Walleye Junction (31 page)

“Why do you say that?”

“Joel didn't own much to start with and now he owns nothing. Makes me think he might be checking out.”

“As in suicide?”

The man shrugged. “It's a possibility.”

“How well did you know him?”

“Well enough to know he's not right in the head. He's been wandering around the last couple of weeks muttering to himself.”

“Did he say anything that made sense?”

“He went on and on about his sister's death. Blamed the system.”

“Any names mentioned?”

“Not that I heard. I lost interest when he started spouting his conspiracy theories.”

“Are you camping out here?” asked Macy.

“You can call it camping if it makes you feel better.”

“I'm sorry. That was insensitive.” Macy pointed to his bandaged hand. “That looks serious. Have you had someone take a look at it?”

He nodded. “Some church people drop in on us once a week. There's usually a doctor. He'll take a look.”

“Have you ever come across someone named Kyle Miller? Young-looking guy in his early thirties. Blond hair.”

“Yeah, everyone knows Kyle. When he found out I served in Iraq he made a point of looking after me. He likes to hear all my war stories. He makes sure I get my VA benefits, so I can't complain. He's trying to get me into housing.”

“I hear there's a shortage around here.”

“Depends on your price range. A new subdivision is going in less than a half mile away, but it's nothing I can afford.” He scratched his dog's ears. “Seriously though, you really should watch yourself. There are addicts living rough out here. If they thought you had anything of value your gun wouldn't stop them from trying to take it.”

Macy knew he was right. She'd already decided she'd walk back to her car instead of crossing the river. He made a move and she almost reached for her gun again.

“Look,” he said, flashing her a smile. “I just want to get back to my campsite before someone takes my stuff.”

Macy backed away so he and his dog could pass. Leroy growled at her one last time before running ahead.

“You're not going to shoot me in the back, are you?” he said.

“I'm not going to shoot anybody.” Macy flicked through the photos on her phone until she found one of Carla. “Hey, quick question. Do you remember seeing this woman out here talking to Kyle Miller?”

He took his time. “I've never seen her.”

“She's Kyle's aunt. You may have seen them speaking to each other. She would have been with a guy. They were both on dirt bikes.”

“Seeing a beautiful woman like that wouldn't be something I'd soon forget.”

“Are you absolutely sure you haven't seen her? It would have been a few weeks ago.”

“I'm positive.”

Macy tucked her phone back in her pocket.

“Are you coming this way?” he asked. “If you stick with me no one in the camp will hassle you.”

Macy shook her head. “I think it's better to head back the way I came.”

The man had to duck down low to get through the opening.

“You take care,” he said. “I'll get in touch if I see Joel.”

“You didn't tell me your name,” she said. “I might need to speak to you again.”

“Mike Samson,” he said. “I'm always here.”

Macy watched him amble away. It wasn't just his face that was crooked. His whole body tipped to the right. Keeping a sharp eye on the surrounding forest, she hurried along the trail she'd taken earlier. Ten minutes later her phone lit up with several messages from Gina. She was worried that Macy had headed out to the river on her own. Macy called her back once she had Aiden's pickup truck in her sights.

“Gina,” she said. “It's me.”

“Where are you? You sound like you're out of breath.”

“I've just got back to the car. I must have just missed you guys.”

“Sorry about that. I heard you had a late-night trip to Kalispell. I thought you'd want to sleep in.”

“It's okay,” said Macy. “Heaven knows I needed the exercise. Did you manage to find out anything about Joel?”

“They were pretty tight-lipped out there, but the general consensus is that he took off a couple of days ago,” Gina said.

“I was told he gave away all his belongings before leaving. Sounds like he's not planning on coming back.”

“Who did you speak to?”

“A homeless vet named Mike Samson. He knows Kyle Miller from when his church group visits the camp. Stands to reason that Kyle Miller will have also come across Joel Edwards.”

“Lou is looking into the church group. Hopefully someone knows where we can find Joel. Did you ask this guy about Carla Spencer?”

