MOSTLY MURDER: Till Death: a mystery anthology Read online

  “However, the other one—Velasquez—he was a member of the Latin Kings. Pretty high up in the organization, too. He ran a piece of the Connecticut Pipeline from Bridgeport to Stamford when the real guy in charge—Juanito Ramos—went to prison. And when Ramos died… fast… pancreatic cancer… Velasquez was in line to take over.”

  Margie blinked, trying to keep up with all the information. “Ramos died of pancreatic cancer?”

  Hunter looked down at his notes, then nodded. “Yeah. Beginning of the year.”

  “Like Larry,” she said.

  “A bit of a coincidence there.” He patted her shoulder as she got out of the car.

  “Come on,” she said, “I’ll show you upstairs.”

  Hunter walked up and down the hallway, peering into closets, the bathroom, and the room she used as a home office. “How about downstairs?”

  “I walked through with the police. Downstairs wasn’t touched.”

  “Hm.” He stepped into the master bedroom. “Assuming it was the same person who took the computer from the office, I wonder why he decided to start here?” He glanced over his shoulder at Margie as she hesitated in the doorway.

  She shook her head. For some reason, the condoms in the toilet flashed through her mind.

  “Did Larry have a stalker?” Hunter asked. “Or an enemy?”

  At that she laughed. “Not that we knew of. I guess it’s possible.”

  “Think about it, okay?” replied Hunter. “You want to grab anything else while we’re here? I’m just going to take a quick look around. If you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not. Go on.” Their eyes met, and Margie was suddenly conscious of the fact that they were standing in her bedroom. For the briefest instant, something sparked between them, and Margie remembered that Hunter said there was one who got away.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” she said.

  “I’ll just be downstairs,” he said, at the same time.

  As he maneuvered past her, she noticed the tips of his ears were red. She didn’t have a chance to grab much more than a few items of clothing when Hunter called up to her. “Did you tell me that nothing was disturbed down here?”

  “That’s right.” She peered over the banister, suddenly cold all over.

  “You better come look, then. This looks just like his office at work.”

  She descended the steps in a state of disbelief and found Hunter in the doorway of the den. Someone had ransacked the drawers, the closets, and the bookshelves.

  “Can you tell if they took anything?”

  Margie gazed around in dismay, then shook her head. “It’s too much of a mess. I mean, I can see what they didn’t take… they didn’t take the TV, the CD player, or Larry’s framed Krueggerand…. They didn’t take anything you’d think a robber might want.”

  “And you’re sure you and Larry don’t have any enemies? No one making threatening calls? No one just getting out of jail and maybe wanting to get back at you?”

  In disbelief, she turned to look at Hunter. “I didn’t even consider that. But… no, no one I can think of. Not offhand.”

  “That’s where the police are going to go, you know. Although I think it’s someone who has a key. Again, there’s no sign of forced entry anywhere. I’ve checked—even in the basement. So not only is it someone who has a way in, it’s someone who knows when you’re home and when you’re not.”

  IX

  Margie left Hunter at the house with the locksmith and the alarm guy while she drove with the detectives to show them Larry’s office at the agency.

  But to her astonishment, while Larry’s office was clearly still ransacked, the missing computer tower was back on the floor, placed more or less exactly where it used to be, wires haphazardly re-connected. “It’s back,” she said in disbelief. “This is bizarre… it wasn’t here at 9:00 this morning. Look, I took these pictures with my phone.”

  The detectives glanced at each other. They were both middle-aged men, one in his fifties, one maybe a decade younger. They wore badly fitting jackets and shiny ties. But their faces were kind. They knew her, they’d known Larry. The last time she’d seen them was at his funeral.

  “Mrs. Dowling,” said the older one whose badge read Henry Wallace #312. “Is there any possibility that your husband was hiding something from you? Maybe involved in something he didn’t want you to know about?”

  “You mean like an affair?” She thought about the condoms in the toilet. But Larry couldn’t have had anything to do with that.

  “An affair, or a case. Maybe a business dealing? Some side investment?” asked the younger one, Jake Horowitz #546.

  “Did he owe anyone money?” Wallace asked.

  Margie shook her head. “I handle our finances. And we don’t owe anyone anything, not beyond the mortgage company and a few credit cards.”

  The men exchanged glances. “All right, Mrs. Dowling,” said Wallace. “We’re going to dust for prints… this might take a while.”

  “There’re footprints in the back office,” Margie said. “Here. We took pictures of those, too.”

  “Could that be the same size as the imprint on the roof, Jake?” Wallace elbowed his partner.

  “I guess it could be. Those still back there?”

  “As far as I know,” Margie said. “You need me to stay? I expect to be back with the locksmith after he’s finished at the house.”

  Wallace glanced into the mess that was Larry’s office. “We might still be here. Take your time.”

  X

  Hunter had the office calendars spread all over the dining room table. The alarm company had left brochures, and the locksmith agreed to meet her at the office after stopping by his shop for more equipment.

