“Why didn’t you quit and find another job?”
“I loved the work.”
“You could have loved the same work somewhere else, couldn’t you?”
“True, but I got stubborn. I figured one day they’d crash and burn and I’d be there to watch, maybe throw additional fuel on the fire.”
“Did anything change when Dr. Purcell arrived on the scene?”
“Not the first couple of months. Then I noticed an increase in the number of charge slips for things like ambulance service and physical therapy, portable X-ray equipment, wheelchairs. I started keeping notes and then I wrote a memo to Mr. Harrington, the head of the billing department at Genesis. That was a mistake as it turned out, but I didn’t care. He never said as much, but I’m sure he didn’t appreciate the effort because it put him on the spot.”
“You were a regular troublemaker.”
“I sincerely hope so.”
“So even before the audit, they were unhappy with you.”
She nodded and said, “Very. They let some time pass and then they fired me. Dr. Purcell tried to intervene, but he had no power and he was overruled. Penelope got upset and she quit in a huff, which really worked in their favor. It made it look like we were guilty of wrongdoing and Genesis was cleaning house. That still gave them Dr. Purcell as a fire wall if the MFCU investigation proceeded . . .”
“Which it did.”
“Oh, yes. They’re not going to give up until they nail this one down.”
“As I remember it, Joel told me Genesis was part of a group called Millennium Health Care.”
“It is, but my guess is that some, if not all, of those companies are shell corporations, set up to conceal the real ownership.”
“As in what?”
“Company A, owned by Mr. Smith, buys a residential nursing home. Smith sets up a phony company with a slate of officers who appear to be unconnected to him. His company, A, sells the facility to this second company-also his-at a greatly inflated price, effectively converting the profits into capital gains . . .”
“Which are taxed at a lower rate,” I said.
“Right. The second company can use the trumped-up value of the newly purchased facility as collateral for new loans. Meanwhile, bogus company C comes along and leases the building and grounds from the ‘new’ owner with a substantial boost in rents.”
I held a hand up. “Hang on a minute.” I ran the chronology back through my mind, trying to figure out what had caught my attention while she was laying it out to me. It wasn’t anything she said; it was something I’d been wondering since I’d arrived at her door. “The night he disappeared, Dr. Purcell left Pacific Meadows at nine o’clock. Did he, by any chance, stop by to talk to you?”
She paused so long I didn’t think she’d answer me. “Yes.”
“About what?”
“He told me he had a meeting scheduled with the FBI. He thought he knew what was going on and who was behind it, namely Harvey and Joel.”
“But those two wouldn’t have been in any jeopardy, would they? I mean, from what I was told, they had nothing to do with the day-to-day running of Pacific Meadows. The real fiddle must have come from Genesis, since the Medicare checks were sent to them.”
“There may be more of a connection than you think. Dr. Purcell must have gotten greedy because he began to sign off on charges he knew were fraudulent: X-ray and ambulance services among them. He probably took kickbacks for those. The FBI put the squeeze on him and that’s why he agreed to help.”
“But what would be the point of silencing him? There must be plenty of other people who know about the scam. You, for one.”
“I never had any real authority. Now that he’s gone, they can blame it all on him.”
“Did he tell anyone else what he knew?”
“He never said so if he did.”
“But why come to you? I gather you didn’t even know him that well.”
“He wanted my help. He figured I had nothing to lose.”
“Do you think he told Joel and Harvey what he was up to?”
“Not if he was smart. I know he had lunch with Joel that day, but he didn’t say anything else about it to me.”
“I don’t get it. With all these agencies at work, how come they haven’t been caught?”
She shrugged. “Most of what they submit is legitimate and where the figures are false, everything else looks good. They use standard diagnoses and standard treatments. They’re careful not to cross the line in any obvious way. It’s like playing the float. They know how far they can push the system before the flags go up.”
“But the flags did go up. Any idea why?”
“Someone must have phoned in a complaint because I talked to the fraud investigator last week and most of what I told him he already had in his files.”
The phony bills for Klotilde had to be part of the scheme. “I’ve got some information that should be of help and I’d be happy to do a paper search early in the week if there’s time.”
“That’d be great. I’ll be talking to him again and I can pass it on.”
“Something else I’m unclear on. Why take the chance on billing items out to someone deceased?”
“Listen, you’re dealing with the local, state, and federal governments. You get caught, you say ‘Oops’ and give the money back. You think the government would prosecute for a couple hundred dollars’ worth of ‘errors’?”
“Yeah, right. What’s the story on Harvey Broadus and nurse what’s-her-name . . . Pepper Gray?”
“He left his wife, Celine, for her and then I heard he went back.”
I studied her carefully, wondering if she’d answer the question that had just come to mind. “Were you the one who phoned in the complaint to Medicare?”
“Someone else did that.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure, but I suspect she did.”
“Pepper?”
“Yes.”
“Pepper was the one who dimed them out?”
“Well, think about it. When Harvey broke off their relationship, she was in the perfect position to blow the whistle on them. I noticed her name or initials showed up most frequently on charges for questionable goods or services. She probably dummied up the slips from the floor. Why should she go on protecting him once he dumped her?”
“Well, they’re certainly tight now.”
“Really. That surprises me. Imagine the bind that puts her in if he finds out what she’s done . . .” She let the thought trail, punctuated by a nearly imperceptible smile.
On my way home, I stopped by the office to pick up some index cards. I had two fresh packs in my desk drawer and I wanted to transfer the notes I’d managed to scribble in my spiral-bound notebook. I drove down Dave Levine as far as Capillo, where I made a left. Passing State Street, I could see that downtown Santa Teresa was deserted in the rain. It was after six P.M. on a Saturday and most retail stores had closed. Their windows were lighted, but the interiors were dim, sporting just enough wattage to foil the roving bands of burglars. I turned into the driveway running under Lonnie’s building and parked in the narrow lot beyond.
I got out and locked my car door. Over the back wall, I could see lights coming from the cottage across the alleyway. I was unable to resist looking at the office space I’d leased one short week ago. The parking lot was empty: no sign of Tommy’s pickup truck or his little red Porsche. The upper shutters along the right side of the one-story building were open, but the lowers had been closed. I saw a shadow intersect the light. Maybe Richard was showing the office to someone new.
I turned away from the sight, knowing I was well out of it. What was done was done and there was no point entertaining regrets. I counted myself lucky Mariah Talbot had showed up when she did. Otherwise, I’d be renting from a couple of stone-cold killers. I crossed Lonnie’s lot and trotted up the stairs to the third floor. I let myself into the law offices, which were lighted but empty. I went down the silent inner corridor and unlocked my office door.
I crossed to my desk, opened the bottom drawer, and picked up the two packs of blank index cards still in their cellophane wrap. I opened one and began to make notes. For the next hour, I felt safe, absorbed in my work. At 7:15 I put a rubber band around my note cards and tucked them in my handbag along with the extra pack of blank cards.
I locked the office and let myself out again, trotting down the outside stairs. At the first turn, I glanced out through the opening in the stairwell. It’s not a window in any true sense of the word, just a slot, one foot wide and maybe two feet high, intended to help with ventilation. From the second floor, I had a clear view across the alleyway to the rear of the Heveners’ cottage. The back door now stood wide open. In the office to the right (which I still thought of as mine) the shutters stood open. The light was on, but the window now had the blank look of unoccupied space. Something seemed off, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was. Maybe someone had gone out for a moment, leaving the backdoor open for convenience. Whatever it was, I had no intention of going over there to snoop around.