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“No… nothing else I can see. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
Jack took over, as Rachel’s hand was still cupped over her mouth. “Anything about how Dickerson responded afterward.”
“Sorry, no. The last note I have on it—aside from his discharge two days later—is the note that Donna Newsom revived him with a defibrillator.”
“Got it,” Jack said. “And thanks.”
As Jack ended the call, Rachel noticed that he was doing eighty miles per hour and was about to come to an intersection. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so rushed and, deep down, wondered if he felt that he was on the clock—not so much for capturing Dickerson, but to make sure he got her back home as quickly as possible. She nearly commented on this but decided not to. She didn’t want to make the situation tenser than it already was.
They arrived at Solace Pain Management in just under fifteen minutes. It was a large, minimalist-looking building located at the northern end ofa large business center. Jack pulled in beside one of two police cars that were already on the scene. They wasted no time with planning or small talk as they hurried inside. Rachel felt that Dr. McKinney was absolutely a likely target for Dickerson based on what they knew of his motives and previous murders, but she also did her best not to be blinded by it. After all, it had taken her a bit of extra deduction to come to the conclusion that McKinney could be a target. Who else was she missing? What other small details might be buried in those folders they’d put back up in the top of Dickerson’s closet?
These thoughts nagged at her as they entered the Solace offices. There was a young cop standing by the front counter, waiting for them. He hurried over to them, trying to seem unfazed and professional, but Rachel could see some excitement under his stony-looking face.
“Agents, come right this way,” he said. “Dr. McKinney has been in a conference room since we arrived, waiting. He’s a little pissed because he’s had to put his appointments on hold.”
“Has anyone told him why he’d been pulled away?” Rachel asked.
“No, as far as I know, he’s only been told that he’s needed for urgent questioning by the FBI.”
He led them around the main lobby and down a long hallway with offices located on both sides. The last door on the right was where they stopped. The cop opened the door, revealing a small but welcoming conference room. The lighting was soft, and the furniture looked far too inviting. Even the desk in the center of the room had a calming effect.
The man sitting at the center of the table did not seem calm at all, though. He looked very angry and, as the two FBI agents entered the room, slightly scared as well. Rachel guessed him to be in his early fifties, quite handsome with a strong chin and salt-and-pepper hair that was just thick enough to look adorably messy.
“Thank you for your patience, Dr. McKinney,” Jack said as they approached the table. “We’re Agents Rivers and Gift, with the FBI. We need to ask you some questions about a man we believe you’ve seen at least once in the past seven or eight weeks… a man by the name of James Dickerson.”
The look on McKinney’s face made Rachel think that he was about to break into a spiel about how he saw so many people on any given week, so how was he supposed to recall one single person? But within just a second, that confrontational look was wiped away, and recognition sparked in his eyes.
“Dickerson. Yes. He’s got a… a tumor, right? In his brain. A glioblastoma, I believe.”
“That’s right. Do you remember the last time you saw him?”
“I do, yes. He’d asked me to refill two previous medications he’d had filled—a steroid to reduce the swelling of the tumor, and then basic pain meds. I told him I couldn’t help him because he’s to the point where his entire life—what might be left of it—is going to be painful. He’s refused any treatments other than basic medications.”
“But the request came back to you after you denied it, right?” Jack asked.
“It did. It came from a doctor he’d seen before, with that doctor’s approval. With hisreluctantapproval, I might add.”
“That was Dr. Leery, right?”
“Yes, I believe it was.”
“Dr. McKinney, were you aware that Dr. Leery has been killed?” Jack asked.
“What?” he asked, the surprise and shock on his face making it clear that he knew no such thing.
“He was murdered, as was another doctor, Dr. Matthews. We are currently looking for the killer and we believe it may be James Dickerson. That was why we had you pulled away from your appointments with such urgency. Three people are dead… and they are all linked to Mr. Dickerson’s situation. Your name is obviously linked, too, and not in the best of ways because of your original rejection of those prescriptions.”
“So you think… you think he would have actually come after me just because of that?” He looked almost sickened by the thought of it, and the angry arrogance he’d shown when they’d first come in was nowhere to be seen.
“We thought it was a safe bet he’d eventually come to you,” Rachel said. “But we can clearly see that you’re fine.”
“Well, yes, I suppose. I could have gone without this bit of news, though.”
“I hate to say it,” Jack said, “but it may not be a terrible idea to keep a cop somewhere nearby until this case is wrapped. Nothing invasive—we may just request that a car remain stationed in the parking lot or within a block of your home.”
“Is that really necessary?” McKinney asked.
“It may very well be.”
