FRAMED, page 13
She spotted the sign for her local drugstore. On impulse, she swerved into the parking lot, tires scraping the curb. Inside, a pharmacist with owl-eyed glasses was lecturing a bewildered retiree about pill schedules. Jo hovered by the allergy relief display, counting the minutes. The old woman’s cane finally tapped away, and Jo stepped to the window.
“Hi there.” Jo slid a business card across the counter, its embossed “Attorney at Law” catching the fluorescent light. “Can you tell me about amitriptyline’s potential behavioral side effects?”
The pharmacist returned with a package insert. Jo unfolded it and narrowed her eyes to read the tiny print.
Patients may experience changes in behavior such as anxiety, panic, aggression, impulsivity, severe restlessness, and hyperactivity.
“Does that give you what you need?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Could impulsively robbing a bank really be a side effect of medication for depression? It seemed unlikely.
The pharmacist tilted her head quizzically.
“Are you researching a case? What’s it about?”
Jo kept her expression neutral and her manner distantly polite.
“Will you please make a copy for me?”
The pharmacist hovered for a moment, hoping Jo would say more, before turning away to comply.
*
Jo plucked the frozen dinner from the microwave, her mind racing. She settled at the counter, a wine glass in hand, missing Kate. With her nurturing ways, Kate always knew how to ground her, to pull her from the spiral of her obsessive thoughts. Jo’s childhood, marked by a stressed single mother’s inconsistent care, had left her craving the stability Kate offered. But tonight, Kate was absent, in her own apartment, studying.
Jo grimaced at the still-cold potatoes and shoved the tray back into the microwave. As the appliance hummed, her mind drifted to the conversation with her law professor.
A small subset of women who rob banks do so to seek control amidst chaos.
Tori’s life certainly had been challenging before her arrest—the stress of research, clinical work, and an impending divorce. Her recent escapades at the country-western bar and cryptic comments about figuring out who she really was suddenly took on new meaning.
Jo’s brow furrowed. Had Tori’s moral compass shifted? Accessing sensitive information illegally, even by proxy, was troubling enough. Could it be a gateway to more serious transgressions?
Tori’s need for lab funding also concerned her. Surely Tori couldn’t believe a bank teller would hand over that much cash? It seemed absurdly naive. But had she gone so far over the edge as to think it would work?
She abandoned her half-eaten meal, dropping the tray to the floor for an eager Sam, and retreated to the couch. She thought about Rick. His lack of support and blame-shifting grated on her. Tori had denied the possibility, but could he have been the anonymous tipster? Would he truly be that vindictive?
Jo rose to refill her glass and tried to shake off the troubling hypothetical scenarios. Regardless of her guilt or innocence, Tori needed help. Perhaps her life had unraveled more than Jo realized. The mysterious thug following Tori added another layer of urgency. Despite her senior partners’ warnings, Jo couldn’t abandon her friend.
“Oh, Sam boy, what am I going to do? My friend is in deep shit, and my lawsuit never got off the ground. And I must tell those poor, suffering people who trusted me to bring them justice that we’re not going forward with their case.”
Sam cocked his ears and looked soulfully into her eyes.
“I know.” She fondled his dark, sleek head. “You think a walk solves all problems.”
He gave her a dog smile, panted, and waggled his tail stump.
“Okay then. Let’s go.”
Chapter 27
Tori worried that news of her arrest would reach the physician in charge of grand rounds at MD Anderson, and it had. He called her home on Monday, July 15th.
“What’s this I hear about you being arrested for robbing a bank?” He sounded more curious than accusatory.
“I was arrested.” Tori kept her voice clear and confident. “But I didn’t do it. It’s a case of mistaken identity. The FBI found no motive and no physical evidence. Their eyewitness testimony is fallible. I expect to be acquitted at trial.”
“I see,” he said, then paused for an excruciatingly long moment. “Do you still want to present your study? I’m sure you have a lot to deal with right now.”
Her stomach tightened. Don’t you betray me, too. She took a steadying breath.
“I want to go ahead.” Listening intently for any signs of doubt, she added, “If you still want me to.”
“From what you’ve shared, your study sounds relevant and important. So, if you’re up to it, we’ll proceed. As the moderator, I won’t allow any questions about your arrest.”
Relief flooded her chest. “Thank you,” she said.
*
For the rest of the day, Tori poured everything into preparing for the presentation. Each slide had to be precise and compelling enough to make these cancer specialists see what she saw: a future where their work wasn’t just about fighting cancer, but also about recognizing and preventing environmental contributors.
Her mind drifted back to her days at Massachusetts General, where she’d watched patients endure invasive procedures that offered little more than borrowed time—weeks or days at best. Sometimes those treatments hastened the very deaths they were meant to delay. That wasn’t why she became a doctor. She wanted to stop suffering before it started, discovering what caused disease and preventing it.
Around dinnertime, Orange Cat jumped onto her lap and walked across her keyboard. Through eyefuls of tail fur, her computer screen went wild. Orange Cat turned and sat deliberately on the keyboard. His amber eyes were wide and penetrating.
“Okay, you win.” She shut down the computer. “I’m sorry, Orange Thingy, but I’m clean out of cat food. I’ll have to run to the store.”
She grabbed her purse and car keys. Orange Cat followed her downstairs and rubbed against her legs. A mess of tawny fur transferred itself onto her black slacks.
