Graveyard Bay Page 20

  Using the name Matty Walker and a fake address and phone number, I hoped the armed man behind the counter wasn’t going to ask for ID. If I had to use a fraudulent moniker, I would often defer to Matty Walker, the murderous character played by Kathleen Turner in the movie Body Heat.

  It makes me feel sexy.

  I got up out of my chair and handed the clipboard back to Dan, who gave me a brief smile. “The doc will see you now.”

  I frowned and glanced around at the crowd in the waiting room. Clearly, I’d been the last one through the front door. “Really?”

  He hit a button under the counter, and I heard a soft buzzing sound coming from a door off to my left. “Through that door.”

  A woman in a lab coat and jeans met me. She was only about five four, had a mop of curly brown hair, and wore pink framed glasses. Her cherubic face was a mass of freckles. “Follow me, please.” Her voice told me that she was disinterested and bored.

  We stopped midway up a short hall. Pointing to the scale, she said, “I need to get your weight.”

  I felt slightly disoriented. It was as if I was in a parallel universe. It was a doctor’s office, but everyone in it was half-assing their way through the day. They were only going through the motions.

  I started to take off my winter coat.

  We don’t need to weigh this.

  She held up her hand. “Not necessary. Leave your coat on.”

  I stepped up on the scale, and the woman reached past me to adjust the large counter weight but never tinkered with the smaller one. She wrote something down on her clipboard and then she repeated, “Follow me.”

  She led me into a small examining room complete with the green leather table covered with a two-foot-wide strip of paper. The sink and countertop had all the right things, glass containers with cotton balls, wooden tongue depressors, and gauze. A blood pressure cuff hung from the wall.

  As we entered the room, I asked, “How did I jump to the front of the line ahead of all those people in the waiting room?”

  She looked me up and down and gave me a mysterious smile. “Take off your clothes and put on the hospital gown. It ties in the back.”

  Red flags immediately went up. An actual exam wasn’t in my game plan. I was just going to see if I could score a prescription for Vicodin. Then I’d take it next door, turn it in, and I’d have a solid piece to write for the paper. Expose this place for the pill mill that it was.

  Getting naked wasn’t on my radar screen.

  The nurse, if that was what she was, closed the door behind her, and I was alone.

  Strip?

  How bad did I want this story?

  What had Jill warned me about yesterday? How bad do you want your pills, girl?

  I took a deep breath and quickly hung my coat up on a hook on the wall, sat down on the examining table, and pulled off my boots and insulated socks. Then I unbuttoned my blouse and slid out of my jeans. I left my bra and panties on while I put my arms through the threadbare gown and did my best to tie the strings behind my neck and back.

  I pulled my phone out of my bag and texted John.

  Waiting for an examination. Not sure if this place is legit or not.

  He immediately texted me back.

  Is there an armed guard there?

  Yes.

  Pill mill. Did you say you’re waiting to be examined?

  Yes.

  They might be checking you to make sure you’re not wearing a wire.

  Of course.

  Make sure I’m not a cop?

  Before I could receive John’s answer, a man wearing a white lab coat walked into the room. He was in his fifties, balding, had a curly salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were bloodshot, and broken veins mottled his cheeks. He was very tall, six five, and slightly overweight. Seeing my phone in my hand, he barked, “We don’t allow cell phone usage in the clinic.”

  I reached over and dropped the phone into my bag. “Sorry.”

  He perused the information on the clipboard. “I’m Dr. Armand.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I was still standing barefoot on the cold tile floor as he stepped up to me, studying my face. “What’s the nature of your visit today?”

  I attempted a smile. “I was in a car accident years ago, and I’m still having back problems. I need something for the pain.”

  He glanced down at the clipboard he was holding. I could see information on it that was in my handwriting. “Matty Walker. Pretty name for a pretty lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Turn around. I want to take a look at your back.”

  I did as I was told and stood facing the examination table.

  “What kind of pain medication did your regular physician prescribe?”

  “Vicodin, 10 milligrams.”

  “You still have your bra and panties on,” he snapped. “Take them off.”

  From the way his voice sounded, he was pissed off. Still facing away from Armand, I reached around behind me and undid the clasp of my bra, snaking out of it, placing it in my bag. Then I pulled on the elastic of my panties and shimmied out of them, painfully aware that my bare bottom had been momentarily exposed to the doctor’s eyes.

  “I assume that your physician had exhausted the amount of medication he can prescribe for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m just going to examine your back.”

  I felt him untie the lower set of strings and pull aside the fabric of the gown. Then with the fingers of both hands, he delicately touched my shoulder blades, then ran his fingers down either side of my spine until he got to the top of my butt. “Pretty skin. No scarring. Your injuries were internal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn around please.”

  I did so and looked up into his face.

  “Are you presently employed or associated in any way with a law enforcement agency?”

  “No.”

  “How bad is the pain for you, Matty?” His eyes were narrowed. “Use a number from one to ten, ten being extremely painful.”

  “Eight.”

  “You need the pills, then.”

  “Yes. Will you prescribe them?”

