Stash (22 page)

“I don’t think our boys are in the same class, are they?” Patty asked.

“My son, Nate, has Mrs. Viander.”

“Where’s your family?” Keller asked.

“They should be here any minute,” Gwen said. They were late, typical of Brian, who never hurried the kids along; herding was Gwen’s job. She turned to the boy, Andy. “Who do you have as your teacher?”

The kid buried his face in his mother’s hip. Had they clued him in, too?

Keller squatted and pulled Andy away from his mother’s hip. “Mrs. Raine asked you a question. Look at her and answer.”

The boy reluctantly raised his eyes to Gwen. “What?”

“I just wanted to ask who your teacher is,” Gwen repeated.

The boy mumbled the name “Miss Amico.”

Gwen wasn’t going to torture the kid by asking anything else. She looked at the detective and was about to ask for a moment alone when Nate appeared at her side. Nora followed, wearing capris and not the skort she had wanted.

“Sorry we’re late,” Brian said, bringing up the rear and handing the bag containing their breakfast to Gwen.

“Mom, can I get a doughnut?” Nora asked.

“If you eat your bagel and fruit.”

Nora took her bagel from Brian and joined a friend at a nearby table.

Brian held out his hand to the detective. “Brian Raine. We met once before.”

Keller shook his hand and introduced his family.

Nate had gotten Andy’s attention by showing him his two wristwatches, one of them a SpongeBob and the other a spy watch that toggled through seven different time zones and had a motion sensor that set off a beeping alarm.

“Cool,” Andy said. “Can I try it on?”

Patty Keller was not pleased. Her eyes narrowed and the bags stiffened into angry creases. She looked ready to intervene when another mom called her name and she turned away.

Parents and their first graders sat in groups at the cafeteria tables. Nate stood nearby, letting Andy try on his spy watch. Gwen and Brian found themselves alone with the detective. Gwen immediately asked why they hadn’t heard about the charges against her being dropped.

Keller said, “That’s a question for the DA. I don’t know when or if the charges will stick or go away.”

“What do you mean,
if?”
Brian said.

“I’m just telling you it’s out of my hands. I don’t accuse, I investigate.”

Gwen said, “I made a deal. Why isn’t the district attorney keeping his side of it?”

“I don’t make deals, either. You’ll have to speak to your lawyer,” Keller said. “He’s the deal maker.”

She had spoken to Roger, twice in the last week, and he told her the DA’s office hadn’t gotten back to him yet, although he’d put in three calls.

“The outcome might depend on whether or not the name you provided is useful to our investigation.”

“Has it been so far?” Brian asked.

Keller shrugged. “I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t comment about an ongoing investigation. Although if you have anything else to add that might be of use …” He reached into his pocket for cards. “You can call me. I don’t know if I gave you a card before.” He took out a pen and wrote a number on the back of two cards, then handed one each to Brian and Gwen. “Cell phone, if you need a direct line to me.”

“What else can I add?” Gwen said. “Your extortion techniques already extracted everything I know.”

“Easy, Mrs. Raine,” the detective said. “Let’s not say anything you’ll wish you could take back.”

“I’m beginning to think I already did that,” said Gwen.

Brian gave her the
shut up
look.

Patty returned to their circle, ending the conversation. Nate came up and asked if Andy could come over after school for a play date.

No one answered him.

“Pleeeease,” said Nate. “Please.”

“We have to take Nora to the optometrist after school,” Gwen
said, sharper than she wanted to, still fuming about the so-called deal she’d made.

“Drat!” said Nate. “I don’t want to go to the optimist. Can I go to Andy’s instead?”

“Optometrist, not optimist,” Gwen said, although a trip to an optimist might serve them better.

Patty Keller kept silent. She wasn’t having a drug addict’s kid in her house—wasn’t giving Nate’s suggestion the dignity of a response.

“I have to go,” said Brian, kissing Gwen quickly on the cheek.

She looked at him for help but he was bailing. He leaned so only Gwen could hear and said, “Let me talk to Roger. I’ll call him from work and get this straightened out.”

