Free Gospel by Sydney Bauer

the American public have someone to blame.’
    Joe was hoping for a response but King, still avoiding eye contact, said nothing. So Joe went on.
    â€˜Look,’ he began. ‘OxyContin may be a prescription pain killer, but it’sa Schedule II, so scripts have to be recorded in triplicate. The DEA keep close tabs on its distribution because it sells on the streets as a cheaper alternative to heroin, and my guess is, right now, they are doing some serious investigations into the 160mg tablet diluted and injected into Tom Bradshaw’s veins.’
    King looked up and Joe knew he was right.
    â€˜I am not here to break your balls, Simba,’ said Joe. ‘It’s just that I know you are a thorough son-of-a-bitch and there is no way in hell you didn’t fight for an investigation which in the very least considered this was something other than an overdose.’ Joe shook his head. ‘Now if you tell me you are one hundred per cent sure that the VP kicked his own bucket then I’ll say “Okay, fine”, and shout you another beer because I know you’re a stand up guy. But I gotta tell you, Simba, this thing is starting to scream “agenda” – and a political one at that.’
    â€˜Joe,’ said King finally, ‘you’re forgetting. I’m not the one running this investigation.’
    â€˜Maybe not, and neither am I, but your guys invited me to this party, and now that I’m a guest, I plan to stay the duration.’
    King shook his head allowing the few remaining droplets of rain to fall from the ends of the tiny spikes of his number two buzz cut. ‘What if I said you know everything we know?’
    â€˜I’d say somehow, I don’t think so. I may have been allowed into the Presidential Suite but this talk of cooperation is just lip service. I was denied access to the video surveillance in the hallway and refused permission to question his staff. What about a list of the last people to speak with him? I was told one was Dick Ryan but your guys won’t allow me to interview him.’
    â€˜He’s CIA, Joe. They talked strategy on South American drug operations. It’s classified information. It was just a briefing, nothing more.’
    â€˜So that’s it? You’ll find some two-bit dealer and throw him to the lions and that will be the end of it?’
    King said nothing, just stared straight ahead.
    â€˜Simba?’
    â€˜The death of the Vice President is a matter for Federal investigators but we appreciate your valued input and . . .’
    â€˜Don’t give me the Bureau line, Leo. You know me better than that.’
    King took another sip of his beer before turning to his friend. ‘Look Joe, we go way back and you know I don’t bullshit so . . . there is one other possibility.’
    â€˜I’m listening.’
    â€˜Another visitor to Bradshaw’s suite – later, after Ryan. But it’s not what you think. At this stage we are just asking questions, tossing around a few ideas.’
    â€˜Wait a minute. Are you talking supply or something else?’
    Simba did not answer, just looked at his friend and shrugged.
    â€˜But who had the access?’ asked Mannix, now leaning into his companion. ‘Who was in that room and why don’t I know about it?’
    â€˜Because it’s a sensitive issue,’ answered King. ‘The person concerned is, shall we say, an icon in his own right.’
    â€˜Who was it, Leo?’ asked Joe, his voice now low, his expression intense.
    â€˜Okay, but this one stops here, at least until I clear it with Ramirez.’
    â€˜Okay.’
    â€˜It was Stuart Montgomery,’ said King at last, looking his detective friend squarely in the eye, ‘the heart guy from Washington, Bradshaw’s personal physician.’
    â€˜But he was in the ballroom,’ said Joe confused. ‘I saw him myself.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ nodded