  He licked his lower lip. “I have to complete your examination first.”

  “Do you do this with all your patients?”

  “Only the pretty ones.” He pointed to my neck. His voice got low. “Untie the strings on the gown and let it fall to the floor.”

  This guy ain’t no real doctor.

  I shook my head slightly. “No.”

  He cocked his head. “I have to finish the exam. I can’t prescribe your pills until we’re done here.”

  What’s he mean—until we’re done here?

  “I can’t finish the examination until you disrobe.”

  I took a deep breath. How bad did I want this story?

  “Okay.” I reached both hands behind my neck and undid the strings. With no effort of my own, the gown slid down the front of my body and fell in a heap on the floor. I stood before Dr. Armand completely naked.

  He didn’t say a word. I could feel his eyes slowly move from my face to my neck, to my breasts, to my tummy, to the soft tuft of curly blond hair between my legs.

  The man’s breathing became deeper as he slowly stepped forward, his gaze locked onto my boobs. His hands shook slightly as he reached up and gently touched my nipples.

  “No!” I slapped his hands away.

  Rage colored his face a deep purple. “You’ll do what I want, or you get no pills.”

  “How many women have you abused here in this room?”

  “That’s none of your fucking business.” He reached out again to fondle my breasts.

  I slapped at him again. “I said no.”

  Armand’s jaw set, his lips ti
ght, his eyes narrowed slits. He took a half step back and pulled aside his lab coat, reached down, and unzipped his pants. Then he took out his penis and began to fondle himself. “Get down on your knees, Matty. You want your pills, you have to work for them.”

  I stood with my hands on my naked hips. “Kiss my ass, doc. I’m getting out of here.”

  “Don’t want your pills, then?”

  I turned and reached for my panties.

  His big hand was on my shoulder, twisting me around to face him, pushing on me to get down on my knees.

  Then I did it without thinking.

  I balled up my fist and punched him hard on his nose.

  * * *

  I’ve taken a couple of rudimentary self-defense classes, and one thing I learned was that a person’s nose is very sensitive to pain. Also, there’s no bone in the nose, only skin, blood, tissue, and cartilage. It’s really easy to break someone’s nose. And if you strike someone squarely in the proboscis, the pain is blinding, literally. It will bring tears to your eyes, and your vision blurs immediately.

  The crowning touch? It bleeds like a son of a bitch.

  John was where I’d left him, in the idling Mustang on the other side of the small parking area. When he saw that I was being escorted angrily out of the building by the armed guard, John quickly got out of the car and trotted over to meet me. “What’s going on?”

  I could hear the anger in my voice. “No story, that’s what’s going on. No story, no drugs, no witness to crimes being committed.”

  “What happened in there?” He opened the passenger’s side door of the car.

  “Dr. Feelgood tried feeling me up and then wanted a blow job in exchange for the drugs.”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t do it?” I slid into the car, and he held the door open, waiting for my response.

  “No, I broke his nose instead.” I scrunched up my face. “It was a real mess.”

  John took a look at the guard who stared back at him and shrugged. He echoed my statement. “It was a real mess.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  John dropped me at the office, and he went back to my place to do some work on his laptop. I hung my coat up on the department coat tree and glanced in at the editor’s cubicle. It was empty.

  I dropped my bag on the floor next to my desk chair in the newsroom and headed back to Ben’s office. The door was open, so I knocked on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

  For the first time since the transition started, I saw Ben grin. He extended a hand and motioned me to sit down in one of his upholstered office chairs. “Come in, sit down. What have you been up to?”

  “You saw the piece I put together last night about finding Bogdan Tolbonov’s body?”

  He turned his laptop around so that I could see the screen. He’d been looking at it, admiring it. The headline screamed, “Reputed Mobster’s Body Found at Graveyard Bay.”

  I shook my head and made a tiny tsk-tsk sound. “Graveyard Bay? You too?”

  His grin grew broader. “Lorraine Moretti started it, didn’t she? But now, a third stiff shows up out there? I think we all should be calling it Graveyard Bay. Are we in the middle of a gang war?”

  “Kind of looks that way, Chief. The Russians look like they’re getting their asses kicked by the Aryan Brotherhood.”

  “I thought those guys liked working together.”

  I glanced around the office. Ben had put some of his sailing photographs back up on the wall. “Right up until Merlin Finn killed two of Wolfline’s drug thugs. By the way, Finn’s father contends that the two men Finn tortured and killed were assassins sent to murder Finn in his own home up in Brockton.”

  Ben leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head, obviously relaxed. “Well, somehow they got into a serious pissing match. Have you found a connection between Wyatt Investments and Galley Media yet?”

  I don’t have enough on my plate?

  “Not yet.”

  He frowned and glanced away from me.

  “But…”

  I got his attention again.

  “There’s a pill mill over on Flax Hill Road. I think that’s why we’ve seen a rise in opioid overdoses in Fairfield County. I was just there and nearly scored a prescription from the Armand Pain Management Clinic that happens to be in the same building as the Flax Hill Pharmacy.”

