Chapter 5
5
Cora’s brows drew together as she glanced at Jeremy before stepping away. She couldn’t make sense of his behavior. Polite. Reserved. Even apologetic. It was entirely at odds with the man she’d encountered over the past six months, whose quips and smirks had left her stomach clenching—or sparked the distinct urge to punch him in the throat. He must be up to something.
She squared her shoulders and walked past him with measured steps, her rubber-soled shoes barely making a noise against the tiled floor. But despite her outward composure, a thread of caution tightened in her chest as she entered the lab.
The first meeting with Mrs. Adams’s daughter had been a straightforward formal identification, handled with the tact and empathy it required. But for Mr. Rudolph’s son, she’d need to review his father’s autopsy results. This wasn’t going to be easy. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her focus.
“Dr. Wadsworth,” she answered briskly, listening as the lab receptionist informed her, “Mr. Christopher Rudolph is here.”
“Show him to conference room two, please,” she instructed, her voice even. She ended the call, paused to collect her thoughts, and followed the sound of approaching footsteps down the hall. Catching up with the receptionist, she stepped behind him and Mr. Rudolph’s son.
Cora offered a small, professional smile as they entered the room and extended her hand. “Mr. Rudolph? I’m Dr. Wadsworth, the medical examiner for the Eastern Shore.”
He shook her hand firmly, his palm cool against hers. The man standing before her was tall and lean, likely in his late thirties or early forties. His tailored suit fit impeccably, the crisp fabric unmarked by the wear of manual labor. His neatly trimmed brown hair was combed to the side, and his clean-shaven jaw gave him an air of precision and control. But his clasped hands betrayed him—his fingers twisted tightly together, a subtle indication of his unease.
“Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning to the chair nearest him.
He nodded, pulling out the chair and lowering himself into it with the care of someone weighed down by invisible burdens. As he settled, Cora took the chair beside him, placing the file folder on the table between them. She turned slightly to face him more fully, her tone softening as she spoke.
“You’ve been called to formally identify a person who passed away yesterday in a car accident,” she began, her words measured. “An informal identification was made based on the vehicle he was driving and his driver’s license. But we would like you to confirm the deceased as Fred Rudolph. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dr. Wadsworth,” he replied, his voice low and tense. His hands clenched even tighter, the knuckles whitening.
“I’m going to lay some photographs on the table,” she continued. “These will show a man’s face, and he will appear to be sleeping. I need you to look at them carefully and tell me if you can identify him as your father, Fred Rudolph.”
Cora’s hand hovered over the folder as she hesitated, her gaze flicking to his face. He raised his eyes to hers, the tightness in his expression momentarily replaced with resolve. He dipped his chin in a small nod.
“I’m ready,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his nerves.
With a steadying breath, Cora opened the folder and carefully removed five photographs, each showing a different angle of the deceased’s face. She placed them on the table in a neat row, keeping her attention on Mr. Rudolph as his gaze dropped to the images.
The room seemed to hold its breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Blinking rapidly, he reached up to wipe at his eyes with the edge of his thumb. His lips parted, trembling as he exhaled slowly, his voice cracking when he finally spoke.
“Yes,” he said, nodding as though to confirm his words to himself. “That’s my father. That’s Fred Rudolph.”
Cora observed him, her chest tightening in sympathy. She reached out, her hand hovering momentarily before she clasped her fingers together in her lap. She gave him a minute to continue to peruse the pictures of his father, knowing some people needed that time to process the reality of the loss. His chin dropped to his chest as he pulled a wad of tissues from his pocket. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Rudolph.”
For a moment, they sat in silence. Finally, he lifted his head and faced her. “How did he die? I was only told there was a car accident.”
“He died of the injuries resulting from his truck hitting a tree.”
Christopher’s face contorted as he squeezed his eyes tight. “Did he… was he… did he suffer?”
“No, I don’t think so. Due to the severe injuries, it’s my professional opinion that death would have quickly followed.”
