That apron of macadam curved around the building where the pharmacy’s front door opened to the south. The outside security light over the door washed out any possibility of seeing furtive lights inside, an interesting phenomenon that she had pointed out to the architect during the early planning stages of the building. The architect hadn’t believed her, and neither had the insurance company.
As she approached the clinic’s parking lot, Estelle braked to a gentle stop on the shoulder of the street. She could see the back of Louis Herrera’s yellow Mustang, nosed in close to the private staff entrance on the east side of the pharmacy.
With the driver’s-side window down and her engine switched off, she listened to the neighborhood, dominated by the intermittent howl of tires on the interstate just to the north. Somewhere to the east, a ringing telephone prompted a small dog to comment.
For five minutes, Estelle sat and watched her husband’s clinic, loath to do any more, even though she knew that every moment she waited worked in the meticulous, organized Louis Herrera’s favor. Could he actually be unaware that some of his pharmaceuticals were nothing but pressed talc or sugar? Believing that Louis Herrera had been duped was too comfortable.
After a moment she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Dispatch. “Ernie,” she said when the deputy answered, “I’ll be at the clinic for a while, talking with Louis Herrera.”
“Roger that,” Wheeler replied. “You doing all right?”
Estelle almost laughed despite the helpless feeling that this night was headed downhill on a rocket sled. “Just wonderful, Ernie.”
“Jackie came in early. Everybody’s still tied up over at Portillo’s, so she’s the only one on the road.”
“You might have her stay central for a while,” Estelle said. “No mention of this location on the air, por favor.”
“You got it.”
She switched off the phone, started the Expedition, and eased forward, circling the outside of the parking lot until she pulled to a stop broadside behind Herrera’s compact. She saw the movement in the trees just as she was about to open the door. A large, slow-moving figure appeared, hands thrust in his pockets, head down…one of the clinic’s neighbors out for a stroll before bedtime. She waited until Bill Gastner was within a dozen steps before she slipped down out of the tall vehicle. She eased the door shut and stood silent.
The former sheriff waited until Estelle was within touching distance before speaking. “I thought you were going to stop by the house.”
“If I did, Francis would have wanted to come with me. I didn’t want that.”
“Well, he wanted to come anyway,” Gastner said. “He knows that he’s got a hell of a stake in all this, but I told him as undiplomatically as I could that now was a really good time to stay out of the way.” He nodded toward the pharmacy. “You want some company?” Gastner flashed a grin. “Or should I stay out of the way, too?”
Estelle reached out and squeezed the older man’s arm. When she didn’t release her grip, he chuckled, “Anyway, you never know when you might need a livestock inspector. There might be an unbranded calf or something inside.”
A set of headlights appeared on Escondido and just as quickly winked out. Estelle watched as the vehicle coasted through the shadows. When it passed under the streetlight on the curve, she recognized the older Bronco that Deputy Jackie Taber drove on the graveyard shift.
“The cavalry,” she said, and reached around to double-key the radio on her belt so that the two barks of squelch would alert the deputy that Estelle had seen her approach.
“Herrera has a scanner in the pharmacy, as I remember,” Gastner said.
“Yes, he does. I told Ernie.”
The employees’ door was painted turquoise to match the building’s trim, but the color did nothing to hide the plain, utilitarian nature of the steel construction. Estelle rapped hard, the sound an intrusion in the quiet night. She and Gastner waited for a full minute before he said, “Try mine.” He walloped the door four times, and by the fourth knock they heard the dead bolt slide out of the striker. The heavy door opened noiselessly, and Louis Herrera peered out cautiously. He saw first Gastner and then Estelle, and his face brightened.
“Ah,” he said. “You guys out for a walk?” He looked past them and saw Estelle’s county vehicle parked behind his. “I’m getting some paperwork done,” he said. “Some stuff that I’ve been ignoring for too long.”
“Louis, we need to talk,” Estelle said, and her abrupt tone wasn’t lost on the pharmacist.
Herrera frowned, his glance shifting from Estelle to Gastner and back. “Well, sure. Any time. You know that.” He stepped to one side, holding the door open wide. “Come on in.” As she slipped past him, he said, “Any progress on that big book?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Well…good. Come on in.” A few steps brought them to his work station. The computer was on, its screen saver just starting a display of pipes building into a vast plumbing snarl. Herrera flipped shut a thick computer readout and pushed it out of the way. He glanced at Bill Gastner, as if expecting the former sheriff to say something, but the older man’s face was placid as he scanned the various drugs on the shelf to his left.
“So, what’s Francis up to tonight?” Herrera said.
“He’s waiting over at my house,” Gastner said before Estelle had a chance to answer. He continued his calm examination of the shelf’s inventory, and Estelle could see that Francis had outlined for Gastner what she and her husband had looked at earlier in the drug reference guide. Gastner fell silent, not bothering to explain why Francis was waiting. It was the sort of flat statement that drew the conversation up short, and Estelle watched the pharmacist’s face.
“This is going to be hard enough on him as it is, Louis,” Estelle said. His right hand drifted out to the counter beside him in what ordinarily would be a casual move but this time looked as if he was searching for balance.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Estelle regarded him for a moment. He held her gaze for ten seconds or so, then his eyes darted first toward Gastner and then to the floor. Estelle pulled the small evidence bags from her jacket pocket. “I know about the drugs, Louis,” she said, and even as she spoke she felt a wellspring of anger against this smooth young man. “These two are Daprodin DG.” She tossed the bags on the counter so that they landed just in front of Herrera’s outspread fingers. He didn’t move. She held up the second set of bags for a moment, then tossed them on top of the first set. “And those are counterfeit Daprodin DG.”
Louis Herrera stood perfectly still, his eyes riveted on the four evidence bags. If he was still breathing, Estelle couldn’t tell.
After a moment, he pulled his hand away and Estelle saw the streaks of moisture left behind on the counter.
“Should I ask where you got those?” he whispered.
“I think you already know, Louis.”
Gastner had moved down the shelf a bit, and now leaned back, neck cricked as he looked through his bifocals at the white bottle in front of him. “That Daprodin is popular stuff,” he mused as if talking to himself. He pulled a pencil out of his shirt pocket and with the eraser end moved the stock bottle of Daprodin half an inch to the right so he could scrutinize the label. Estelle could see that there was no second bottle behind it.
“Why would I know?” Herrera said. He watched Gastner instead of Estelle.
“Louis,” Estelle said, “Francis and I were in here earlier. The real Daprodin DG came from that bottle on the shelf. I took two samples.” She separated the bags. “These two were taken from the second jar. Earlier, the second jar was stowed behind the first, on that shelf.” She nodded across the room, and Gastner tapped the shelf in front of him with a knuckle. “Whoever manufactured this second batch didn’t get the taste quite right.”