Nickel City Crossfire, Gary Ross [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

here and developed a drug habit in the wake of her only child’s death and her husband’s abandonment. She lost everything, and her life spiraled out of control astonishingly fast.”

“She never found her maintenance level.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Ileana took a deep breath. “Look, I’m a therapist trained to recognize the signs of addiction and indicators of addictive personalities. When Veronica’s life started going off the rails, I saw it before anybody else because it fit her personality. Brilliance and persistence got her through medical school at the top of her class but these assets turned into something else after her losses. She turned to methamphetamines for the euphoria. She started with Desoxyn, which she prescribed for accomplices who gave the pills back to her.”

“I take it this was in the days before New York required all scrips to be electronic?”

“Yes. Veronica resisted my help, and by the time everybody else noticed her dilated pupils and flushed skin it was too late. She had begun to cook her own and stopped coming to work regularly because she screwed up so much.”

“Did she ever do time in rehab?”

“Not that I know of. When I reported her to our superiors, they took their own sweet time. When they finally got around to her she was too far gone. She was a liability. They had no choice but to let her go. Now she’s homeless and snaggle-toothed from meth mouth and begging for drug money outside coffee shops.”

“Your note said, ‘We have to help her.’ Did you try to help Veronica?”

“Yes. First, we looked for her in all the usual places.”

“The usual places?”

“Various shelters. Homelessness is way down in the Buffalo area but still a big enough problem we have several places street people go, for two hots and a cot, especially this time of year. Keisha and I spent several nights looking for her this fall, waiting outside this or that shelter as people drifted in. Twice we saw her but she ran from us. Her sneakers against our high-heel boots? No contest there. The last time I saw her face to face was outside the Walgreen’s two blocks from here, about three weeks ago. She was high then but she still recognized me. Breaks my heart to know she’s out there somewhere, broken and alone—and invisible, because that’s what the homeless are, people we choose not to see.” For a moment Ileana’s expression made me think she might wipe her eyes again but she didn’t.

I let another second or two pass. “Do you have a list of shelters I can check out—in case Keisha shows up at one of them?”

“Yes, but if you’re going to hang around any of them, take me with you. Shelter directors and most staff know I’m from Humanitas. They’re very protective of the people they serve. Somebody has to be.” She studied me, shaking her head. “Guy your size hanging around at night will probably scare them enough to make them call the cops.” From one of the plastic organizers on her desktop, she produced a pamphlet, paper-clipped a business card to it, and handed it to me. “My cell number is circled. Promise you’ll call me first.”

I promised. “Mr. and Mrs. Simpkins told me Keisha had to go to rehab.”

“A knee-jerk bureaucratic response intended to prevent her from becoming another Veronica. The truth is, the board doesn’t know Keisha like I do. She never showed signs of instability or self-medication. Rehab was a waste of time. I’ve never even seen Keisha finish a second glass of wine.”

I remembered the wine rack in Keisha’s kitchen. “Do you think the drugs came from Odell Williamson?”

She was quiet a moment, then shook her head. “We double-dated several times. He always seemed intelligent and engaging. He talked a lot about his kids, about their progress and their science projects and the hilarious things they said in class.” Her eyes brightened a bit, and she smiled. “He was playful as if being a kid at heart helped him connect with his students. But that side of him was infectious. It helped him connect with everybody and brought Keisha out in ways I’d never have imagined. She got him into trivia games and long walks but he got her into paintball and ziplining.” She shook her head again. “I can imagine him smoking a joint now and then but can’t buy him as a hard-core user or dealer.”

I picked up my pen. “When was the last time you saw Keisha before she ended up in the hospital?”

“Here at work that very day. It was a Friday, and she was looking forward to her date with Odell that night. She’d had some bad experiences with men and kept her guard up. But Odell was different, and she appreciated him for it. From the way she’d been talking about him for the past few months, I got a sense her guard was coming down and she might even be thinking of a future with him.”

For a long time, I said nothing as I compared Ileana’s portrait of her friend to what I already knew. Both respected professionals, Keisha and Odell had overdosed in a car near an athletic center but only Keisha responded to the Narcan. Three informants had labeled Odell a dealer. After returning home from the hospital, Keisha was moody and different, but her arms showed no signs of prior drug use. Skipping out on rehab, she disappeared and sent her parents a letter that sounded a lot like an addict’s apology. Logic said that either Keisha or Odell had gotten the other to inject heroin. Nothing else made sense. But two men in a black Navigator had followed me, perhaps hoping I’d lead them to her. That made no sense either. Unless...

“You have to be wondering what I tried to tell the police two weeks ago,” Ileana said, breaking the silence, “when Keisha went missing. If she and Odell went from no sign of drug use, ever, to heroin