“He doesn't recall seeing her out here.”

“It's possible he missed them.”

“True,” said Macy. “Where are you? I'm starving.”

“Just about to head for the diner next to the hotel for some breakfast. Meet you there?”

“I'll be another twenty minutes.”

“No worries. I've got plenty to do to keep me busy.”

*   *   *

Aside from a couple of busboys clearing up tables, the diner was almost empty. Macy had moved to another booth to give Gina some privacy, but it was difficult not to eavesdrop on the phone conversation Gina was having with her husband. They were discussing their finances. Money was tight. They both had to continue working full time if they wanted to keep the house. Finding more money to pay someone to look after their two children was going to be difficult.

Macy scrolled through her e-mail messages. There was one from the coroner's office in Helena. They'd finished cross-checking the list of patients who'd died of accidental overdose. She took a sip of coffee as she waited for the attached file to download onto her computer. Seconds later she was reading.

In the past three years eighteen of the patients on the list had died after taking painkillers prescribed by Dr. Whitaker. It was the second highest overdose fatality rate for any practicing physician in the state of Montana. The state coroner had liaised with the Montana State Medical Board. Despite having three malpractice cases pending against him, his record was clean and he was licensed to continue practicing medicine and prescribing medication. In the past three years he'd settled out of court with patients' families on six separate occasions, paying out an estimated $2.4 million. All the families had dropped their wrongful death suits against his practice. According to records obtained from pharmacies, he and two other doctors were responsible for nearly fifty percent of all opiate-based painkiller prescriptions in the state of Montana over the last ten years.

Macy went back over the accounts of patient fatalities listed in the first anonymous e-mail, now that she knew which cases involved Dr. Whitaker's practice. In some instances Whitaker was the only prescribing doctor and in others he was one of many. Four of his patients who died had histories of mental health problems and drug addiction.

Macy threw her pen on the table. Not one of the accidental overdose deaths had been ruled suspicious, and Whitaker was out of the country the night Philip Long died. Unless someone talked, it was going to be difficult to figure out how Whitaker might be tied to Philip Long's death.

Her phone rang at the same time a patrol car flew past the diner's windows with its sirens on. Lou Turner sounded like he was running for his life.

“Macy,” shouted Lou. “We just got a call. Joel Edwards was just spotted entering a doctor's office. Shots have been fired.”

“Dr. Whitakers clinic?”

“Yes, that's the one. It's a block east of that big church on Main. Forty-five Elm.”

“We're right around the corner.”

“Officers are in route. I'll be there in five.”

Macy gathered up her papers, threw her laptop into her bag, and rushed over to Gina's table. Outside another patrol car screamed down Main Street.

Macy put a hand on Gina's shoulder. “Time to get back to work. Joel Edwards was just spotted entering a doctor's office around the corner. Shots were fired.”

*   *   *

By the time Macy and Gina drew near the glass-fronted building there were already three police cars parked out front and Lou was heading inside. A dozen people loitered in an empty parking lot across the street. A few were on their phones. Others wandered about looking shell-shocked. A woman knelt next to a man who was seated on the curb. His hands covered his face. There was blood on his pant leg. Another woman clutched a young dark-haired boy tight to her chest. Macy held her breath. For a split second she thought it was Luke. An ambulance pulled up outside the clinic. The pitch of the sirens was deafening. An officer ran outside to meet the paramedics.

“Dr. Whitaker is bleeding heavily,” he said. “Not sure about the other guy … He's taken a shot to the head. He's unresponsive.”

Macy stood amid a confused trail of bloody footprints that fanned out in all directions on the pavement. Inside two paramedics kneeled on the floor next to a man wearing a pair of dark slacks and sensible shoes. A little to the left, another man was sprawled out on the floor with his legs bent at awkward angles. No one was working on him. Two more paramedics rushed past Macy. They were directed to a woman sitting on a chair next to the receptionist desk. She was talking to the responding officers with her hand clutched to her chest.

