The Chezdon Chronicles: The Continuing Saga--New Plot (bxb)

Chapter 10: Gimme Shelter

Arriving at the station, Austin asked for Inspector Lewisohn and was directed to a desk in the corner of the expansive room, a sea of cubicles to be navigated en route.

The man sitting at that desk, Austin observed, wore an ill-fitting disheveled brown and red plaid blazer, blue pants and heavily scuffed-up black shoes. The man was hunched over that Austin did not see his glasses until he got closer, the thickness of the lenses hard to ignore.

"Excuse me, are you Inspector Lewisohn?" Austin asked.

"Yes, yes, I am," came the response. "And you are..." Austin picked up on the strong American accent—Southern twang he thought it was called. He'd heard it any number of times on Netflix movies.

"Austin McGuire. You called me a little while ago and asked me to come in?" Austin looked at the wall behind the inspector's desk and thought he recognized a photo of Brody on wall. It couldn't be Brody, though, Austin thought. Why would an inspector have any interest in Brody? Jayden and Brody's extortion activities were already well known. What more did any police want with Brody at this point?

"Yes, yes I did," Lewisohn replied. "Let's go to an interview room." Lewisohn got up from his chair, grabbed some papers and a folder from his desktop, and led Austin to a small room with a table and two seats on opposite sides of the table.

"Please, sit, Mr. McGuire."

Austin and Lewisohn sat down. Austin's body language indicated a degree of discomfort that pleased Lewisohn. Nothing like an uncomfortable interviewee, he thought.

"Now, Mr. McGuire, do you know this individual?" Lewis pulled a photo out of the folder and placed it in front of Austin.

Austin didn't need to look at the photo for long to know who it was. "Sure, that's Dr. O'Connor." Austin wondered why he was being asked to identify O'Connor.

"And your connection to him is..." Lewisohn hoped that there was a connection. If he suggested as much, maybe this kid would offer something useful.

"He's my psychiatrist."

"OK. And he treated you for..."

"Depression."

"Ah, I see. Did the good doctor ever prescribe any medications for you?"

"Yes. Anti-depressants. But I stopped taking them a little while ago."

"OK, Mr. McGuire. And was there a reason for doing so?"

"Yes. I was no longer depressed."

Lewisohn paused and let out a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as he first thought.

"Did Dr. O'Connor prescribe anything else for you?"

"Yes, he did. Oxycontin."

"And the reason for his doing was what?"

"I had really bad headaches. The oxycontin took care of them nicely."

"Yes," the inspector said, "I'm sure it did. From where did you obtain this oxycontin, then?"

"My mum would get it from the local chemist."

"The local chemist. Only the local chemist?"

"Yes, only the local chemist." By now, Austin was thoroughly confused. Where was this interview going?

"And O'Connor never gave you any oxycontin?" Lewisohn asked.

"No. Never."

"Never sold you any?"

"No."

"Never gave you any gratis?"

"Gratis?"

"For free."

"I know what it means, Inspector. I just don't understand why you are asking me these questions."

"Mr. McGuire, given what you've told me, we're about done. Anything else about this situation doesn't concern you. You're free to go."

Bewildered, Austin got up from his chair and left the interview room, and then left the station.

The inspector took the photo and put it back into the folder, then walked back to his desk. He was met there by the Chief Inspector, George Hawkins.

"Why the interview of this one?" Hawkins asked.

"He was one of O'Connor's patients. But O'Connor apparently never gave him any oxycontin. And the kid's got a perfect explanation for using oxycontin."

"Sounds legitimate to me then. Perhaps you're wrong?"

"I don't think so, George. My gut says something's off here. And my source was clear about O'Connor, the same as he is about this kid, if you know what I mean." Lewisohn pointed to Brody's photo on the wall. "He's a recent—really recent—recruit. The most recent I think. The youngest by far, too. Just started dealing from what I'm finding out." Finally, Lewisohn thought, a case that made leaving his detective position in the Des Moines, Iowa police department worthwhile. Enough with the two-bit breaking cases that no one gave a rat's ass about. Maybe he'd finally start to see his career go somewhere. From what he saw, there wasn't much competition from the Aussie detectives on a drug dealing network. Not on this scale. He thanked the Lord for putting the Pettingill family in Melbourne. When Lewisohn had applied for the inspector position, though, he hadn't realized what opportunities might present themselves to him. He did now.

"Yes, but isn't he already going into prison for a while?"

"Yeah, George, he is. And that's the fly in the ointment. I can't see why he'd be interested in starting to deal now."

"Oh, I can, Lewy. He's young. The Pettingills will protect him in prison. In this town, that's a group that can do pretty much what it wants to if it's something concerning their own. I'm not completely sure, if you know what I mean. You'd never guess that Melbourne was one of the safest cities on the planet given the presence of that family. Never. But if you were as old as this one with his size, wouldn't you think in terms of getting some protection while in prison?"

"Yeah, George, maybe you're right. That would be an explanation. And maybe he'd develop a career with that family. Hmmm...you may be on to something. Whatever, I want to see what the kid has to say for himself."

"Yes, Lewy, I'm sure you do." Hawkins sighed. "But let's get back to O'Connor. You're sure that he's selling scrips for opiates?"

"I'm pretty sure. The evidence is pretty good. He's writing four times as many prescriptions for them as anyone else in Melbourne. The chemist around the corner from his office thought it strange enough to contact us. And it seems he has ties to the Pettingills. Maybe he's selling the scripts for them. Or to them. I'm not so sure, if you know what I mean. But beyond that, I can't make the connections."

"And this one that you had in here just now—he was of no help?"

"None. He seems to be completely legit. And O'Connor didn't sell him either opiates or anything else, never offered to sell him a scrip, never nothing. Never. Amazing that he avoided O'Connor's claws. And O'Connor—a pimple on the ass of Melbourne. A lousy stinkin' doctor. What a mother. You think maybe he'd screwed his own father? I'm not so sure he didn't, if you know what I mean."

Hawkins looked at Lewisohn, amazed at the way Americans could butcher the English language. Especially the young, with their incessant, "y'know's." At least retirement beckoned in another five years. Be grateful for the little things, Hawkins told himself. In the meantime, use O'Connor as much as possible to get to the head of the family.

"Well, keep with it," he continued as he knocked the knuckles of his fisted right hand on Lewisohn's desk, then walked away. Lewisohn took a deep breath and returned to the papers on his desk.