Gwen went to her weights class and the grocery store, and back at home she looked up New York State real estate licensing on the Internet and weighed the idea of visiting Gull and telling Jude what had happened. How she’d been in an accident, coerced by the police to reveal her source in exchange for dropped charges, and then betrayed by them, just as she’d betrayed Jude. She owed him this much, didn’t she?

She rejected the plan. Whether he was a real dealer or not, he’d be angry with her. And if the police were watching him closely, staking him out or something, they’d probably see her, which would escalate her legal problems.

It would be better to call Amy and pursue the real estate licensing.

In the end she did neither. She made sauce for that evening’s pasta dinner, dropped off the dry cleaning, went to the bank, and
at three o’clock picked up Nora and Nate from school and drove to the optometrist appointment. Nora read the third line on the chart, missed several on the fourth, and burst into tears on the fifth, knowing her fate. Gwen soothed her by promising they’d pick out a cool pair of frames and the three of them tried on almost every pair in the store—forty-four of them, by Nate’s count.

“You look so beautiful in those, Nora,” Gwen said.

“I do?” She still had tears. Gwen wiped them with her hand.

“My beautiful kids,” she said, “both of you.” She gathered them into the fold of her arms.

Brian came home late again that night, long after the kids were asleep, although Gwen was up and anxious for Brian to tell her about the conversation he had with Roger today.

But that wasn’t the story Brian started to tell.

“I was interviewed by a
Times
reporter today,” Brian told her. “I should have passed her on to the PR department but I got talking to her. That was probably a mistake.”

“About what?” She wanted to ask about Roger, but held off. If Brian was ready to tell her what was happening at work, she was ready to listen. At least he was opening up to her about what was going on.

He backed up and told her about another call he’d received recently, from Dr. Marta Everson, a publicity hound Brian knew from conferences and whom he had arranged a consulting agreement with to host educational seminars. Everson had been prescribing Zuprone for a dozen patients for weight loss and claimed three were exhibiting symptoms of anorexia. She had called Brian demanding that Caladon do something about it.

“After she called, I spoke to Stephen and he promised to deal
with her,” Brian said. “Evidently he didn’t because she went to the
Times
where she has some chummy relationship with the health beat reporter.”

The reporter’s name was Tina Soriello. She asked Brian if Caladon promoted the anxiety drug Zuprone for weight loss.

He started by telling her that all media inquiries went through the media relations department and he could transfer her.

But it was after business hours. Ms. Soriello would be dumped in voice mail. Could she ask a few questions? Her deadline was less than an hour away.

So does Caladon promote Zuprone as a weight-loss drug? she asked again.

No, that would entail illegal marketing practices.

Was he aware of any research studies of Zuprone used for weight loss?

He told her that like any other pharmaceutical company, Caladon conducted or sponsored studies for all of its drugs and for almost all uses they were prescribed for, whether FDA approved or not.

What about studies of Zuprone for weight loss?

We have them, but they would only be available to prescribing physicians who ask for them, since Zuprone is an anxiety drug not approved for weight loss.

Brian wasn’t entirely sure where the reporter was heading, because the line of questioning seemed rudimentary.

But then she asked if he was aware of a study conducted by Dr. Marta Everson who found that 25 percent of the patients she prescribed Zuprone to for weight loss were experiencing symptoms of anorexia.

So that was it. Brian said he was familiar with Dr. Everson’s situation. He explained to the reporter that Dr. Everson was prescribing Zuprone for only twelve patients—all of whom were
prescribed higher than recommended dosages and her “study” had no control group, did not account for other medications or health conditions. It was not a study at all. Even Dr. Everson didn’t call it a study. You could call it an observation.

So you’re disputing her claims.

No. I didn’t say that.

Did you warn Dr. Everson that she shouldn’t publicize her findings?

No, we discussed the implications of publishing health-care outcome observations that did not follow scientific protocol.

She said you threatened her.

That’s absurd.

At this point, Brian realized he’d said too much. Too late. The reporter thanked him and hung up.

“What happens now?” Gwen asked.

