Chapter 5 - THE PILLS ON THE NIGHTSTAND
The service panel behind the wine cellar had been sealed behind a decorative wall.
Nobody knew why.
That usually means somebody knows exactly why.
I removed the paneling.
Inside was an old electrical enclosure no longer connected to the house.
Except one circuit was still live.
Dominic stood behind me.
“What does it power?”
I traced it upstairs.
Not to the courtyard.
To Dominic's bedroom.
More specifically, to the outlet beside his nightstand.
I unplugged the lamp.
Nothing changed.
Then I noticed the charging base beneath a small wooden medication cabinet.
“What is that?”
Dominic frowned.
“My nightly medication dispenser.”
Of course it was.
The dispenser was electronic.
Every evening at 11:30, it unlocked one compartment containing medication prescribed by Dr. Hall.
Dominic had used it for almost four years.
I didn't touch the pills.
Instead, we called an independent physician.
Dr. Leah Bowman arrived before noon.
She reviewed Dominic's prescriptions, then sent the tablets for testing.
Her face became serious when she examined his old bloodwork.
“There are inconsistencies.”
“What kind?”
“Levels that don't always match the prescribed dosage.”
Dominic stared.
“You're saying I wasn't taking what I was prescribed?”
“I'm saying I want the tablets tested before making that conclusion.”
We didn't wait long.
The laboratory called that afternoon.
Two pills in the dispenser weren't part of Dominic's current prescription.
Dr. Bowman wouldn't speculate about intent, but she was very clear about one thing:
One of the substances could increase neurological vulnerability in some people.
Combined with sleep deprivation and intense flashing light, the situation was dangerous.
Dominic sat completely still.
I felt furious enough for both of us.
“Who fills the dispenser?”
Maria answered.
“Medical deliveries arrive sealed.”
“Who receives them?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Security.”
Dominic laughed.
It wasn't a pleasant sound.
“Mercer.”
Maria nodded.
Dr. Bowman checked the electronic dispenser.
Its internal memory showed the compartments had been opened manually several times before scheduled release.
Someone knew the override code.
Dominic's phone rang.
One of his guards.
Caleb Mercer was gone.
The two men stationed outside his room had been found unconscious.
A service vehicle had disappeared from the garage.
Dominic stood.
Then Maria said, “Wait.”
She was holding a pharmacy delivery sheet.
Each delivery required a signature.
Most bore Mercer's.
But six months of receipts had another signature.
S. HALL.
Dr. Samuel Hall.
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Dominic's physician hadn't only known about the lighting system.
He had personally handled the medication.
