“Dr. Marcus, I am very sorry, but there was nothing I could do to stop her from leaving.” Maryann was starting to get her bearings. Who the hell does he think he is, yelling at me like this?
“You should have phoned me,” he said, softening his voice. He knew that if he didn’t get his hands on some cocaine soon, he was going to lose it entirely.
“I thought I could talk her out of leaving, but she insisted. She packed her bags and left yesterday.” Maryann waited for the next barrage of criticism.
“Very well, then. I trust she will continue the protocol with Dr. Steinwood in Aspen?” He was hoping their latest cash cow would continue her treatment once she returned to the States.
“I suppose, but she is spending time with some friends in Virginia before she heads home.”
Marcus erupted again. “Did she at least take her supplements with her? I warned you that patients can get disoriented. This is not good, Maryann. You gave me your assurance you would monitor her.”
“Dr. Marcus, I appreciate your concern, but I can do nothing more than try to convince her to act in a certain way. I am neither her jailer nor her caregiver. My mother is a grown woman with her own mind. And given her list of accomplishments, it is clearly a very fine mind indeed.”
“The very state of her mind is the issue!” He continued to rant. “I cannot be held responsible should something happen to her.”
Maryann was growing frustrated but held her ground. “I totally understand, Dr. Marcus. Will you contact Dr. Steinwood, or shall I?”
“That’s all right. I’ll handle this. Good day!” He slammed the phone down on his desk so hard that it scratched the leather inlaid surface. “Damn it,” he shouted to no one. He picked the phone up and scrolled through his contacts, looking for the “delivery boy”—the one who would bring him his weekly supply of the intoxicating white powder.
After punching in the numbers, he sent a text: Coffee. Three sugars. That was code for an eighth of an ounce of cocaine, although he thought he should probably get more. It seemed he was running out of it faster lately. He sent a second text: Coffee. Six sugars. He hoped the idiot understood what he meant.
He drummed his fingers on his desk and looked at his Rolex. It was still too early to call Aspen. He started pacing. What’s taking that moron so long to get here? Deep in thought as to how he was going to make up the twenty-five thousand dollars he had been counting on from Charlotte Hansen, he nearly jumped out of his Armani suit when his cell phone rang. “What?” he screamed into the receiver. “I thought I told you never to call me!”
“Sorry, Doc, but my man says you owe him over five K. He wants his money before he’ll serve you any more ‘coffee.’” The whiny voice on the other end was almost snickering.
“Tell him I’ll have it to him this afternoon.” Marcus was careful not to spook his connection.
“Uh . . . I don’t think that’s gonna work. Ya see . . . he’s all fired up today, so I can’t brew the blend without some cash.” The cockney accent talking in drug code was infuriating Marcus, but he knew better than to challenge his supplier. He checked his wallet, then the office safe. Only two thousand.
“Okay, listen, I have almost half of that here now. What if you bring me one coffee with three sugars?” Marcus needed his fix, sooner rather than later.
“Dunno, mate. I’ll have to check.” The delivery boy ended the call abruptly.
Marcus continued to pace, his anxiety growing with each passing minute. He knew he had been going through about $250 a day with his habit, which at times seemed like chump change. But the more he sniffed the white powder, the more he wanted. Maybe it was time to step it up. Try something different. Again, the phone made him jump.
“Okay, Doc. Half now, but then you pay the other half by the end of the day, or the party is over.” Ultimatum having been delivered, the call ended abruptly.
Marcus was starting to perspire. Yes, he needed to change up his game. He checked his watch again. Time is moving much too slowly.
Chapter 8
The war room
Confident that Charlotte was sound asleep, the kitchen was sparkling clean, and the other dinner guests had departed, Nikki, Alexis, Myra, Charles, Fergus, and Annie descended the moss-covered stone steps to the dungeon, where the war room was located. Entering the chamber, each saluted Lady Justice and they all sat down at the round table. This was where they would exchange information and plan their strategy for a mission.
Nikki started. “It appears, and I use that word lightly, that all three doctors graduated from Ross University School of Medicine in Barbados.”
Annie let out a snicker, recalling her comment about “Joe’s School of Dentistry.” Myra shot her a look.
Alexis picked up the narrative. “It could be true that they attended Ross. However, their status at the University of Lausanne seems a bit sketchy. While copies of their admission applications could be found, there is no record of their having actually enrolled, much less graduated.” She looked up at Charles, anticipating additional information from him.
“Avery concurs that there is no documentation about their actually undertaking studies in Switzerland, but, as we know, the Swiss are very tight lipped when it comes to sharing information.” Charles continued, “The other odd thing is the existence of a big gap between graduating from Ross and applying to Lausanne. About ten years. We have not yet been able to fill in that blank. Nor can we establish that they ever enrolled, not to mention attended classes, at Lausanne.”
“What about when they supposedly left Lausanne?” Myra queried.
“That seems to be a big piece of this puzzle, as well, but Avery and his people are digging deeper.”
Back to Nikki, who let out a sigh. “And neither Alexis nor I could find any evidence that either of the two practicing in the US are licensed to practice in Colorado or New York or that Dr. Marcus is licensed to practice in England, much less London. All three may be guilty of practicing medicine without a license, even if they have medical degrees.”
“How does that happen? A doctor who isn’t licensed?” Annie was incredulous.
“Have you ever looked up any of your physicians’ credentials?” Charles asked pointedly. “We look at the certificates on the walls, but do we actually question their qualifications further? Especially if they have taken over someone else’s practice or been referred by a friend or family member.”
They looked around the table and shrugged in unison.
“My point exactly.” The tone of Charles’s voice indicated how he felt. “What we have been able to ascertain is that these three men met at some point—most likely at Ross. We need to find out what they were doing during those missing ten years.”
Myra interjected, “I think it’s time we brought everyone into this and took a vote, although I know how I am going to vote already. We need to get to the bottom of this! God knows who else they are preying on.” Each of those present raised a hand in agreement. “Excellent. Let’s call a meeting for tomorrow afternoon. I’ll arrange for a mini spa day for Charlotte, so she’ll be out of the house while the meeting takes place.” Myra fingered her pearls, this time with less anxiety and more resolve.