Dree drew in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. She said all at once, “I need to talk to someone about a hospice that is being used as a front to obtain pharmaceutical narcotics illegally for street sale.”
“Just a minute. I’ll connect you to the narcotics division.”
Maxence adjusted his hand on hers, tucking her arm under his elbow.
After a few minutes of clicking and beeping, a man’s voice spoke through her phone, “Narcotics.”
She said, “I’d like to give you an anonymous tip that Peaceful Transitions Hospice—”
“How do you spell that?”
Dree spelled it for him. “They are being used as a front to obtain pharmaceutical narcotics for illegal resale. According to their regulatory documents and brochure information, they have a ninety-bed facility. At their address, however, they only have room for three patients. They are routinely obtaining narcotics from Good Samaritan Hospital—”
“How do you spell that?” The man asked again.
Max frowned. Maybe the guy had dyslexia or was a stickler for spelling. Max didn’t say anything.
Dree frowned and glanced at Max, spelling the name of the hospital out for the officer. She must think there was something odd about it, too.
She continued, “Peaceful Transitions is obtaining narcotics via standardized and routine medical-supply sharing routes, and it’s far in excess of what three patients would need.”
“How would you know how much narcotics a patient needs?” the guy asked.
Maxence did not like this at all.
Dree kept talking right over the guy. Max approved. She said, “They are saying that they need, like, a hundred times as much as three patients would need. At the very least, they are massively over-prescribing, but I think they are handing these drugs off for street sales. There’s just too much of them.”
“And who would you say is responsible for procuring the narcotics?”
“Their purchasing director, Francis Senft, he is responsible for obtaining the narcotics from Good Sam for Peaceful Transitions.”
“How do you spell that?” the officer asked yet again.
Dree spelled Francis’s name for him, and Max considered pushing the phone’s screen to end the call. There was somethingwrongwith the officer’s monotone requests for spelling and his lack of curiosity about a significant crime.
The officer asked, “Do you know where Francis Senft is now?”
“I—No, I don’t know where he is. I can give you his address, but I’m not around there.”
“Do you know of anyone who would know where he is?”
“I don’t know. I suppose you could try his friends?”
“I need the names and locations of any of his friends who might know where he is.”
Something was very wrong here. Maxence had a lot of experience with law enforcement officers, and this was not going right. The officer should have been asking about types and quantities of the narcotics, how to track them, Francis Senft’s contacts, and other information to trace the criminal activity.
Dree said to the officer, “Maybe you should just start an investigation and look into where the narcotics are going?”
“I don’t care where the narcotics are going. I need to know where Francis Senft is right now.”
Maxence began to consider how much longer he was going to let this go on.
Dree said, “Why would you not want to know where the narcotics are going?”
Because this police officer didn’t want to solve the crime. He wanted to find Francis Senft.
Maxence began reaching for her phone.