  “Nearly scored?”

  I leaned forward, my stomach still queasy from my lewd encounter with Dr. Armand. “All I had to do to seal the deal was perform an act of oral gratification on Dr. Feelgood. I broke his nose instead.”

  “A pill mill? You know, it wasn’t that long ago there were more of those in Florida than there were McDonald’s franchises. I thought Connecticut had made it harder for them to operate.”

  I spread my arms. “Yet here we are. Everything old is new again.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows. “What’s this got to do with Wyatt Investments?”

  “They have a subsidiary called Corsair Properties. They own the building where the pill mill is operating.”

  Ben scowled while he thought. Finally, he mumbled, “Keep digging.”

  Tell him, Genie.

  I cleared my throat, fidgeted in my seat for a moment, then began. “Look, Ben, there isn’t any good way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. I’m giving my notice.”

  I thought I could see his unnaturally tan face go pale and the corner of his lip twitch. “What? Why? Is it because of Galley Media?”

  “At first, yeah. They want to cut my pay.”

  “Because if it’s Galley Media, you have to understand that they’re history, Genie. I’m tossing them the hell out of here.”

  “I got a job offer at more than double what we pay reporters here.”

  He leaned forward. “I’ll keep you at the editor’s salary.”

  “I’m not sure that a judge will keep the sale from going through.”

  “There’s no way I’m letting Galley Media buy this newspaper.”

  Ben wasn’t fighting the sale because the buyer was being a prick to the employees. He wanted the newspaper back because once the Sheffield Meridian was built, the Sheffield Post would be reaping the benefits of new, well-funded advertisers.

  Ben was certain that he’d been cheated.

  I clasped my hands in my lap. “I’m sorry, Ben. You know I’ve enjoyed working here.”

  His jaw jutted at me, his eyes ablaze. “I don’t have to remind you that I was the only one who would bring you on staff. Your career was in the toilet.”

  Ouch.

  I blinked, feeling the sting of tears glazing my eyes. “I know that, Ben. I’ll be forever grateful. But I have my mojo back. This is a real opportunity. I need for you to be happy for me.”

  He blinked and considered for a moment, quiet, thinking. “Okay, I never want to stand in someone’s way if they can better themselves. When’s your last day?”

  “January fourteenth.”

  Ben nodded and stood up, coming around the desk.

  I stood up, and we hugged. He stepped back and winked at me. “It’s all going to be okay. I’m going to stop this sale.”

  As I turned to leave his office, I pondered what he’d said. Did he think that if he kept ownership of the newspaper, I’d change my mind? It also occurred that he’d never asked where I was going.

  I had just sat down at my desk in the newsroom when my phone rang. I picked it up and heard Leslie at the front desk say, “Hey, Genie. I saw that you were out of Ben’s office. There’s someone here to see you.”

  I went through my mental calendar but didn’t recall any appointments for that day. “Who is it?”

  “A Mrs. Tomasso.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Give me a minute and then send her back here.” I quickly riffed through the in
cident reports that I’d gotten from the cops earlier in the week. When I found what I was looking for, the name jumped out at me, Charlie Tomasso, missing for over five days.

  The woman who came into the newsroom was in her thirties, slim, about five five in height, with black hair cut in a cute pageboy style complete with bangs. Her eyes were a dark chocolate-brown and the way they were red and bloodshot, I guessed that she must have been crying. She wore a brown fur coat that I thought might be mink. I’m not a fur person.

  “Mrs. Tomasso?”

  She gave me a hesitant smile. “Geneva Chase, thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”

  “Would you like to take off your coat?” I glanced at the department coat tree, which seemed woefully inadequate for such an expensive piece.

  She shed her fur and draped it across the desk next to mine. Marty Graff, our business writer, was out interviewing a new brewery that was opening up in South Sheffield. He kept his desk in meticulous order, and there was plenty of empty space to accommodate her coat.

  Without invitation, she sat down in the plastic chair next to my desk. I sat down as well. “How can I help you, Mrs. Tomasso?”

  She knitted the fingers of both her hands together and rested them on her lap. “I read your online story this morning about finding the body of Bogdan Tolbonov.”

  She got my attention. I didn’t reply, instead waiting to see what else she had to say.

  The silence was discomforting. She was obviously struggling with something. Finally, “My husband worked for him, worked for Wolfline Contracting.”

  “What does your husband do for Wolfline Contracting?”

  “Did.” She glanced around her to see if anyone was within listening distance. “This has to be off the record, okay?”

  I wasn’t sure what I was going to hear, but I agreed. “Okay.”

  “To be clear, I love my husband very much. He’s a loving man, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me or Frank.”

  “Frank? Is that your son?”

  She smiled shyly. “Frank is our Labrador retriever. Charlie and I don’t have kids, so Frank is our baby.”

  I nodded to let her know that I understood and she should continue.

  “But Charlie is a big, tough guy with a temper. He was Wolfline’s muscle. Charlie collected money from people who didn’t want to pay. He intimidated people into doing things they didn’t want to. Sometimes, he beat people up.”