Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

face covered by a baseball cap pulled down over his brow, the lower part by an untrimmed beard, the sign of a man who hadn’t seen the inside of a barbershop in way too long. When he got to where she was sitting, he reached out one hand. He was wearing those woolen gloves where the tips of the fingers stick out, the kind the people who sold newspapers in those little outdoor kiosks wore because they keep your hands warm but you can still count money and make change.
    When she reached into her bag, I thought she was about to give him money. Don’t do it, I thought. He sees your money, he might grab it all and take off, though this one didn’t look like he could run any faster than Ms. Peach. But he must have asked for a cigarette, because a moment later I saw him bending toward her, then standing up again, blowing a plume of smoke off to the side. I saw the smoke coming up from where Ms. Peach sat, too.
    He bent close again, perhaps to thank her, then turned and walked back the way he’d come, an old sack in one hand, perhaps holding whatever little he owned. He headed toward the southwest comer of the park where the chess players were at it, playing against the clock, feet tapping nervously under the tables as they did. When I looked back to where Ms. Peach had been sitting, the bench was empty. I saw her across the street, an umbrella in one hand, a lady who liked to be prepared. She opened the gate, pulled it closed behind her and stepped down into the entranceway. I couldn’t see much after that. There were bushes in the way obscuring my view. I thought I’d let Dashiell play a little longer—there was nothing I could do right now anyway—and then move closer, to where I could see Dr. Edelstein get to the office, to where I’d be able to see Ms. Peach leave.

Chapter 32

    I was sitting where Ms. Peach had been when my phone rang.
    “What medications does Madison take?” It was Dr. Edelstein, talking fast.
    “None,” I told her.
    “You’re sure?”
    “As sure as I can be. I asked her father. That’s what he told me. I also checked their medicine cabinet. And Madison stayed at my house one night. Leon didn’t send any meds with her. The whole point of the Botox was that there was nothing else that could do the job, nothing else that was going to help her. The Botox was supposed to be a miracle. It was supposed to—”
    “What about early on? What about right after her diagnosis? Did Mr. Spector mention her trying any antidepressants, any antianxiety medication, anything like that? Did he mention risperidone or pimozide? What about Prozac?“
    “Why are you asking me, Doctor? You have her records, don’t you?”
    “Those, at least, I could understand.”
    “What did you find?”
    “Where are you?” she asked.
    “In the park.Right across the street from the office. Do you want me to come in?”
    “No, no, don’t do that. Do you have a pen with you?”
    “Yes.” Reaching into the camera bag, finding a grease pencil, pulling out the contact sheets so that I could write on the back of them.
    “Good,” breathless, “then write this down. In Madison’s file, Oxycontin, Percocet, Percodan, and six times, injections of morphine sulfate.”
    “No way.”
    “I believe you’re correct about that, Ms. Alexander. I checked ten other files, briefly. I don’t want to be doing this when Ms. Peach returns.”
    “And?”
    “The same.”
    “No matter what the child’s diagnosis was?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “I guess we know how Dr. Bechman was supporting Celia and JoAnn. And we know that Ms. Peach was involved somehow, because if not, she wouldn’t have altered the files.”
    “Had I not seen this with my own eyes, there’s no way I would believe he . . .“ Now silence on the line.
    “Would have sold prescriptions for narcotics to take care of his second family?”
    “Yes. He was . . .“ She stopped again, perhaps thinking about the fact that he had a second family.
    “The handwriting? It’s definitely his?” Knowing it was. Had someone else written the notes, he would have seen them at the following visit. Besides, there were all those forms to file when narcotics were prescribed. He would have had to have done those as well.
    “Yes. His. There’s no doubt about it.”
    “And of course Celia knew.” Going over the time line in my head now. “In fact, she was killed after I spoke to Ms. Peach about how Dr. Bechman was supporting Celia and JoAnn. Once she knew Celia was