When Cassi reached Thomas’s office she found the door locked. Checking her watch, she realized why. It was just after twelve and Doris was on her lunch break. Cassi got security to open the door to the waiting room and settled herself on the rose sofa.
She tried flipping through the collection of outdated New Yorker magazines, but she couldn’t concentrate. Looking around, she noticed that the door to Thomas’s office was ajar. The one thing Cassi had been effectively denying for the past week was Thomas’s drug taking. With the change in his behavior, she wanted to believe that he’d stopped. But when she was sitting in his office, curiosity got the better of her. She got up, walked past Doris’s desk, and entered the inner office.
It was one of the few times she’d been there. She glanced at the photos of Thomas and other nationally known cardiac surgeons that were arranged on bookshelves. She couldn’t help noticing that there were no pictures of herself. There was one of Patricia, but that was with Thomas Sr. and Thomas himself when he was in college.
Nervously, Cassi seated herself behind the desk. Almost automatically her hand went to the second drawer on the right, the same one where she’d found the drugs at home. As she pulled it out, she felt like a traitor. Thomas had been behaving so wonderfully the last week. Yet there they were: a miniature pharmacy of Percodan, Demerol, Valium, morphine, Talwin, and Dexedrine. Just beyond the plastic vials was a stack of mail-order forms for an out-of-state drug firm. Cassi bent over to look more closely. The firm’s name was Generic Drugs. The prescribing doctor was an Allan Baxter, M.D., the same name that had been on the vials she’d found at home.
Suddenly she heard the waiting room door shut. Resisting a temptation to slam the drawer, she quickly eased it shut. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked out of Thomas’s office.
“My God!” exclaimed Doris with a start. “I had no idea you were here.”
“They let me out early,” said Cassi with a smile. “Good behavior.”
After recovering from her initial shock, Doris felt compelled to inform Cassi that she’d spent the entire previous afternoon canceling today’s office patients so that Thomas could take her home. Meanwhile, she glanced at the inner office, then closed the door.
“Who is Dr. Allan Baxter?” asked Cassi, ignoring Doris’s attempt to make her feel like a burden.
“Dr. Baxter was a cardiologist who occupied the adjoining professional suite that we took over when we added the extra examination rooms.”
“When did he move?” asked Cassi.
“He didn’t move. He died,” said Doris, sitting down behind her typewriter and directing her attention at the material on her desk. Without looking up at Cassi, she added, “If you’d like to sit down, I’m sure that Thomas should be along soon.” She threaded a sheet of paper into her machine and began to type.
“I think I’d prefer to wait in Thomas’s office.”
As Cassi passed behind her desk, Doris’s head shot up. “Thomas doesn’t like anyone in his office when he’s not there,” she protested with authority.
“That’s understandable,” returned Cassi. “But I’m not anyone. I’m his wife.”
Cassi went back through the door and closed it, half expecting Doris to follow. But the door didn’t open, and presently she could hear the sound of the typewriter.
Going back to Thomas’s desk, she quickly retrieved one of the mail order forms, noting that it was not only printed with Dr. Baxter’s name, but also his DEA narcotics number. Using a direct outside line, Cassi placed a call to the Drug Enforcement Administration. A secretary answered. Cassi introduced herself and said she had a question about a certain physician.
“I think you’d better talk with one of the inspectors,” said the secretary.
Cassi was placed on hold. Her hands were trembling. Presently one of the inspectors came on the line. Cassi gave her credentials, mentioning that she was an M.D. on the staff at the Boston Memorial. The inspector was extremely cordial and asked how he could be of assistance.
“I’d just like some information,” said Cassi. “I was wondering if you keep track of the prescribing habits of individual physicians.”
“Yes, we do,” said the inspector. “We keep records on computer using the Narcotics and Drugs Information Systems. But if you are looking for specific information on a particular physician, I’m afraid you can’t get it. It is restricted.”
“Only you people can see it, is that right?”
“That’s correct, Doctor. Obviously we don’t look at individual prescribing habits unless we are given information by the board of medical examiners or the medical society’s ethics committee that suggests there is an irregularity. Except, of course, if a physician’s prescribing habits change markedly over a short period of time. Then the computer automatically kicks out the name.”
“I see,” said Cassi. “There’s no way for me to check a particular doctor.”
“I’m afraid not. If you have a question about someone, I’d suggest you raise it with the medical society. I’m sure you understand why the information is classified.”
“I suppose so,” said Cassi. “Thanks for your time.”
Cassi was about to hang up when the inspector said, “I can tell you if a specific doctor is duly registered and actively prescribing, but not the amount. Would that help?”
“It sure would,” said Cassi. She gave Dr. Allan Baxter’s name and DEA number.
“Hang on,” said the inspector. “I’ll enter this into the computer.”
As Cassi waited, she heard the outer door close. Then she heard Thomas’s voice. With a surge of anxiety she stuffed the drug order form into her pocket. As Thomas came through the door the inspector came back on the line. Cassi smiled self-consciously.
“Dr. Baxter is active and up-to-date with a valid number.”
Cassi didn’t say anything. She just hung up.
Thomas was both talkative and solicitious as he drove Cassi home. If he’d been angry at her presence in his office, he’d hidden the fact beneath a welter of questions about how she was feeling. Although Cassi insisted she felt fine, Thomas had made her wait by the hospital entrance so that he could run and bring the car around.
Cassi was thankful for Thomas’s attentiveness, but she was so upset by what she had just learned from the Drug Enforcement Administration that she remained silent most of the way home. She now understood how Thomas managed to procure his drugs without detection. He’d supply Allan Baxter’s narcotics registration. All he had to do was fill out a form every year and send in five dollars. With the number and some idea of the level at which Dr. Baxter had been prescribing before he died, Thomas could obtain plenty of drugs. Probably more than he could consume.
And the fact that he had resorted to such deception made it clear that his problem was more extensive than Cassi had allowed herself to believe. His behavior had been so normal this last week she let herself hope that he had already begun to control his abuse. Perhaps they could talk further when they were away.
“I have some bad news,” said Thomas, breaking into her thoughts.
Cassi turned. She saw his eyes flick over at her for the briefest instant as if to make certain he had her attention.
“Before I left the OR today I got a call from a hospital in Rhode Island. They’re bringing in a patient for emergency surgery tonight. I tried to get someone else to take the case because I wanted to be with you, but there was no one available. In fact, after I make sure you’re comfortable, I’ll have to be on my way.”
Cassi didn’t respond. She was almost glad Thomas would stay over at the hospital. It would give her a chance to decide what to do. Maybe she could document the amount of drugs Thomas was taking. There was still the chance he’d stopped.