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9
Thursday, I was on the day shift again and half expected to see either Michael or the police when I arrived at Food Go. But it was surprisingly quiet. My first customer came in twenty minutes after I opened, which gave me time to catch up on paperwork.
Detective Frank Moreway arrived an hour or so later. I was on the phone, trying to solve a difficult problem. The patient wanted a refill of Vasotec, 5 milligrams, to reduce his blood pressure. He didn't have the original vial or the prescription number, so I looked him up in the computer. Then I pulled the hard copy, handwritten by a Dr. Thomas; but when I called Dr. Thomas's office, no one had heard of the patient. Now the office nurse had put Dr. Thomas himself on the phone, and I was listening to an indignant denial that Mr. Rosofsky was his patient.
"But Dr. Thomas, the script is handwritten on your blank."
"I don't care how it's written; he's not my patient."
At that point, a man in a dark suit, incongruous for Scottsdale in August, had stepped up to the window and shoved his I.D. at me. I recognized the name. Detective Frank Moreway was Joey's brother-in-law, and I smiled and held up my hand to indicate I'd be right with him. He glared at me, obviously not used to waiting when he wanted to talk to someone. Now I had another problem: doctors are not accustomed to being put on hold, and here was a Scottsdale police detective who didn't want to wait either.
The patient chose that moment to reappear and yell at me. "I never heard of Dr. Thomas. Just give me my blood pressure medicine. I don't need you to raise my pressure."
"Sir, I can't refill your Vasotec without the doctor's okay. He has no record of you, and now you tell me he's not your doctor."
Frank Moreway, in a deliberately polite voice, interrupted. "Can we hold off on that for a minute, ma'am? I need to get back into the pharmacy and look up some records."
"Detective Moreway, you can come back now." I indicated the door and went to open it for him. "I'm sorry, but I must finish with this gentleman before I can call up any records for you on the computer."
The customer's face had turned red and he was shouting at me again. "Don't give me excuses. I want my medicine."
I sighed. "Sir, this is the original prescription. It's handwritten on Dr. Thomas's form and signed by him. He never heard of you and you never heard of him, so we're at an impasse here." I showed him the prescription.
"I don't care what you say," he shouted. "I go to Dr. Birmann, not Dr. Thomas."
Suddenly, I saw what had happened. "Sir, both of those doctors are in the same office, and they cover for each other on vacations. Let me call the office again and see if they can find your record under Dr. Birmann."
So I did and they did. The customer admitted he'd seen some other doctor last time, apologized profusely, and thanked me for straightening things out. I filled his Vasotec, told two other people that I'd have their prescriptions in half an hour, and turned my attention to Frank Moreway.
"I want a printout of every prescription Harry Stokes got since the beginning of this year," he said. "Also, I have a list of other people whose records I want to see."
He handed me a list that included Betsy Stokes, Richard Stokes, Nancy Stokes, Sheila Stokes, and Denise Seaford. I ran all the names through my computer and saw that Harry's children were not our customers. While the computer printed out the records for Harry, Betsy, and Denise, I tried to talk to Frank Moreway.
"I don't understand, Detective. I thought Harry Stokes died of natural causes."
For someone who, at least according to Joey, gossiped so much at home, the detective was surprisingly laconic with me. "I'm not permitted to discuss the case, ma'am. Just give me the records and I'll get out of your way."
I indicated the printer and tried to lighten the situation. "If I could invent one that works faster when people are in a hurry, I'd be rich."
"What time are you off duty?" He glanced briefly at a young woman who had come up to the window. "I have some questions, and I don't want the public listening in."
I could feel the color leaving my face even though I knew I hadn't done anything wrong. Leaning over the printer as if to check it, I tried to hide my reaction from Frank Moreway. But I was sure he'd noticed. Stop being foolish, I warned myself. Straighten up and act your age.
"Detective, I'll be glad to answer any questions, but this is a retail business and there'll be people around even at five when my shift ends."
"Isn't there an office here?"
"Yes, but employees will be coming and going all the time."
He gave me a look that I interpreted as suspicious. "Then you have two choices. I can go out to your residence or you can come to police headquarters."
I dawdled with the printouts while I thought this over. Going to the police department could be embarrassing, but it might be even worse if he pulled up in front of my house in a patrol car. "I'll come to you," I said.
"Fine. Just ask for Criminal Investigations and someone will direct you."
"About 5:30?" I couldn't help making it a question and waited for his approval.
"Five-thirty," he repeated and left with the printouts.
All day, I dreaded the coming interview. Surely my private daydreams had no bearing on the case. He just wanted to discuss the prescriptions with me. But my uneasiness never subsided.
At five, I walked over to the Food Go employee restrooms, where I carefully brushed my hair, trying to neaten the wayward curls caused by the humidity, and reapplied lipstick. Luckily, I had worn my taupe and white geometric-patterned dress, which was less frivolous looking than some of my other summer outfits. I needed all the self-confidence I could muster.
When I arrived at police headquarters and was directed to Detective Moreway's desk in Criminal Investigations, my nervousness increased. Maybe I'm just reacting to Denise's story, I thought, and tried to calm myself.
Frank Moreway offered me a chair and sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at me. For the first time, I noticed the brown shoes and socks he wore with his dark blue suit. I considered it a sign that he didn't know everything and relaxed slightly just before he led me through a description of every drug on the printouts. Or maybe I just became more professional as we entered my own sphere of knowledge.
First, we discussed the four prescriptions that Harry Stokes regularly filled at Food Go. I explained the significance of the increased dosages of Micronase and Lopressor. "But you really should talk to his doctor," I suggested. A noncommittal grunt was his only response, which I interpreted to mean he'd already done so but wasn't going to give anything away.