  “I want you to see this,” Hunter said. “Dr. Holcombe was a pretty straight guy from everything I can see. When he wasn’t seeing patients or teaching classes, he was playing golf, attending Rotary, or out with his wife. Except.” He pointed to a crossed-out block of hours. “This starts in April of 2010 and continues all the way through to October of 2013. Every Tuesday. Six hours. Big yellow X. No explanation, no notation.”

  “I’ll call Joss,” said Margie.

  * * *

  Joss answered readily. “Of course. That’s the time he spent at the prisons. All the specialists in the area take turns. It’s part of a state program. If you agree to see patients who obviously don’t have much access to specialists, you get a miniscule reimbursement and tons of brownie points. And a fairly homogenous population if you have research to do.”

  “Isn’t it illegal to experiment on humans?” asked Margie, faintly repulsed.

  “Not if they agree. The prisoners get incentives. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

  “Are there records of who Dr. Holcombe saw?”

  “At the prisons? Those are all state records… I can’t access those.”

  Maybe you can’t, Margie thought. “You wouldn’t happen to remember any names, would you, Joss? Anyone who sticks in your mind?”

  There was a long pause. Then Joss replied, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  “Okay, no worries. It does seem like we’ve figured out where your husband could’ve met your assailants. We’ll keep digging.” Margie hung up.

  * * *

  Hunter said, “You know at least three names to search—Divino, Velasquez, and Little Juan Ramos. Juanito. The guy who just died.”

  “Of pancreatic cancer.” She looked at Hunter. “Joss just said something that made me wonder if Holcombe was doing his own research on the prisoners. She said one reason a doctor would agree to join the program is that you get access to a large homogenous population. Who are incentivized to participate. You and Larry fought in October of 2010, right?”

  “October seventeenth. A day that will live in infamy.”

  “What if Larry was part of this experiment… along with the prisoners? You said he was thinking of taking some experimental drug.” She paused, her mind spinning faster than
she could talk. “And what if this drug causes cancer? And that’s why Holcombe stopped?”

  Hunter sank down into a chair. “We don’t know Larry ever took the drug, Margie. And two people… well, that’s hardly a representative sample, is it? We don’t know if Ramos even saw Dr. Holcombe for anything.” He gave her what passed for a grin. “Why don’t you go open up that pretty little computer of yours and see what you can find out about Juanito Ramos and the other two?”

  XI

  Once she found a way in, it was easy… almost too easy. The state cyber-security systems weren’t particularly secure. Inside the prison hospital system, it didn’t take Margie long to identify at least 75 prisoners or more who’d been seen by Dr. Holcombe.

  By the end of Holcombe’s first year, he’d seen every prisoner whose records she accessed at least once.

  When she did a search for prisoners seen by Dr. Holcombe, she gasped at the length of the list. Over 3000 men had passed beneath Dr. Holcombe’s watchful eye. “Why would they all be seen by an endocrinologist?” Margie mused, chewing her lip.

  Hunter’s voice came from behind her. “That was the locksmith calling back. He’s going to have to finish up at the office tomorrow,” Hunter said from the doorway. “Did you even hear the phone ring?”

  “No.” She shook her head and pushed her chair away from the table. “But from what I can find in these prison records, Dr. Holcombe was seeing everyone. Like, every prisoner there. If he was interested in trying out a drug… he must’ve been considering everyone.”

  “Or giving it to everyone,” Hunter said. “Have you checked deaths? To see who died of what?”

  Margie typed in a search. Nothing. She tried another. Nothing. “That’s interesting,” she muttered. She wrinkled her brow. “Let’s go broader… prison deaths New Jersey.” But no matter how Margie tried to search, nothing yielded results.

  “What’s wrong?” Hunter asked, watching intently.

  “There’s something odd here. I can find why an individual died. Like here, Ramos is listed as pancreatic cancer. And this guy… Douglas Iverson. And this guy… Raymond Tucker. So there’s three. But if I try to search for “pancreatic cancer cause of death” or some similar search terms, I get nothing. If I try to search for the cause of death for any reason, in fact, I can’t find it. Look… I’ll try heart attacks… strokes… nothing.”

  “Glitch in the system?”

  “Maybe. Maybe it’s not set up to provide that kind of information, though I don’t know why.” She tapped a couple keys. “And the other thing I think is strange is that Divino, who did his time in 2014, was also given this drug . But that was after Holcombe left the program and took his drug trial with him. Presumably.”

  He patted her shoulder. “So someone was still experimenting? Come on, kiddo. Enough for tonight. Let’s pack up and get out of here. The locks are all changed; no one’s getting in. I’ll buy you some dinner, and let’s see where we are with all this.”

  “I want to try one more thing.” She met his eyes. “I—uh—I think I found a way into Holcombe’s own records… whatever he himself was storing in the cloud. I want to poke around a bit… see if I’m right. You mind?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll get started.”

  Margie slowly typed in Larry’s social security number. She’d needed to use it so frequently in the last weeks, she didn’t think she’d ever forget it.

  The computer blinked. For a split second, Margie hoped Hunter was wrong, that Larry had never gone to see Jonathon Holcombe, had never taken an experimental drug.

  Then, the screen flashed, and the name Lawrence D. appeared, citing his date of birth. The date of the original entry was October 16, 2010. The notes included the patient’s weight, height, and blood pressure. Definitely her husband.