Lou Turner came over and stood next to Macy

“It's definitely Joel Edwards. It looks like he shot Whitaker before turning the gun on himself,” said Lou. “He was already dead when the first patrol units arrived. The receptionist is being treated for a suspected heart attack.”

“How is Dr. Whitaker?” asked Macy.

“Looks like he got clipped in the collarbone. He's bleeding heavily but still conscious.” His eyes flicked to the security cameras. “I'll get the security video as soon as possible.”

Macy turned to Lou. “I never got the name of the doctor Joel Edwards attempted to rob. Was it Whitaker?”

Lou closed his eyes. “It was. I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to try robbing him twice.”

Macy shrugged. “He's an addict. His behavior isn't out of character.”

Lou took a deep breath. “It's been nearly three years. Why did Joel come back now?”

“That's a question that's begging to be answered,” said Macy. “What gun did he use?”

“A thirty-eight,” said Lou. “It wasn't yours.”

“Good to know,” said Macy. She called Gina over and they headed outside. She kept her voice low. “The state coroner got in touch this morning. Dr. Whitaker prescribed painkillers to eighteen of the patients who were listed in that first anonymous e-mail. This is all still speculation, but if Philip Long was about to publicly accuse Dr. Whitaker of gross negligence, Whitaker would have good reason for wanting to keep him quiet.”

“But that makes no sense,” said Gina. “If Edwards is our third kidnapper, why would he try to kill the guy who might have given him the job?”

“They may have had a falling out,” said Lou. “Things didn't go as planned.”

“This may also be a tragic coincidence,” said Macy. “Carla was very supportive of Joel Edwards in rehab. Her death may have caused him to relapse.”

They watched the paramedics for a few seconds. It looked as though they were getting ready to make a move. Dr. Whitaker was propped up on the gurney. His eyes were open, but he was very pale. He gave them the thumbs up and a weak smile.

“Whitaker was on a cruise ship off the coast of Baja when Long was abducted and murdered,” said Gina.

“He still could have arranged Philip Long's kidnapping as a way of scaring him off the story,” said Lou. “That man has a lot of money.”

“How much money are we talking?” asked Macy.

Lou pointed to the glass, steel, and brick building that dominated Main Street. “Enough to pay for that church.”

Macy stared at the building. “Is that the church where Philip Long's prayer service took place?”

Lou nodded.

“Philip Long called it
the church that pain built
,” said Macy.

“Who told you that?” asked Gina.

“It's something Emma said in passing,” said Macy. “She assumed it was a reference to her father's feelings about organized religion, but there may be more to it. Dr. Whitaker specializes in pain management.”

“Do you think he's been selling painkiller prescriptions to addicts?” asked Gina.

“He wouldn't have been the first doctor to do it,” said Macy.

An ambulance helicopter circled overhead. Its wide body blocked out the sun.

“They're taking Dr. Whitaker to Collier County Hospital,” said Lou. “He's going straight into surgery, so it will be a while before we can question him.”

Macy moved out of the way to make room for Dr. Whitaker's gurney. For a few seconds he was situated between her and Lou. He reached out his hand to Lou.

The doctor's voice was weak. “Lou,” he said. “It was Joel Edwards again. He should have been kept in jail where he belonged. I warned everyone he was still dangerous.”

“Did he say anything to you?” asked Macy.

Whitaker grimaced as the paramedics started wheeling him away. “It was just a bunch of nonsense,” he said. “I wouldn't be surprised if the man was high on drugs again…”

The rest of Whitaker's words were drowned out by the sound of sirens.

“I'll make sure Ryan gets started on Joel Edwards's car immediately,” said Macy. “We need something concrete tying Joel to Philip Long's kidnapping. Gina, I want you to head back to the homeless camp with a couple patrol officers. I want to know if Joel Edwards has been talking to any outsiders over the last couple of months, Philip Long in particular. Try to find a guy named Mike Samson. He seemed to have his shit together.”