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Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

HOLMES CLEARED HIS throat. The vodka molecules had started to pass through his blood-brain barrier and he was feeling the effects. The woman had ordered a beer chaser to follow her shot.

“Can I tell you something?” said Holmes.

“Why not?” said the young woman. “That’s what bars are for.”

“I’m here on an investigation,” he said. “I’m a private investigator.”

“Can’t be all that private,” the woman replied. “You just told me.”

“I’m Brendan Holmes.”

“I know,” said the woman. “From your picture.” She nodded at the printout behind the bar. “I’m Callie Brett.” She held out her hand. Holmes shook it gently. Her skin was cool and damp from the beer bottle.

“Listen. I need to talk to somebody from the hospital,” he said. He was starting to feel the full impact of the alcohol now. “But everybody’s avoiding me.” He realized his sentences were starting to spill out in a loose order. “It’s very important. Very important investigation. Urgent.”

“You can talk to me,” said Callie. “I don’t work there anymore.”

A hospital worker? Not a cop? Holmes would not have deduced that about her. Had he missed something obvious? He tried to cover his surprise with a rudimentary question. “And when did you leave?”

“Twenty-four hours ago.”

“You quit?”

“I did.”

“What did you do there?”

“Pediatrics resident.”

“You’re a doctor?” Holmes blinked. His normally sharp instincts were way off.

“You look surprised,” said Callie. She took a long sip of her beer. “I knew I should have worn my stethoscope.” Then she smiled again.

Holmes found himself making a quick mental adjustment. So much for his powers of perception. They were obviously wrecked. But now he had to capitalize on the opportunity. Make up for the deficit. Difficult. His brain was swimming. His head was heavy. But he did his best to spin out a line of questioning.

“Did you by any chance notice any strangers in the maternity unit recently?” he asked.

“You mean besides the dozen new patients a day and their families?”

“Anybody unusual,” said Holmes. “Anybody who stood out. Anybody who didn’t belong.”

Callie tilted her head and squinted toward the ceiling for a few seconds. She looked back at Holmes. “Some people came in last week from HavenCare. Corporate types. Two women.”

“HavenCare?”

“Yep. That’s the reason I quit. HavenCare is the conglomerate that’s planning to suck up St. Michael’s. Along with everything else.”

“St. Michael’s is going corporate?”

“Within six months.”

“You didn’t like that idea?”

“Joining the evil empire?” said Callie. “No, I didn’t. St. Michael’s is—was—one of the few independent hospitals left.” She rolled her beer bottle between her palms. “Look. I get the efficiencies of scale, the records sharing, the administrative streamlining. I sat through all the presentations. I really liked the idea of nobody looking over our shoulder, watching our every move. You know what I mean?”

“I do. Absolutely,” said Holmes. He felt the same way about needless supervision, had always preferred to work independently. “So, where are you going?” The word “going” had sounded odd as he spoke it. More like “gong.”

“Denver,” said Callie. “Small clinic. Privately owned. Obviously.”

“How were they dressed?” Holmes was aware of his own non sequitur, and the fact that his head was hanging lower. It felt like a lead weight. He saw Callie lean over, her head tilted sideways.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Can you describe them?” Holmes could feel his words oozing out. Not crisp. Not authoritative. Not good.

Callie slid off her stool and leaned into his face. “What’s up?” She called to the bartender. “Lou! How many has he had?” Lou held up one finger. She turned back to Holmes. “Are you on something?” She shook him by the shoulders. “What are you taking, Brendan?”

The subject has become the inquisitor, thought Holmes. His guard was now totally down. “Buprenorphine,” he mumbled. “Sixteen milligrams.” He badly messed up the next word: “Sublingually.”

Callie grabbed his arm. “Buprenorphine? Are you kidding me?” She pulled his chin up and squeezed his cheeks. “You know that booze on top of bupe can be fatal, right? Do you know that? ”

“I don’t really care,” said Holmes. At the moment, that was the absolute truth.

It was his last thought before his head hit the bar.

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