The Buck Stops Here Page 17

  “She was diagnosed when she was in kindergarten,” Beth continued. “For a long time, we struggled all on our own. Then Veronica got involved, and she was such a godsend for me that eventually I talked her into helping others the same way. About a year later, Family HEARTS was born. With Tom’s financial help, they were eventually able to take it nationwide.”

  “And the word ‘HEARTS’ stands for…”

  “Help, Encouragement, Advocacy, Resources, Treatments, and Services,” Veronica said. “It’s kind of hard to explain everything that we do, but you’ll learn more when you come into the office.”

  We made arrangements for me to do that first thing in the morning. I asked Irene about her involvement there, but she said she was simply on the board of directors and not involved with the day-to-day activities.

  “But it’s a top-notch group,” she said, smiling proudly at those of us assembled around the table. “Tom couldn’t find a better organization to support with his money.”

  “Well, I look forward to conducting a full investigation,” I said, raising my glass. “Here’s to a successful grant process.”

  “Hear, hear!” Phillip cried.

  One by one, we all clinked glasses, the mood around the table jubilant. For a while, at least, I forgot that the Family HEARTS investigation was the very least of my concerns, but merely a tool to get to know the people around the table.

  Twenty-Six

  My cell phone rang as the waiter was serving dessert, a decadent plate of pecan pie topped with caramel sauce. I glanced at the screen and recognized the number as that of my computer hacker in Seattle. I excused myself from the table, stepped outside onto the deck, and answered the call. As I did, the full reality of the situation came slamming down on me once again.

  “Callie,” Paul said. “I was just about to hang up.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I got somebody for you.”

  It took a moment for my mind to catch up, to remember that he had been looking for someone local who could analyze the mysterious asthma inhaler I had stolen from the carport of the prison guard in Georgia.

  “In New Orleans?”

  “Sort of,” he said. “This guy lives about an hour away in a town called Hammond. He’s a student at a college there.”

  “Okay.”

  “I just talked to him. He said if you can bring it over today, he’ll get to it this week.”

  I stepped toward the rail, surprised that no one else was out here enjoying the warm May sunshine.

  “Is he safe?” I asked softly, certain that Paul would know what I meant.

  “Yes,” he replied. “He’s done some work for my buddy. Very reliable, very discreet. Also very expensive.”

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred dollars. Plus fifty to the friend who made the connection, and fifty to me.”

  I let out a low whistle but, in the end, I agreed to the asking price. After all, what choice did I have? I jotted down the guy’s information and thanked Paul for his help. As soon as we hung up, I called the fellow and reconfirmed the information and the address, telling him I would probably be heading out in a half hour at the most.

  Back inside, I apologized for the interruption and then retook my place at the table. Suddenly, I realized I had lost my appetite for dessert. I took a bite and then pushed the plate away.

  “Don’t you like the pie?” Irene asked me after a while.

  “It’s wonderful, but I’m quite full,” I said. “I’ll take it in a doggie bag.”

  “Good idea. I’m sure your suite has a refrigerator.”

  “Suite, huh?” Veronica asked. “So which of Tommy’s hotels did he put you up in?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your hotel. I assume Tommy put you in one of the ones he owns. So which is it? Place de Coeur? Hotel St. Jacques? The Marquis?”

  “Tom owns all of those?” I asked, finally understanding what he meant when he said They know me at the place I was staying. No wonder they were all so solicitous—I was a special guest of the owner! “I’m at the Place de Coeur.”

  The twins wanted to go out on the deck, and so I excused myself and walked out with them. We brought a leftover roll and they took turns tearing off tiny pieces and throwing them into the water.

  “Gators live in there,” Leah said. “Sometimes they’ll come if you feed them.”

  “They won’t come for bread,” Maddie corrected. “They’d rather have a big rotten chicken or something gross like that.”

  “Or marshmallows,” Leah added. “Sometimes they like to eat marshmallows.”

  I looked out at the beautiful, peaceful river and tried to imagine alligators in it. Just then, a pleasure boat rode past, the family on board in bathing suits and T-shirts.

  “There aren’t really alligators in this river, are there?” I asked the twins. “I mean, people go swimming here and everything.”

  “Oh, sure,” Leah said. “The gators won’t bother you. They’re lazy.”

  “They’re cold-blooded,” Maddie corrected. “If you ever see them, they’re hardly moving at all.”

  “Do people ever get bitten?” I asked, shuddering at the thought of coming face-to-face with an alligator, even if it was lazy.

  “Just stay away from their nests,” Leah told me sagely. “They’ll leave you alone unless you threaten their young.”

  “Or if you bump into one accidentally,” Maddie added. “Then it might snap your arm off!”

  They went on to tell me about a school trip they had taken recently to a local alligator and turtle farm. The animals were sorted by age and size, with the cutest little baby alligators kept in tiny ponds—and the biggest, nastiest, oldest ones in big, fenced-in pits.

  The other adults joined us at that point, my alligator lesson concluded for the day. In the water all manner of fish had surrounded the bread crumbs we had tossed in and were fighting over them, which created a swirl of turbulence. Phillip held his son up against the rail so that he could see, and Tucker kept pointing at the water and saying “Fishies! Fishies!” He was an adorable boy, with big eyes and his mother’s full lips.