They were silent for another moment, and she moved the tissue box closer so he’d have fresh ones to use. He pulled several out without speaking, wiped his face, and blew his nose.
She spoke softly. “I have an autopsy report that I need to go over with you.”
“An autopsy? No one asked about an autopsy.”
“Yes. Law enforcement is investigating because there were suspicious findings at the accident scene. Witnesses described your father’s driving as erratic before the accident.”
“So he may have been having a stroke or heart attack or something?”
“That is what I wanted to find out. There is no evidence of a stroke, a seizure, but it appears he suffered a heart attack. I have his medical records, so I know what drugs he was taking for his thyroid and blood pressure. His labs indicated that he had not been taking his medication. There was a plastic bag on the floorboard of the passenger side of his truck that contained numerous pills, and only some of them were his.”
Christopher blinked several times. “So my father was carrying his pills around in a bag instead of taking them? Why would he do that?”
“I cannot attest to what his mental state was, including why he had the pills in a bag. But his lab reports revealed that he did not have traces of his prescribed drugs in his system.”
A heavy sigh left Christopher’s lungs. “I haven’t been back to see my dad for about four months. I was scheduled to take a long weekend next month and planned to come down to see if he needed help. I talk to him on the phone weekly, and he’s never let on that he was having any trouble remembering to take pills or eat or anything.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Jesus, he probably never should’ve been driving, should he?”
“I know this has been a shock to you. A detective here would like to speak to you with some questions. I don’t know if this is the right time.”
He pressed his lips together. “When will I be able to have a funeral home come for his body?”
“While the initial autopsy is complete, I won’t be able to release him until I’m permitted since there is an ongoing investigation. It should take about three days for the results to come in, and I’ll sign the death certificate.”
Christopher winced, then sighed heavily again.
“If you are not in the right frame of mind to speak to the detective, I’ll let him know that he can contact you to schedule an interview. We will also have a hospital social worker to talk with you to assist in the preparations for when your father’s body will be released.”
Christopher leaned forward and remained silent as his gaze moved over the pictures again. “Oh, Dad.” He sucked in a breath that hitched as a tear slipped down his cheek. He slowly nodded as he wiped his tears and said, “I’ll talk to the detective now. I’d rather get this over with. The sooner I can plan the funeral, the better.”
Cora stood, offering a gentle pat on his shoulder. “I’ll step out to find the detective.” Turning toward the door, she spied Jeremy standing with another social worker. His gaze captured hers, and he offered a slight, almost sad smile. If she didn’t know better, he was offering sympathy. Not knowing how to respond to this side of him, she nodded and started to walk past him.
“Would you stay?” Jeremy asked. “Please.”
Their gazes held again, and for the first time since meeting him, she stared deeply into his eyes instead of avoiding looking at him. His eyes were as blue as she’d noted, but the blue darkened toward the outer rim of his iris. His lips weren’t quirked upward on one side, nor was he smiling. Instead, there was a vulnerability exposed. She swallowed deeply, then nodded. Turning back into the room, she sat at the end of the table as Jeremy walked around and sat opposite Christopher.
“Mr. Rudolph, my name is Detective Pickett from the Eastern Shore Drug Task Force.”
“Drug task force?” Christopher’s gaze darted between Jeremy’s and Cora’s. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Rudolph. First, let me express sympathy for the death of your father. I know this is a difficult time for you, but we have some questions. We want you to plan for your father’s remains as soon as possible, so if we can move forward with the investigation, that will be best.”
Cora hid her fascination at how gently Jeremy spoke, still guiding the conversation in the direction he needed.
Christopher’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded slowly. “As I was just telling the doctor, I checked with my dad weekly by phone but haven’t been back to visit him in months. I had hoped to do so next month. I’m not sure I’m the right person to answer any questions about why he wasn’t taking his medication.” His brow furrowed as he added, “And I’m unclear why the drug task force is investigating an elderly man not taking his medication.”