  “Patient presents as a 45-year-old male, undergoing increasing emotional distress because of homosexual feelings. Patient believes these feelings are the result of hormone imbalance and would like to participate in the ongoing trial.”

  The last lines included the name of an unpronounceable drug and scribbles that must have been dosage instructions.

  And Larry did take the drug, because there were follow-up visits, recorded in arcane notations she couldn’t completely decipher. Larry had even been having his blood drawn regularly.

  How had she not known? Her mind raced back through the last years. Larry hadn’t acted any differently, at least not to her. Their sex life hadn’t been the glue that kept them together, but she assumed most couples deteriorated to the same level after years of togetherness. She’d been proud in fact, on some level, that her relationship with Larry was more about friendship, shared values and respect than anything as ephemeral as lust. The idea that he was suddenly attracted to men didn’t bother her so much as the fact he hadn’t come to her… had decided to keep this all secret.

  Oh, Larry, she thought. You didn’t even give me a chance to help you, to figure out a way through this. A fresh wave of grief swept over her, and tears spilled down her cheeks. For all this pain that she had so blithely, blindly overlooked.

  How he must have suffered, keeping such a secret from everyone. Especially her.

  But it was the name of the referring physician that hit her like a punch in the gut. Joss Holcombe, M.D.

  Margie sat back. “Hunter,” she said. He looked up from the box of Holcombe’s records, but before he could speak, she continued, “I need to speak to Jocelyn Holcombe. Now.”

  “What did you find?”

  “My client is the doctor who referred Larry to her husband.”

  XII

  “I wasn’t sure how much I should tell you yesterday,” Joss said, when they were seated in her sister’s kitchen over cups of cocoa. “It would be a very sensitive topic at any time, and given this…”

  “I want you to explain why my husband came to see you, Joss. I know there’s doctor-patient confidentiality, but he’s dead, and I’d like to know why.” Margie gazed at Joss, feeling anything but friendly.

  Joss shrugged. “I can understand that.” She took a deep breath. “Larry first came to me in the spring of 2010. He claimed he suddenly woke up one morning with homosexual feelings. He described the feeling as a ‘switch having flipped.’ I didn’t quite know what to think, to be perfectly honest. I told him these were most likely latent feelings, long suppressed, finally making themselves conscious. He vehemently rejected that idea.

  “So I put him through some tests to rule out anything physical, and when everything came back fine, I reassured him that there is a broad range of sexual expression that is considered “normal.” I tried to steer him toward self-acceptance. I encouraged him to talk to you, Margie.” She paused.

  “Did you encourage him to try your husband’s drug?” asked Hunter.

  “First of all, it wasn’t his drug. Jon was in on the initial development and testing, yes. But he left the program as soon as it was obvious there were reports of… side effects—side-effects he felt were too extreme to be tolerated. I believe I mentioned the drug to Larry, but not as a suggestion that he take it—only to make him aware that there was research involving brain chemistry, hormones, and sexuality.” Joss shook her head.

  “The drug wasn’t supposed to change orientation. It was a side effect in about five to ten percent of the men who took it. And the change appeared permanent. That’s what gave Larry the idea it might flip his switch, as he put it.”

  “This could explain why Divino and Velasquez might’ve been mad enough at your husband to come looking for him… if they were part of this experimental drug trial—something they did to earn brownie points—and discovered they were suddenly attracted only to men,” Hunter said. “Machismo is everything in Latin culture. A man who loses his manhood… which how that would be perceived… would feel like he lost everything.”

  “I—I don’t understand why Larry didn’t tell me if he was having these feelings.” Margie looked from Hunter to Joss and back. “I would’ve thought
… given everything… he’d have known…”

  “It wasn’t just you, Margie,” said Joss gently. “He mentioned to me that he’d had a very strict Christian upbringing. His father was a minister? He was active in church?”

  Margie nodded. “We were both active in church… he loved singing in the choir…”

  And spending time with Pastor Dave. The words rolled through Margie’s mind before she could stop them. Was it possible that her dislike of the minister was based in an intuitive jealousy? It was one thing when Hunter, whom she’d known a long time, was the “other man” in the middle of both their business and personal lives. But without Hunter, maybe Larry craved something she couldn’t give. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, wishing with all of her heart that Larry could have come to her.

  “How long did Larry take the drug?” asked Hunter.

  “I’m not sure. Six months, maybe? It didn’t seem to have any effect. So he stopped.”

  “Did Dr. Holcombe realize that it could cause cancer?”

  “No. It was that side effect of the drug that Jon and I agreed made it completely unethical to give to anyone.” Jocelyn paused. “Do you know how many have died?”

  Margie shook her head. “Well, that’s the funny thing. I can’t find out. I can hack into the system and poke through individual records, but I can’t make it tell me what I want to know. My guess, from what I was able to see… quite a few.”

  Joss looked from Margie to Hunter. “I guess that explains why Jon was willing to give those guys money. Guilt… or fear. He wasn’t a bad man; he certainly wasn’t trying to kill people. Or even change people.” She turned to Margie. “But why the cover-up? And what do I do about it?”