“Who is Dr. Allan Baxter?” asked Cassi, ignoring Doris’s attempt to make her feel like a burden.
“Dr. Baxter was a cardiologist who occupied the adjoining professional suite that we took over when we added the extra examination rooms.”
“When did he move?” asked Cassi.
“He didn’t move. He died,” said Doris, sitting down behind her typewriter and directing her attention at the material on her desk. Without looking up at Cassi, she added, “If you’d like to sit down, I’m sure that Thomas should be along soon.” She threaded a sheet of paper into her machine and began to type.
“I think I’d prefer to wait in Thomas’s office.”
As Cassi passed behind her desk, Doris’s head shot up. “Thomas doesn’t like anyone in his office when he’s not there,” she protested with authority.
“That’s understandable,” returned Cassi. “But I’m not anyone. I’m his wife.”
Cassi went back through the door and closed it, half expecting Doris to follow. But the door didn’t open, and presently she could hear the sound of the typewriter.
Going back to Thomas’s desk, she quickly retrieved one of the mail order forms, noting that it was not only printed with Dr. Baxter’s name, but also his DEA narcotics number. Using a direct outside line, Cassi placed a call to the Drug Enforcement Administration. A secretary answered. Cassi introduced herself and said she had a question about a certain physician.
“I think you’d better talk with one of the inspectors,” said the secretary.
Cassi was placed on hold. Her hands were trembling. Presently one of the inspectors came on the line. Cassi gave her credentials, mentioning that she was an M.D. on the staff at the Boston Memorial. The inspector was extremely cordial and asked how he could be of assistance.
“I’d just like some information,” said Cassi. “I was wondering if you keep track of the prescribing habits of individual physicians.”
“Yes, we do,” said the inspector. “We keep records on computer using the Narcotics and Drugs Information Systems. But if you are looking for specific information on a particular physician, I’m afraid you can’t get it. It is restricted.”
“Only you people can see it, is that right?”
“That’s correct, Doctor. Obviously we don’t look at individual prescribing habits unless we are given information by the board of medical examiners or the medical society’s ethics committee that suggests there is an irregularity. Except, of course, if a physician’s prescribing habits change markedly over a short period of time. Then the computer automatically kicks out the name.”
“I see,” said Cassi. “There’s no way for me to check a particular doctor.”
“I’m afraid not. If you have a question about someone, I’d suggest you raise it with the medical society. I’m sure you understand why the information is classified.”
“I suppose so,” said Cassi. “Thanks for your time.”
Cassi was about to hang up when the inspector said, “I can tell you if a specific doctor is duly registered and actively prescribing, but not the amount. Would that help?”
“It sure would,” said Cassi. She gave Dr. Allan Baxter’s name and DEA number.
“Hang on,” said the inspector. “I’ll enter this into the computer.”
As Cassi waited, she heard the outer door close. Then she heard Thomas’s voice. With a surge of anxiety she stuffed the drug order form into her pocket. As Thomas came through the door the inspector came back on the line. Cassi smiled self-consciously.
“Dr. Baxter is active and up-to-date with a valid number.”
Cassi didn’t say anything. She just hung up.
Thomas was both talkative and solicitous as he drove Cassi home. If he’d been angry at her presence in his office, he’d hidden the fact beneath a welter of questions about how she was feeling. Although Cassi insisted she felt fine, Thomas had made her wait by the hospital entrance so that he could run and bring the car around.
Cassi was thankful for Thomas’s attentiveness, but she was so upset by what she had just learned from the Drug Enforcement Administration that she remained silent most of the way home. She now understood how Thomas managed to procure his drugs without detection. He’d supply Allan Baxter’s narcotics registration. All he had to do was fill out a form every year and send in five dollars. With the number and some idea of the level at which Dr. Baxter had been prescribing before he died, Thomas could obtain plenty of drugs. Probably more than he could consume.