“Your father is the fifth elderly person to die in the past three months who had prescriptions they regularly picked up from their pharmacy but weren’t taking.”
Christopher blinked slowly, another tear falling down his cheek. “I still don’t understand. Elderly people forget things. Hell, I forget things.”
Cora noticed that Jeremy spoke slowly as he handled a grieving son. “We are also finding an uptick in black-market drugs, particularly pain medications, blood pressure medications, and other specialty pharmaceuticals.”
Christopher reared back in his chair, his eyes wide. “You think my father was selling his drugs?”
“Mr. Rudolph, we are simply investigating. No one is accusing your father of anything. He had not been taking his medication, and his accident caused the death of someone else.”
A gasp burst forth from Christopher’s lungs, and his hand clapped over his mouth. “Oh my God!” His gaze jerked from Jeremy’s over to Cora’s. She glanced toward the doorway and saw the social worker inching closer.
“Oh my God, my God!” He continued to shake his head. “I didn’t know. Jesus, you have to believe me. My father would never willingly put anyone at risk. If the accident hadn’t killed him, the fact that he’d been responsible for someone else’s death would have put him in his grave.”
Jeremy nodded, his expression solemn. “I understand, Mr. Rudolph.” He continued just as gently, “The bag of pills that was found in his truck included some of the medications that would’ve been his. But others weren’t. We are trying to establish where those drugs came from, why your father would’ve had them, and if someone was taking advantage of him.”
For several minutes, no one spoke. Cora reached over and gently touched Christopher’s arm, drawing his attention back to her. “Mr. Rudolph, no one is asking you to provide information you don’t know or have. And if you need to leave and speak with our social worker, Detective Pickett can pick up the inquiry at another time.”
Finally, Christopher shook his head slowly again. “I don’t know what I can tell you. My father never mentioned that he had medications changed or that he was or wasn’t taking them. He sounded the same on his phone calls. But I know he would never willingly put anyone in danger.”
“Do you know the names of your father’s friends? People he hung out with?” Jeremy asked.
“Um… I met a couple of older men a few months ago when I last visited. One was his neighbor, Bob. I can’t remember Bob’s last name. I do know there was a man who lived down the street. His name was Tucker. Or at least that was the name he was given. I don’t know if that was his first or last name. Besides that, I don’t know who he hung out with other than some of the people from his church.”
“What church did he attend?”
“The Praise House of God that was just down the road from his house. He said he liked the music and the people. He also liked that the preacher wasn’t fire and brimstone.” Christopher emitted a sound between a scoff and a chuckle. “Said he had enough of that growing up.”
Cora glanced over, watching as Jeremy made notes in his notebook. Jeremy pulled out his card and pushed it across the table. “You can get ahold of me anytime. I need your contact information so we can reach out to you directly if we have other questions. Will you be staying in the area?”
“Yes. Um… I run a financial consulting business and work from home. I’ll be at my dad’s place.” He looked up quickly. “Is that okay?”
Jeremy nodded. “I know that the North Heron Sheriff’s Department and Drug Task Force processed your dad’s apartment yesterday afternoon. I was there, as well.”
“Did you find anything? Anything I should know about?”
“There’s not much I can say since the investigation is active, but I can tell you that it is not considered a crime scene, and there’s no reason you cannot stay at your dad’s place for now.”
Cora stood, feeling that Christopher had reached his limit of shock and surprise. Jeremy followed suit, and Christopher pushed himself to his feet. As they stepped out into the hall, Cora introduced the hospital social worker and watched as the two of them walked down the hall. Since his father’s body would not be released yet, the social worker would offer local services for counseling and assistance.
She turned and found Jeremy standing close, his gaze on her. Discomfited, she lifted her hand and smoothed her hair back from her face.
His gaze moved to her hair, and he said, “It’s perfect.”
She jerked her head to the side. “I’m sorry?”
