Page 11 of Hidden Hero

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.

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