Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Neither of us said anything as we drove toward Newcastle.
The residential streets going in were quiet but dressed up—flags on every porch, red-and-white bunting along the railings, a few houses with those big inflatable Uncle Sams that always look vaguely threatening.
People had their garage doors up and lawn chairs out like they were getting an early start on the weekend.
He swung around and parked in The Windsor lot.
We were going to need to talk to the front desk concierge anyway—Zoe said the envelope instructions had her leaving cash at the front desk of The Windsor.
It was easy enough to check, especially if Wade had made a habit of cash drop-offs at the front desk.
“Fourth of July is my favorite holiday,” I said.
Jack glanced over at me. “You’re serious?”
“Completely,” I said.
“More than Christmas?”
“Christmas is great if you had the right childhood for it,” I said. “I did not always have the right childhood for it. Christmas in the Graves house was…unpredictable. Thanksgiving had the same problem. You never knew which version of my parents you were going to get.”
“And the Fourth?”
“The Fourth is different. Nobody’s sitting around a table waiting for someone to say the wrong thing.
You’re outside. There’s fried chicken and potato salad and someone’s always got Ray Charles going.
And the fireworks.” I watched a woman hang a flag banner above her shop door.
“There’s something about the Fourth that belongs to everybody equally.
You don’t have to have a good family to stand in a field and watch fireworks. You just have to show up.”
Jack was quiet for a moment. “I never thought about it that way.”
“You had the right childhood for all of it,” I said. “Thanksgiving and Christmas and the Fourth. It all meant the same thing to you.”
“It did,” he said. “I’m sorry yours didn’t.”
“Don’t be sorry. It made me appreciate it more.” I looked out the window. “Besides. The Fourth is for the underdog. It always has been. A ragtag bunch of people who decided they’d had enough and bet everything on themselves against the most powerful people in the world. I can relate to that.”
Jack pulled into a spot and cut the engine. He looked at me for a moment.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing,” he said. “I just like you.”
I grinned. “I like you too.”
I got out of the car. The downtown street was blocked off and a crew was unloading folding tables onto the cobblestones, so we went on foot past the barricades.
The festival setup was loud and bright and smelled like sawdust and coffee, and then we pushed through Vitalia’s door and it was none of those things.
Inside it was cool and hushed, the lighting warm and low, white orchids in a tall vase on the reception desk. It smelled like bergamot and eucalyptus.
The receptionist looked up from her computer and smiled. “Welcome to Vitalia. Do you have an appointment today?”
Jack showed her his badge. “Sheriff Lawson. We need to speak to Paige Marsh.”
The smile held but something shifted behind it. “She’s finished up with a client. I’ll let her know you’re here.” She excused herself and disappeared to the back. It was only a couple of minutes before she reappeared. “She’ll be right out. Can I offer you any refreshments?”
“We’re fine, thank you,” I said.
We waited in a sitting area with low cream-colored chairs and a table with a single architectural magazine on it and a small zen sand garden.
Paige came through the door in scrubs with her hair up. There were dark circles under her eyes that even makeup hadn’t been able to erase.
Her smile was polite, but I could tell she wasn’t happy to see us again. “I’ve only got a few minutes between clients. We can step into the consultation room.”
She led us back past a wall of before-and-after photographs and into a small consultation room with two chairs and a love seat and a box of tissues on the table. We sat. Paige folded her hands in her lap and looked at Jack like she’d been running this conversation in her head since yesterday.
“We have some additional questions,” Jack said.
She looked between us. “I have clients. I thought we were done.”
“We have a few more things to go over,” Jack said. “It won’t take long.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she sat. The room was quiet for a moment.
“We found two prescription vials and a pill bottle in Wade’s closet,” I said. “Your name is on all three as the prescribing provider. Testosterone, anabolic steroids, and sildenafil.”
She looked at me, and I no longer saw the weak and weeping girl from the day before. I’d looked up Paige’s credentials. She was not just a low-level RN. She had a master’s degree in nursing and was a nurse practitioner. She was the most qualified medical personnel at Vitalia other than the owner.
“I want to talk to an attorney,” she said.
“That’s your right,” Jack said, his voice harsh.