"Let me be sure I've got it all," Detective Moreway said. Then he had me repeat everything. It was hard to equate this man with the brother-in-law that Joey admired so much, although I was fairly sure repetition was a ploy to see whether I changed any information.
After we went over Harry Stokes's prescription record several times, the detective began to question me about how well I knew Harry. "I knew him only as a customer," I told said.
"How often did you see him outside of Food Go?"
"Never."
"You were at his funeral," he said flatly.
Here was another dilemma, but I was not going to make things worse for Denise. "He was a very good customer; I wanted to pay my respects."
Too late I realized that Joey had heard the entire conversation when Denise urged me to go to the funeral with her. Well, this was my story and I would stick to it.
He surprised me by not pursuing the subject. Instead he went on to Denise's prescriptions, which were pretty straightforward. In addition to her regular script each month for 60 Seldane, which she took for her allergies, the record showed one for Seldane D last month when she had a bad summer cold. I'd cautioned her not to take both drugs at the same time but to use only the Seldane D until the cold symptoms eased off. I remembered thinking it would be simpler and cheaper if her doctor told her to buy Food-Fed, Food Go's brand of pseudoephedrine, a decongestant that doesn't require a prescription, and take it along with the allergy drug.
"No birth control pills?" Frank Moreway asked.
I felt my face flush. "This is the complete record. You saw me pull it from the computer."
"Couldn't the record be altered?"
"Yes, I suppose it could be, but you're welcome to look over the hard copies—paper copies—of the prescriptions. Anytime."
"I might just do that," he said and began to question me about Betsy Stokes's prescription record.
One glance at her printout and my shocked expression was enough to alert Detective Moreway. "What is it? Was she taking something unusual?"
"No. Nothing unusual. I just didn't suspect ... I mean, Harry was so much older ... that is ..." I was silent.
"You might as well stop trying to hide things from me. I haven't been to her doctor yet, but I'm sure he'll cooperate."
I was too disturbed then by the prescription record and his assumption that I was holding back information to notice the tacit admission that he'd talked with Harry Stokes's physician. "I'm not hiding anything," I said indignantly.
He got down from the desk and loomed over me. "Well."
"She's taking Stuartnatal 1 + 1. The other pharmacist filled the script, so I didn't know until now."
"In words of one syllable," Frank Moreway said slowly, "I want you to explain what that means."
"Stuartnatal 1 + 1 is a prenatal vitamin."
His face still had a puzzled expression, or maybe that was a ploy, too, so I hurried to explain. "Betsy ... I mean Mrs. Stokes ... is pregnant."
"And why the shocked reaction? You must fill hundreds of prescriptions for prenatal vitamins."
"It's just the circumstances," I lamely excused myself.
He wasn't going to let that one get by. "What circumstances in particular? That her husband was a senior citizen?"
I winced at this term. But then again, to a young man like Detective Moreway, it must have seemed a natural distinction. My mind raced as I tried to absorb the implications of Betsy's pregnancy. Any lingering doubts about suicide were gone, and I thought the likelihood that Betsy had murdered her husband was also diminished. Then I remembered Denise. If she knew about the pregnancy, would the police consider it her motive? In view of the direction of their questions, this seemed likely. I couldn't believe she was a murderer, and I was not going to help them harass her.
"You haven't answered my question," Detective Moreway said.
I couldn't remember the question and must have looked blank. "Why does her pregnancy shock you?"
"Detective Moreway," I said firmly, looking up at him. "I'm trying to cooperate with you in every way possible." Despite the air conditioning, I could feel sweat trickling down my forehead. It was a normal physical reaction during the Arizona monsoon season, but I was afraid he'd attribute it to a guilty conscience.
He resumed his perch on the edge of the desk. Ordinarily I would have enjoyed talking to him rather than sitting home alone in front of my television. He wasn't really handsome, but his strong features and confident manner would make him attractive to many women. And how often did any young man waste more than a few minutes talking to me? I was just another one of Scottsdale's "seniors." We were as indistinguishable to most young men, and women too, as the palm trees outside.
"All right, ma'am," he said finally. "Let's look at the other prescription drugs that Betsy Stokes gets from you."
The printout showed her scripts in reverse chronological order, with the latest at the top of the page, but nothing unusual had caught my eye until I reached the prenatal vitamins. Now I started from the beginning and looked over the rest of Betsy Stokes' recent medical history for Frank Moreway.
Her first prenatal exam had probably been on July 18th because she'd gotten the Stuartnatal 1 + 1 that day. On July 24th, her doctor had prescribed penicillin and Tussi-Organidin DM. "She must have caught the summer cold that's been going around," I explained.
"Is it safe for a pregnant woman to take those drugs?"
"Her doctor prescribed them."
"That's no answer."
Why was he so antagonistic? No one had called Harry's death murder; yet he seemed to be suspicious of everyone. "The doctor writes them and I fill them," I said.
"And if you think the doctor made an error?"
"Then I call him, or her, and check it out." All at once, I was tired of acting like a victim. It was time to confront Detective Moreway. "I don't understand," I said. "Betsy Stokes is very much alive. What does her summer cold have to do with anything?"
I stood in front of him now, all my nervousness suddenly gone. "It's not what the doctors prescribe for pregnant women that I worry about. It's the nonprescription drugs people buy over the counter." I gathered the printouts and handed them to Frank Moreway. Then I adjusted the straps of my taupe leather shoulder bag, giving him time to insist on further questions. He looked surprised but said nothing.
"If you want to have a philosophical discussion on the subject some time, I'll be glad to give you my opinion. But pharmacists don't get a lunch hour at Food Go, and it's nearly eleven hours since breakfast." Half expecting him to call me back, I left the room at a carefully moderated pace and walked to my car.
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