Dead Drop Jack Patterson (best chinese ebook reader TXT) 📖

that they were looking into him and that he better make sure everything he was doing was above board. It was common courtesy, though also illegal. But Lancaster took the tip seriously, which enabled him to tweak his records. He couldn’t make them look perfect for fear that they would investigate further. Instead, he decided to plant a red herring and send them off in pursuit of a lead that would take them nowhere. He would get a slap on the wrist, if anything at all. It was all very simple—a forged signature by a doctor for a prescription to a Major League Baseball player who’d already been convicted of using illegal prescriptions. Lancaster dug through his phone records to find the date the scrupulous doctor’s office had called him and faxed him something. With the doctor already in jail, it wouldn’t be enough to cause the feds to spend thousands of dollars in time and resources to pursue such a claim. Lancaster’s invention had nothing to do with the athlete, of course, but it would lend veracity to his forthcoming statement, one he’d rehearsed a thousand times since the FBI served him with a search warrant and carted out boxes of records. He’d claim he was simply filling a prescription for the office when it was out of the drug. If that were the impending line of questioning, the interrogation would run smoothly and rather harmlessly. Yet the uncertainty of it all was why Lancaster hadn’t relaxed for even a moment as he fidgeted in his seat.

When agent Al Hollister entered the room with his partner Bart Zellers, neither one of them appeared to have any intention of putting Lancaster at ease. There was no cordial greeting or small talk; it was all business.

Hollister dropped a manila folder on the table and then slid it toward Lancaster.

Lancaster put his hands on top of the folder—palms down—and dragged it in front of him. “Am I supposed to know what this is?”

“You tell me,” Hollister shot back as he eyed Lancaster. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Slowly, Lancaster reached for the curled corner of the folder and grabbed it with his thumb and forefinger. He pulled it open and tried to hide his shock. There was nothing about the disgraced and convicted doctor or the baseball player. Instead, staring back at him was a copy of an order his office fulfilled and shipped out. He never considered for even one moment that this order would attract the scrutinizing eye of the sharpest FBI agent. The HGH levels in the prescription order were within legal ranges. However, the frequency was a day or two earlier than was legal. He’d already planned to dismiss it as a clerical error or give the standard, “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this. We would never knowingly break the law.”

But that would be a lie. He would knowingly break the law, and he wouldn’t give it a second thought. For Lancaster, he lived by the carpe diem mantra. Or in his case, seize the money. Though it was really about something else entirely. A soccer player needed help, and Lancaster was happy to oblige, even if it was illegal.

It’ll be virtually undetectable to some FBI analyst combing through my records.

Lancaster was wrong, as evidenced by the piece of paper lying on the table right in front of him. They’d caught him, and he had no plausible explanation—at least not one on the tip of his tongue. He needed to stall.

Lancaster furrowed his brow and stared at the sheet of paper. “What exactly am I looking at here? I’m afraid that I’m not too familiar with shipping records and practices. That’s not my department.”

Deep breath, Bill. You can do this.

Hollister leaned forward on the table and clasped his hands. “Dr. Lancaster, please dispense with the naivety act. This is very much a part of your business, and I think you’re very well aware of why this was flagged during our investigation.”

“I’m sure if this is true, then perhaps there’s some reasonable explanation for it all.”

Hollister leaned back and crossed his arms. “Enlighten me.”

“A glitch in the computer system perhaps. Our orders are automated.”

“Need I remind you that this conversation is being recorded right now?”

“Are you charging me with something? Because if you are, I’d like to see my lawyer.”

Zellers, who’d been observing quietly in the corner of the room, stepped forward and broke his silence. “We’re just asking you a few questions, Dr. Lancaster. If this is all just some big misunderstanding, we’d love for you to clear it up for us.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got reservations at Machiano’s tonight at seven. Make my wife happy, and explain it all to us.”

“I am giving you the most reasonable explanation I can think of.”

Hollister’s eyes narrowed as he used his index finger to tap the papers he’d placed in front of Lancaster. He took over the questioning with an aggressive stance toward Lancaster. “Do you recognize the name on this document? A Mrs. Rebecca Westin? Of all the clients—”

“Patients, Agent Hollister. I have patients.”

“Of all the clients, why was it her? Why didn’t your system goof up someone who lived in, say, Timbuctu, Nebraska? Why was it specifically Rebecca Westin in Seattle? Explain that one to me.”

“I really think I need my lawyer before we go any further.”

“Oh, sure. Go hide behind your lawyer. That doesn’t make you look guilty at all.”

Lancaster felt the blood rush to his face. In a flash, he went from irritated to angry. “I don’t know what kind of witch hunt you’re on, Agent Hollister, but you’re not going to get me to admit to anything I didn’t do. Not now, not ever.”

Zellers put his hand on Hollister’s shoulder and spoke calmly, “If you cooperate, we can make sure the judge goes easy on you. You’ll lose your license, but you won’t spend the better part of your life in prison.”

“I didn’t commit any crime, at least not knowingly. And if