  Once the fish were gone, we all strolled around the side of the building to the parking lot and said our farewells. We had already made plans for the next day, with my formal introduction to Family HEARTS scheduled for first thing in the morning. For now, though Irene invited me back to her house for coffee, I begged off, saying I had some errands I needed to run.

  In the car I thought about what a pleasant meal that had been, despite my flares of jealousy toward Veronica. She wasn’t that bad, I had to admit, just beautiful. And I also liked Beth, despite her shyness, as well as Irene. Had things worked out differently for me and Tom, this might have been the second time in my life that I married into a family I could really embrace as my own.

  The GPS sent me west on the interstate about twenty miles until I reached the Hammond exit. After turning right, I passed a big shopping center and continued all the way into town. I spotted a charming little train station ahead on the right, and then made several quick turns that put me onto the campus of Southeastern Louisiana University.

  We were meeting at a place called the “Friendship Oak.” I passed several campus buildings and then followed a wide curve lined with parking places. I pulled into a spot that sat in the shade of some tall trees, thinking this had to be one of the prettier college campuses I had seen. The terrain was very flat, but the trees were huge and the buildings quite gracious.

  Though there was no sign, it wasn’t hard to recognize the Friendship Oak. It was a gigantic oak tree that sat in the center of the circle, its branches so huge and heavy that in many places they grew all the way down to the ground and then back up again. Thick green leaves formed a canopy overhead, and moss hung down from every limb. In the center, around the massive trunk, was a wide, curved bench. Sitting on the bench was a young man of about 20. I walked over to him and spoke softly.

  “Hi
, are you Hydro?” I asked, thinking of the code name Paul had told me to use.

  “Yep,” he replied. “You the Pink Panther?”

  Paul had thought he was being funny by giving us these names, but neither one of us was smiling now.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Whatcha got?”

  I chose to sit on the bench, my back to the tree. I didn’t like doing business this way, but until I knew what substance the inhaler contained, I didn’t see that I had much choice.

  “Just to reiterate,” I said softly, “this will be done quickly and anonymously, is that correct?”

  “Absolutely. I won’t tell anybody if you won’t.”

  The kid seemed so young, with purple streaks in his hair and a tiny gold loop in his eyebrow. I thought he looked more like a skater boy than a chemist, but I held my tongue and reached into the FedEx envelope to pull out the inhaler.

  “That’s albuterol,” he said smartly. “My roommate uses one of those.”

  “I have reason to believe the chemical inside has been altered in some way,” I said. “I’d like to know how.”

  I handed him the inhaler, and he turned it around in his hand.

  “It could even be lethal,” I added, “so be careful.”

  He let a low whistle.

  “Lethal, huh? Like pure nicotine or something? Cool. There’s a clever way to off somebody.”

  “It could also be something a little more benign, but not legal.”

  “Like crack cocaine?”

  “Who knows? I just want it analyzed as quickly as possible. Of course, there’s always a chance that it’s just an asthma inhaler, but I doubt it.”

  “I’ll need a deposit,” he said, handing the inhaler to me. I slid it back into the envelope, which already contained the money.

  “There’s two hundred and fifty dollars cash in there,” I said. “You’ll get the rest when the job is done.”

  I handed the whole package to him, and he took it gingerly.

  “Well, nice doing business with ya,” he said, standing. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He reached under the bench and pulled out a skateboard, carried it to the sidewalk, stepped on, and took off. I sat there for a bit longer, trying to enjoy the view of the gorgeous tree. Finally, I returned to my car feeling dirty, somehow, as if I needed to find a place to wash my hands.

  Twenty-Seven

  The drive back to New Orleans took about an hour, and I went a different way, this time on a long, elevated road that carried me over the Louisiana swamps and provided an incredible glimpse of swamp life below.

  There were modest houses in and among the muck and mire of the swamp, some of them built on stilts and some planted directly on tiny pieces of solid land. In front of almost every house there floated a boat or two, and a few homes actually had a little piece of yard, in which I could see a clothesline or a tiny garden. I didn’t know if these were year-round homes or simply fishing camps. Either way, they offered one of the most exotic views I had witnessed in a long time. I was tempted to get off of the elevated road and find some way to paddle a canoe through these “neighborhoods.” But then I thought of the alligators that might also be there, and I decided against it.

  Once I was back in the city, I set about tracking the origin of the FedEx envelope that had been sent from New Orleans to Albany, Georgia. I had torn off the label before giving the package to “Hydro,” and I held it in my hand now as I drove toward the address. It had been sent from a place called “Fat City Parcel Service,” which seemed like a strange name until I looked online and realized that the section of town where it was located was called Fat City. I found the place easily enough, but it was closed. Leaving the small strip mall, I drove on toward the French Quarter, determined to come back the next day as soon as I could slip away from my charity investigation.