“I wait for the
Times
to get delivered in the morning and see what’s in it. Hopefully nothing. Reporters write a ton of stories that never make it into the paper—maybe she doesn’t have enough of an angle for this one. If she does, then I’ll have to deal with the fallout.”

“But what about Zuprone? Are there serious problems with it?”

“There are problems with any drug if it’s not used appropriately. And when it’s off-label, you have to rely on anecdotal evidence, peer reviews, recommendations, and even the manufacturer for guidelines. It’s surprisingly chaotic.”

“You once said you thought Teresa was taking Zuprone. Has she lost weight?”

“Twenty-five pounds.”

“You know the exact number?”

“She told me.”

Gwen had met Teresa only once, at the company holiday party just after she and Brian started working together. Gwen remembered
the pretty face and beautiful skin as well as the extra weight. Big boobs and butt, several chins, a dress that highlighted her flabby arms and rounded shoulders.

“How does she look?” Gwen asked.

“Better than she did.”

“Does she look good?”

Brian hesitated. “She needs to lose a few more.”

“But she looks better?”

“She’s lost a bunch of weight.”

“Did she keep her boobs?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said she lost a bunch of weight and I’m wondering if her boobs shrank.”

“I’ll have to ask her.”

“Does she know you’re a married man?”

“You have nothing to be concerned about.”

She shouldn’t be pursuing this. It was just her own guilt over that kiss from Jude. She let it go and changed the subject. “So what did Roger say?”

Brian stiffened like the kid who’d forgotten to do his homework assignment.

Gwen said, “That’s okay, it sounds like you had a tough day.” Cutting her husband slack.

“No, no excuse,” Brian said. “What time is it? I’ll call him now.”

“It can wait until morning.”

“I’m sorry, Gwen. I got so wrapped up at work. I’m probably assuming they’ll drop the charges when they get around to it and this will just go away.”

“Detective Keller acted like he didn’t know about any deal. I never should have said anything.”

“Keller knew about it. It was probably his idea. Roger wouldn’t
have presented the deal if he hadn’t been in discussions with the DA and the police.”

“People get stopped every day with a bag of pot and they pay their fine and that’s it.”

“I guess that guy Anderson dying really complicates it,” Brian said. He moved closer and held her.

“Now I have to see that detective at every school function. His wife thinks I’m some dangerous addict—a threat to her son. The way she looked at me. I think she’s been spreading the word.”

“People will stand by you,” Brian reassured her.

She fought the urge to cry. “You could have at least called Roger.”

“It’s not too late.” But the machine picked up at the Fitzgerald household. Brian left a message asking Roger to call him at work the next morning.

Past midnight and sleep seemed like an appointment hours away, with nothing for Gwen to do while waiting. She envied Brian’s quiet, regular breathing, his body stretched the length of the bed. He never missed out on his sleep, even when tense or worried. He said he couldn’t afford to, as if that statement alone allowed him to overcome insomnia. Not Gwen. Tonight would stretch on, no relief until she followed through on the thing eating at her. There was no point wrestling the sheets for two more hours.

She got out of bed and checked on the kids. Both asleep, curled in their blankets. They slept completely, solidly, through the night. Never woke from nightmares. Little Brians in their sleep habits.

She went back to her room and dressed by moonlight. She used the downstairs bathroom to brush her teeth, rinse her face.

Her car was parked in the garage so she took Brian’s to avoid the motorized chug of the garage door opener. She drove downtown.

Gull was quiet on a late Tuesday night, the dining room nearly empty, a few patrons staked out at the bar. The cocktail waitress, now off-duty, drink in hand, sat chatting with the bartender. Gwen recognized her, one of the women filling out applications the day she picked up the bag from Jude. The others in the bar—two men with beers, a couple at one of the tables—glanced in her
direction and went back to their conversations. She hadn’t registered. No one recognized her. No one looked like law enforcement. That was one of the reasons she hesitated coming here: What if the police were watching Jude and saw her come in? They would think she was desperate to have come here to buy more, or foolish for the reason she’d actually come. She’d end up in more trouble than she already was.