Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

talking to me, that I’d found her, there was no way she could take the chance that Celia might decide to come clean.”
    “You’re saying that Louise, Ms. Peach, killed Celia?” Panic in her voice now.
    “I don’t know. I don’t know if she was doing this by herself or with—”
    “I don’t want her back here. I can’t just leave, I have children coming. But I have a daughter, too, and she...“ I heard papers rustling, a chair scraping. “I can’t take the chance.“
    “She doesn’t know you know anything. And there’ll be people in the office.”
    The line was still open, but there was no response, long enough for me to wonder if I had suggested the right thing. Surely Ms. Peach couldn’t think she could get away with killing a second doctor in the office and not have the finger point to her. It couldn’t be another suicide. And she wouldn’t be able to make it look as if Madison had done it. Who would she blame it on this time, another child? A door left unlocked? All too hinky. No, Laura Edelstein wasn’t in danger at work, but if she thought she was, if she acted nervous or jittery, Peach would know something was up. Unless I came up with something fast, this wasn’t going to work. “Doctor?”
    “She’ll be back soon. I have to put everything away. I have to make sure I leave things exactly as I found them.“
    “I have an idea, a way to make sure you’re perfectly safe.”
    “Yes?”
    For the next minute or so, I talked and Dr. Edelstein listened.
    “As for the papers,” I said finally, “don’t rush. Take your time and get it right. As I told you, I’m right here, right across the street. I can give you a few more minutes. When I see her coming, I’ll make an excuse to talk to her.”
    I heard her sigh. “Five minutes more,” she said. “That’s all I need.”
    “When is the next patient due?”
    “Not for another twenty minutes.”
    “Good. Because I was wondering if you could talk to Dr. Willet and tell him what you found. I was hoping you could get him to change his stand on protecting the patients’ privacy. The detectives on the case need to see these files, perhaps, I don’t know if you can arrange it that way, with the names blocked. But that’s the next step and it should be taken right away.”
    “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “But I’d rather do that when I’m out of the office.”
    “Can you reach him this evening?”
    “Yes, I can. I will.” Sounding strong now, determined. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked. “Because if you need me to—”
    “Yes, thanks to you, Ms. Alexander. I’m just fine now. Better than fine. I know exactly what to do. There won’t be a problem.”
    “Then I’ll talk to you very soon,” I said, but she’d already hung up. Just in time, too, because Dashiell stood, looking toward the southwest comer of the park, and there was Ms. Peach, coming not from around the comer as I expected, but cutting through the park, a small bag in one hand, the other on the strap of her shoulder bag. She was walking slowly, still limping I was happy to see, bending now to rub one of her knees. Perhaps it was arthritis, acting up because there was rain in the forecast. Wasn’t that why she’d taken her umbrella to work? But she needed more than an umbrella to protect her knees, some glucosamine with MSM on a daily basis, perhaps Celebrex, or when the pain was really bad, something stronger. No problem, at least until a few weeks ago. For a while there, apparently, Ms. Peach had been able to get whatever it was she needed, for a price.
    But the great majority, if not all, of the drugs carefully recorded in the patient files, as required by law, weren’t for Ms. Peach’s personal use. There was no way she could have paid Dr. Bechman for all those prescriptions unless she was reselling them and doing so for much more money. And money, it was clear, was the name of the game, cash for Dr. Bechman, a nice stash for Ms. Peach, perhaps for her old age.
    In fact, lucky lady, she worked right across the street from a ready clientele. There wasn’t a soul alive who didn’t know that Washington Square Park was the Kmart of the downtown illegal drug trade. And for those who didn’t know where to sit to signal their desire and willingness to self-medicate life’s pain for cash rolled up and stuffed into a film canister or a cigarette pack, say, five minutes of observation would give them the location, on the wall just