“Your hair. It’s perfect.”
She dropped her hand, even more unsettled than a moment ago. “If you’ll follow me, I have the results of his autopsy ready for you.”
She stepped around him and led him through the lab door. Walking over to her desk, she pulled out another file. After reviewing the results, which weren’t very different from her preliminary report, she handed him the file. “There was no evidence of any drugs in his system, which lets me know he had gone without them for over a week.” She tapped her short fingernail on the page and added, “Here are the results of the pills in the bag. There were six hydrocodone, with two being Vicodin, one Lorcet, and three Norco—none of those prescribed to him. Also, there were eighteen beta blockers, usually prescribed for hypertension or arrhythmia. Fourteen of those were bisoprolol, one of his prescriptions, and four were labetalol. The DEA might be able to trace the prescriptions back to the pharmacy, but not to the patient.”
Jeremy sighed heavily and nodded. “What else?”
“Behavioral modification medications. There were twenty-two amitriptyline, thirty-one citaloprams, and nine sertraline pills.”
“Christ!” he growled.
She pinched her lips together and waited. He dropped his gaze to her. “More?”
“Pain relievers. Oxycodone. Twenty-six of those. And no… they weren’t his either.”
Jeremy dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling before returning his gaze to her. “So, in effect, he was carrying a shit ton of prescription pills that mostly weren’t his, and ended up in an accident, killing an innocent woman and himself. And we have no idea who might be missing their medication right now because they were in that fucking bag.”
Cora dragged her tongue over her bottom lip. His statement was wordy and peppered with emotion but essentially correct. “Yes.”
A long moment passed before Jeremy nodded, a sigh escaping his lips. “You were really good with him,” he said, his voice softer than she was used to. “Just like with Mrs. Adams’s daughter.”
Cora blinked, caught off guard by the sudden subject change. She studied him for a moment before shrugging. “It’s part of the job, Detective Pickett. I don’t always just work with stiffs, you know.” She added air quotes around the word, emphasizing the term he had once so casually tossed out.
Jeremy ducked his head, and to her astonishment, a faint blush crept over his cheeks. “I’m sorry about that, Dr. Wadsworth. I sometimes let my mouth run away from me.”
She raised a single brow but stayed silent, letting him squirm under the weight of his admission.
He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I often let my mouth run away from me.”
Cora tilted her head, genuinely surprised by his honesty. This was a side of him she hadn’t seen before—no smirk, no quips, just a straightforward apology. She gave him a slight nod, unsure of what to say. The shift in his demeanor unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite name.
Before she could respond, the side door to the lab opened, and another mortuary technician stepped inside. “Dr. Wadsworth? Detective Sam Shackley is on the line. He has a question about the gunshot victim from last week—something about one of the labs.”
Cora straightened, the motion eliciting a small crack from her neck. She winced inwardly, making a mental note to book an appointment at one of the new massage therapy clinics in town. “Thank you. I’ll be right there.” She reached for her desk, picked up her coffee mug, and grimaced, remembering it had been sitting there for hours. Still desperate for the caffeine, she took a sip, the lukewarm liquid doing little to soothe her exhaustion.
Turning back to Jeremy, she offered him a brisk nod. “Goodbye, Detective Pickett. Let me know if you need anything else.”
His gaze flicked to the mug in her hand, and his eyes widened slightly before a grin tugged at his lips. His chuckle broke the brief silence as he turned toward the door. “Goodbye, Dr. Wadsworth,” he said, his tone lighter now. With that, he walked out, leaving her standing by the desk.
Cora frowned, glancing down at the mug in her hand, wondering what had amused him so much. Twisting it around, she read the bold lettering on the side. Rigor Mortis… the original yoga pose.
A smile crept onto her face before she could stop it. Shaking her head, she let out a quiet laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing for the first time that day. For all his faults—and there were plenty—Detective Pickett had a way of leaving an impression.
And for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, this one wasn’t so bad.