  Back at the hotel, I knew it was time to do a little digging online about Family HEARTS. Just because my focus was rather fragmented was no excuse for giving the investigation short shrift. First, I changed into comfortable clothes and grabbed a bottle of water and a banana, and then I spread out at the large table in my suite, settling into this phase of my program investigation.

  Before I started, though, I wanted to see what kind of info I could find online. After numerous Google searches, my best luck came from a local news station that had uploaded many of its old reports from the past ten years. I ended up finding seven different videos related to the Cipher Five and watching them one after the other.

  The first video showed James Sparks being taken away by the FBI in handcuffs. According to the report, he had been charged with selling a computer encryption program to a terrorist group known as al-Sharif.

  “What remains to be determined,” the reporter said into the camera, “is whether Sparks acted alone or if other employees who worked on the encryption program were also involved in the sale.”

  Each subsequent video featured a report tracking the highlights of the investigation. In the end, the other members of the Cipher Five were exonerated and Sparks alone was found guilty. In the final clip, Sparks was sentenced to five years in prison, which he would serve out at Keeplerville Federal Prison in Keeplerville, Georgia.

  Watching the news footage gave me nothing I hadn’t already learned elsewhere. Still, seeing the filmed reports helped me to put it all into chronological perspective. Photos of the six members of the terrorist group that had bought the program from Sparks were also repeatedly shown, and at one point I clicked on pause just to get a good look at them. According to the report, all were still at large, and two of them were on the FBI’s most wanted list. I stared into their dark, empty eyes, wondering what damage they had wrought using that encryption program since. No wonder Tom’s guilt wrapped around him like a vise.

  My plan was to conduct a normal charity investigation of Family HEARTS—and thereby gain access to people who might be able to give me answers and insight about the Cipher Five, James Sparks, and the secrets of Tom’s past. I knew that if I was persistent I would work some questions into what seemed like innocuous conversations. On a piece of paper, I scribbled down the kinds of questions I would try to ask all of them:

  What was your function with the Cipher Five?

  Were you surprised by what James Sparks did?

  Do you still have contact with Sparks?

  How did the FBI investigation impact your life?

  With their answers, I would listen to see if there were any discrepancies, observe their reactions about James Sparks, and search for specifics that might lead me down the path to the real truth about the past.

  Once I was finished, I forced myself to change mental gears and get ready to focus on Family HEARTS. Whenever I investigated a charity, I always used a ten-point list that I had devised in my time on the job. I pulled up that list now and loaded its different elements into a database. In my opinion, I knew that a good nonprofit should meet the following criteria: It should serve a worthwhile cause; adequately fulfill its mission statement, showing fruits for its labors; plan and spend wisely; pay salaries and benefits on a par with nonprofit industry standards; follow standards of responsible and ethical fundraising; have an independent board that accepts responsibility for activities; be well rated by outside reporting sources; have a good reputation among its peers; believe in full financial disclosure; and have its books audited annually by an independent auditor and receive a clean audit opinion.

  I hadn’t been given a lot of literature about the place, but I would work with what I had. I read the brochure, which outlined the functions that Family HEARTS performed. And though I scribbled a few notes in the margins—questions I would ask tomorrow—I felt fairly confident that this group did, indeed, serve a worthwhile cause. According to the brochure, they had provided some form of service to nearly 18,000 families last year alone.

  Apparently, families of children with rare diseases were referred to this group by hospitals, doctors, internet searches, and other org
anizations. Analyzing the ways in which they then fulfilled their mission statement was easy, since it was broken down along the lines of the HEARTS acronym.

  They offered Help in a lot of different ways, but primarily by coordinating online or in-person support groups for the families. They also helped to match the disorder with the appropriate medical organization. For example, according to the literature, a child with JDMS—which I remembered was Maddie’s disorder—would be connected to the Myositis Foundation, who could then offer more specific information and support.

  They provided Encouragement in very personal ways: sending notes, making calls, and offering a weekly prayer time. Interestingly, they also offered a “free internet weeding” service, and I made a note to ask about that.

  They served as Advocates, lobbying to make public places more accessible to the handicapped and interpreting the rights of the disabled. They would also intervene on a more personal level, working to settle confusions or misunderstandings between patients and their doctors or insurance companies.

  They provided a number of Resources, connecting those who had needs with those who could fulfill those needs. For example, the brochure said, they could locate special care equipment stores, search for state funds for particular disorders, recommend respite care groups, track down organizations like Visiting Nurses or the Make-A-Wish Foundation, and even find local volunteers who would be willing to help out the families with such things as rides or meals. They had an extensive website as well, which included disability-friendly vacation spots and listings for the top physicians in the country for particular disorders.

  They could help with Treatments by pointing patients toward the correct doctors, receiving and distributing information about new treatments and drug trials, advising about activities that may or may not be appropriate for the patient in question, and keeping a keen eye turned toward fraud in the field of drug development, drug testing, and medical care.

  They offered two different Services that, to me, seemed invaluable: A daily hotline for families to call for instant emotional support and prayer, and a weekly “Ask the Doctor” segment on their website, where questions of general interest about the different disorders were posted, along with the corresponding answers, collected by Family HEARTS from different experts in the field.