fact, that’s why we’re here. There’s been an accident. I regret having to tell you that Brice died last Friday. We didn’t find out until earlier today.” She stopped to let it sink in, then added, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

John Bennett was visibly shaken by the news, but Mark could see that he was right about Amanda Bennett knowing the minute she opened the door that she had lost her second son. Her reaction now was correspondingly muted.

John asked, “How did it happen?”

Mark fielded that one. “It was an accident in an elevator at a warehouse where he was conducting an investigation. He was undercover at the time. He was there alone when it happened. That’s why he wasn’t found until early this morning.” He hesitated for a few seconds, and added, “He died in the line of duty, Sir. We will miss him.”

“Someone from the Bureau will be contacting you about the arrangements,” Wendy offered. There was an awkward pause, followed by, “We should probably leave now. I’m sure you both prefer to be alone at a time like this.”

“Yes, of course,” Amanda said. “It was very kind of you to come down here to tell us in person.”

John stood there expressionless for a few minutes. Then he blurted out, “That’s the second son we’ve lost, you know. It’s just not right. Why us? I spent three years in the service of my country. My son Peter died in Afghanistan. This is too much for one family to bear.”

Amanda turned to him and put her hand on his arm. “Please, John, let’s not burden these nice folks any more than we need to. They’re just doing their jobs.”

“Of course, you’re right, Mandy,” he said as he extended his hand to Mark. “Thanks for coming out.” He shook Mark’s hand, then Wendy’s. He turned away and walked from the room. His shoulders were slumped forward and Mark could see tears starting to roll down his cheeks. Amanda Bennett walked them to the front door. “God bless you both. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be all right,” she said as she opened the door to let them out.

As they walked to the car, Mark asked, “Well, on a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, how do you think that went?”

“It was a ten until the end, and then it deteriorated into a four or five,” she said as they got into the car. “I feel so bad for them.”

He didn’t start the engine right away. “I’m not sure I would ever want to do that again. I hope that I retire before my turn comes up again. Do you think that being a sidekick, like I was today, starts building up my credentials for this kind of assignment?”

“That’s the way it worked with me. Once you do it, you’re on the list.”

Mark could see why Dennis chose her for this assignment. “I guess you’re right, but the fewer assignments I get to be a bereavement messenger, the better.”

“Did you know that in the armed forces they have personnel that specialize in that? They even have a training program. I think it’s called Bereavement 101.” She half smiled as soon as she said it. She continued, “Do you think that when they leave the military they’re recruited by mortuaries?”

They both smiled. On the surface it seemed to be extremely inappropriate behavior, but they both needed the levity to take the edge off of the situation.

Mark remembered that he needed to call Dennis. He hit the speed dial and within twenty seconds, Dennis answered.

“How did it go?”

“Okay, I guess. It’s was hard, though, especially with them having lost their other son to the war a while back. They seemed like such nice people.”

“They are real Americans, Mark. Thanks again for handling it for me. Look, I know these things can be physically and mentally draining. Why don’t you and Agent Farrell take the rest of the day off? I’ll give Chief Jacobsen a call. I’m going to let them do the follow-up at Atronen for now. I want to keep Brice’s FBI connection quiet, so the CPD can probably open more doors at this point than we can. We’ll pick it up once our plan solidifies. Right now, we’ll let the cartel think that we buy the pretense about how he died. Remember, I want to see you in my office tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Thanks, Dennis. I’ll see you then.”

Mark turned to Wendy. “It looks like we both have the rest of the day off. Dennis wants to see me in his office at eight tomorrow morning.”

“That’s cool. I’ll take care of the required paperwork for this trip and copy you on it.”

He looked over at her and said, “I don’t know about you, but I could use something right around now to take the edge off. John Wellman and a few others are meeting at O’Sheas around seven for a couple of beers. We’re a little early, but I’d like to join them. What do you say?”

She thought about it for a minute and said, “Sure, why not? I could use a couple of cold brews right now.” Mark started up the car and headed back to Cleveland.

Whatever extra time he thought they would have was easily consumed by unforeseen traffic. It would normally be light going toward the city in mid-afternoon. Unfortunately, one of the cars going south crossed the median and caused a three-car pileup across all three lanes of the highway. It took over two and a half hours to go a distance that would normally take about thirty minutes. That just added to the tensions of the day, so by the time they got to O’Sheas they were much in need of a few brews.

When they entered the bar, Mark only recognized a handful of the agents. He couldn’t help but notice that Wendy was well known at O’Sheas. Nobody yelled “Wendy” when she went in the door in front of him, but it was obvious by the head nods and waves from many of the men that she was no stranger to the place.

O’Sheas was, for all intents and purposes an FBI bar. Not that it was owned by an ex-agent or anything like that. Actually, it was owned by a retired Cleveland police captain. It was the bar’s proximity to the Bureau, just down the street a bit and the friendly atmosphere that for years made it a favorite haunt not only for agents, but for their support personnel as well.

