“You work at the free clinic?”
“On Saturday mornings, yes.”
“You can prescribe pain killers?”
“Yes.”
Gray took my hand in his, gave it a squeeze.
“You’ve cut off someone’s supply and they aren’t happy.”
My mouth fell open as I processed his words. “I give out prescriptions for pain pills all the time. It could be any number of people.”
Mr. Casale tapped his chin thoughtfully. “This person, I have learned, harms women so they are seen at the clinic and receives the pain medication. Then keeps it for himself.”
“What does this have to do with Emory?” Gray asked.
“Rumor is they want her keys to get into the free clinic to get more.”
I glanced at Paul and Christy, who were listening carefully, confusion and surprise on their faces.
“I can’t just get into the medication. We have one of those big machines that requires a password. It’s a big pill vault and has a computer connected to it. There’s no key.”
“There’s one in each department at the hospital as well. It’s strictly monitored and doesn't have all medications,” Christy added.
“Then they just want the prescriptions, most likely the women get it filled and he takes it from them. Either way, you’ve cut off his supply, or one of them. Did you deny drugs to anyone recently?” he asked.
I thought back over the past month or so at the clinic, then remembered the woman from last weekend. Broken rib. I’d given her a script for pain pills twice before, but that was more than enough for her recuperation time. Had this man broken her rib just so he could get the pain meds for himself? What was her name? Alice something.
“There was a woman last weekend. Broken rib and wanted more pain meds, but I can’t tell you her name. Confidentiality laws.”
Mr. Casale held up his hands. “I do not need the name, just the confirmation that this is probable, and I will not bore you with the details about how I will resolve this.”
It could involve breaking laws and a bullet to the back of a head, therefore I really didn’t want to know.
“We only have a small amount of medicine at the clinic. We give out paper scripts, or send them by computer directly to the pharmacy. Either way, why break into my house? I have nothing for him there.”
Mr. Casale shrugged. “I didn’t say this person was smart, just mad.”
“Have you told this to the police?” Paul asked.
“Some dumb guy hooked on pain meds broke into my house and wanted to hurt me!” I kept my voice down, but couldn’t keep the anger from it. It was my turn to grip Gray's hand. “I climbed down a Boy Scout ladder in my pajamas all because of pain med prescriptions?”
“I know we have just met so you probably do not know the extent of my involvement in the community,” Mr. Casale continued.
“You founded the clinic,” Christy said. All eyes turned to her in surprise. I didn’t know that little gem of information and I worked at the place. “I’m Director of Community Relations at the hospital. I know all about this stuff.”
I used to work in administration, but on a nursing level, not the same pay scale as Christy. It was news to me.
“This is not your problem. It is mine,” Mr. Casale said.
“With all due respect, sir,” Gray began, but Mr. Casale held up his hand to stop him.
“Your problem is keeping Emory happy. This,” he waved his hand, “this man, he messed with my clinic and he has messed with a volunteer there. She is also my friend and under my protection. He is my problem.”
Paul had said Mr. Casale was a connected man. By the look on his face now, the tone of his voice, I believed him. He might have been older, he might have a grandson, but he was not someone I wanted to mess with.
“What do I do now?” I asked.