“Right now you have means, motive, and opportunity, which makes you a person of interest. You had access to his condo, knew his routines, and your friend Becca admitted she was drunk the night of his murder, so not exactly a reliable alibi. You’re more than welcome to get an attorney.
But you’ll be missing the rest of your appointments for the day if you do because you’ll be coming with us.
If you didn’t kill Wade, then it’s in your best interest to tell us the truth. ”
She looked at him. Then at me. Something behind her eyes was calculating.
“Yes, I wrote Wade the prescriptions you found,” she said stiffly. “He was a patient here, and each one was medically documented. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why are you so defensive?” Jack asked. “Is it normal for a healthy thirty-five-year-old man to need that combo of medications?”
“In Wade’s case,” she said. “Yes. He’d been using steroids long before he met me.
And no, I don’t know where he got them from.
And stupid me, he told me he’d much rather come to me for medical issues because he trusted me to always have his best interest at heart.
He’d told me he’d been in a bad car accident one summer during college, and he’d had a couple of years of physical therapy because of it.
That’s actually what started his health journey.
His muscles had atrophied, so his doctor had prescribed the steroids to help build them back. He never stopped.”
“And the long-term steroid use led to testosterone issues,” I said, filling in the blanks.
“Exactly,” she said. “And because his testosterone count was low, he’d said he needed the sildenafil. He said he didn’t always need it, but he liked to have it just in case.”
“Do you believe that or was he taking it frequently?” I asked.
She sighed. “I generally had to write him a new scrip every thirty days.”
“We found unlabeled pill bottles in the pantry of Wade’s condo,” Jack said. “Did you know what they were?”
She went very still.
“I don’t know what was in those bottles,” she said.
“I knew he had them. I never asked what they were and he never told me. He was private about them and I didn’t push.
” She said it carefully, the way someone says something they’ve been deciding whether to say.
“I have nothing to do with whatever was in them.”
“We believe he was drugging his clients and then having sex with them.” Jack didn’t break eye contact. “In four months nothing about those pills or his personal need for the sildenafil made you ask questions?”
“What? What do you mean he was drugging them? Wade wouldn’t have to do that. Women threw themselves at him all the time.”
“Was he cheating on you?” I asked her bluntly.
Her breath caught on a sob. “I don’t know.
Sometimes I thought I was crazy. He’d have this insatiable desire for me early on, and then it started to fade.
But I thought that was normal. You can’t keep going at the same pace you did at the beginning of a relationship.
But sometimes I’d try to seduce him and he’d blow me off.
It was always on his terms. And yeah, a couple of times I wondered if his private clients were something more.
Not the way he acted, but the way they did.
But I just can’t believe he’d have to stoop to drugging them. To what purpose?”
“Blackmail,” Jack said. “You never looked at those unlabeled bottles in his pantry? No professional curiosity?”
“I never looked,” she said. “And maybe I didn’t want to know too much.”
“He have any close friends?” I asked. “Anyone he met with regularly?”
“Wade didn’t really have guy friends,” she said.
“At least none that I met. We went out a couple of times with Becca and a guy she’s been seeing, but that’s about the extent of it.
He went to a couple of conferences when we were together, but I didn’t go with him so I couldn’t tell you if he had friends there. ”
“I hope you’re not lying to us about those unlabeled pill bottles,” Jack said. “We’re running fingerprint and DNA on them. Wade knew someone that knew how to get him Rohypnol and a couple of other drugs that would not be a good addition to whatever concoction he was brewing in his smoothies.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “You’re serious about that? You think Wade was drugging women? I promise, I never touched those bottles. I’ve got to get back to my clients.”
“Just one final question,” Jack said. “A witness stated they saw a man leaving the condo you shared with Wade while Wade was gone. That you were in your robe and had just gotten out of the shower.”
“Jessica,” Paige said through clenched teeth. “Speaking of women that continuously threw themselves at Wade.”
“Who was the man?” Jack asked. “An acquaintance of yours or of Wade’s?”
“It was my brother,” she said. “He needed to borrow my car and knew I could walk to work. Now I’ve really got to go.”
She stood up.
“We’ll be in touch, Ms. Marsh. Don’t leave town.”