“Can I buy you both one?” The voice belonged to John Wellman, who walked in behind them.

“Who could say no to an offer like that, especially after the day we’ve had?” Mark replied.

As they headed for the back of the bar, John flashed an order to a waitress for three Burning River, Pale Ale’s. Burning River was brewed locally and was the best selling micro-beer on tap at O’Sheas. Mark grabbed a booth as they waited for the waitress to deliver their beers. John and Wendy sat on one side and Mark took the other. That gave him a chance to take a good look at Special Agent Wendy Farrell, this time in a more relaxed atmosphere.

Wendy was five-eight and around one-twenty pounds. Mark guessed her age to be around twenty-seven. She had straight blonde hair, cut short, and soft blue eyes. She reminded him of Doris Day with an upturned nose and a wide mouth that showed perfect teeth. When she removed her suit jacket, she revealed the toned arms of a woman who was no stranger to a gym. Her body was well proportioned, leaning toward what most men would consider as “stacked.” Mark wondered for a moment how he missed all this during the hours they spent together. He figured that he must have really been concentrating on their mission
.

The waitress arrived with three frosty mugs of their favorite beer.

“Run a tab for us, Belinda,” John said. “This is only the first round.”

He turned to Mark and Wendy. “I know that you both had an unpleasant task this afternoon. I can’t believe that Brice is dead. He was such a nice kid.”

They each grabbed a mug and raised it for a toast.

“Here’s to Brice,” Mark said, not being one for clever toasts.

They clinked their mugs together and took a long sip.

“Boy, that sure hits the spot,” Mark said.

“That’s for sure,” Wendy replied. “When it comes to beer, there is none better than the ‘burn.’ When I’m out of town, I really miss it.”

The three got quiet. They just sat back and let the beer do its job. After several minutes, Wellman said, “Mark, I hear through the vine that you’re being assigned to the Pharmaceutical Drug Squad.”

“There’s nothing official yet, John. There’s been a mention of it. I’m ready if Dennis needs me. From what I’ve heard so far, drug theft and counterfeiting is spiraling out of control. I’m surprised that there hasn’t been more media coverage about it.”

“There’s a good reason for that,” Wendy said. “Much of the time the sickness or death from phony pills goes undetected. As it is, it’s taken us quite a few court ordered autopsies to get the few statistics we do have. Death doesn’t always result from counterfeit pills. Much of the time people’s health continues to deteriorate and they just accept it as normal. Even their doctors don’t zero in on the medicines as the cause, especially since they prescribed them. Doctors are too close to the big drug companies; they have blinders on too much of the time. Their response, when something doesn’t work out is usually to change the dosage or prescribe something new.

“You know,” she continued, “I’ll bet that if we could cut off the source of these bad meds there would be an immediate improvement in the health of the citizenry. That’s how widespread this problem is. And another thing, I think the authorities are reluctant to discuss it because they fear that people who need to be on meds may become afraid and stop taking them altogether.”

They emptied their mugs at the same time. John gestured to Belinda that they needed brews all around. When they arrived, John excused himself to talk with two men standing at the bar, leaving Wendy and Mark alone in the booth. This was the first time Mark was alone with a woman in a social setting since Susan’s untimely death. Mark thought that when the time came it would feel strange, like he was being unfaithful to Susan’s memory. That didn’t turn out to be the case at all. He felt okay with it. He thought about the Bennetts having to bury their second son and then just having each other and how they would need to cling to each other for comfort during the trying days ahead. Mark realized that he had no one in his life to cling to. Both his parents were gone; he had no siblings. The woman he was planning to marry was taken from him in a senseless assassination.

It seemed like it was time for him to crawl out of his shell. It didn’t necessarily have to be with the woman sitting opposite him at the moment, but that would certainly be a fantastic place to start.
Time will tell.

“What’s your specialty on the PDS?” he asked.

“I’m working on the distribution networks for pharmaceuticals, both main line and sub-contracted. My major in college was in Manufacturing and Distribution, with a strong minor in Logistics. You wouldn’t believe the complex flow of pharmaceuticals from the research labs to the manufacturing plant and on to the ultimate consumer. In addition to the normal throughput, there is a separate network for prescription drugs that the major pharmaceutical houses provide for very needy people and for third world countries. There are about twenty steps that a pharmaceutical company must go through to introduce a new drug: from research to final distribution by wholesale or retail outlets. Knowing that, helps one to understand the high cost of prescription drugs in this country.”

“Wow! It sounds like you have a plateful. Dennis was telling me that there is a cartel that is distributing fake drugs by replacing legitimate pills with counterfeits and repackaging them. Is that the kind of thing you’re working on?”