“You guard the house while I get dinner for both of us.”
Orange Cat meowed, sat on the lowest stairs, and tucked himself into a boxy rectangle. Tori closed the door, and the lock clicked behind her.
She glanced across the street and her heart leaped into her throat. A white van was parked in front of her neighbor’s house with a man sitting in the driver’s seat. Even from a distance, she thought she recognized the thug who followed her from the clinic.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. What was he doing here? Should she go back inside and call the police? But they hadn’t been her friends lately. What would she say? There’s a van parked on the road. Yes, legally. Has the driver threatened you? No. It was hopeless. There was no law against stalking women.
She walked swiftly to her car as if she hadn’t seen him and jumped in and locked the doors. Her fingers trembled on the steering wheel.
I won’t let him intimidate me. She reached into her glove box for the pepper spray, just in case. Then she popped the car into gear and backed out. Her breath caught in her throat when, in the rearview mirror, she confirmed the driver was indeed Van Guy. She squinted to make out the front license plate, but it was covered in dirt.
As she drove away, the van stayed where it was. Tori kept glancing in the mirror but saw no sign of him following her. Her pulse slowed, but her mind continued to race. What if he knows about Jude and what we’re up to? He might have been outside her house to intimidate her, so she’d be fearful of presenting her findings to MD Anderson physicians.
She clenched her jaw. Nope. He’s not stopping me.
She tried to think of what to do.
There’ll be a phone booth at the grocery store. I’ll call Jude. Maybe he’s following her now.
She parked her car in a crowded area, making sure it was visible from the phone booth. Climbing out of the car, she glanced around to ensure the van and driver were nowhere to be seen and dialed Jude’s number. It rang and rang. Jude, pick up. Please. Finally, Jude’s answering machine clicked on, and Jude’s upbeat, perky voice told her to leave a message.
“Jude, where are you? I’m scared. That thug I told you about is parked in front of my house. I’ll try you again later.”
Leaving the booth, she cast furtive glances around the parking lot. There was no sign of the van or driver. She returned to her car and turned on the ignition, only to remember that she hadn’t bought Orange Cat’s food and her shopping.
Wow, this stalker is messing up my head.
While she was checking out her groceries, she asked for a phone card and put fifteen dollars on it to save the hassle of lugging coins around. When she emerged from the store, she glanced around for Van Guy. Not there. She placed her groceries in the car and darted into the phone booth to try Jude again.
This time, she picked up.
“Jude, I’m so glad I reached you. The thug I told you about has been following me and was parked outside my house when I left—the same guy. I think he’s trying to intimidate me from sharing my study findings at MD Anderson. Have you seen him? In a white van? I’m worried he might be on to us.”
“I haven’t seen him. But this is scary, Tori. He knows where you live. I’m worried about you. I’m coming over.”
“No, Jude. Absolutely not. If he suspects something, it will confirm that we’re in cahoots together and put all our efforts at risk.”
Jude was silent for a beat before she said, “Your safety is far more important to me than what we’re doing.”
Warmth filled Tori’s chest, and she smiled. “I’ll be okay. I’ll call the police if he approaches or threatens me.”
“I worry about you, Tori. I’ve never met anyone like you. You take such risks for something you believe in. Somehow, knowing you has made me a better person.”
“Thanks, Jude. I think it goes both ways,” she said, and replaced the receiver.
She sighed, her conscience pricking her. She wished she could tell Jude everything.
Chapter 28
Back home, Tori pulled into her driveway, eyes darting across the street. No white van. She struggled out of the car, carrying two heavy grocery bags. She nearly tripped over Orange Cat, who shot out of the shrubbery, his fur ruffled, meowing in distress.
“What are you doing outside? I thought I left you inside to guard the house.”
Wary, she set the grocery bags on the front porch to unlock the door.
It was unlocked and slightly ajar.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and her pulse quickened as she pushed the door open. The view from the hallway revealed nothing out of the ordinary. She glided into the living room, careful not to make a sound. Light poured from the kitchen.
I didn’t leave the light on.
Her senses heightened, and every creak and shadow posed a potential threat. Casting nervous glances around the living room, she picked up the iron poker from the fireplace. The silence was broken only by the ticking clock and her heart thudding in her ears. She startled when Orange Cat brushed by her and squeezed under the couch.
She crept toward the kitchen, peering around the corner. A half-empty water glass and a discarded ham packet on the counter spoke of an uninvited guest.
Could it be Rick?
Given creepy Van Guy had been lurking outside earlier, she wasn’t taking any chances. She advanced down the hallway with the fire poker at the ready. There was nothing in the rooms downstairs.
Tori crept up the stairs, stopping to listen when a stair creaked. When she heard nothing, she continued. At the top, she hesitated, scanning the landing. Her office door stood half open, and she detected the faint odor of cigarette smoke.
Rick doesn’t smoke.
Her muscles tensed further, and her fingers tightened around the fire poker. She crept along the hallway and poked the office door fully open with the iron bar, flattening her back against the wall. Nothing moved. The cigarette smoke smell intensified. Whoever was responsible had only just left.
Or is still here. Tori held her breath and raised the poker. Now!
She whirled into the room, ready for battle. And then stopped dead in her tracks. The chaos in her office hit her like a physical blow. Her research folders lay scattered and empty. Her computer was missing—all her hard work ripped away. She nearly choked.
Clutching her weapon, she crept down the hall to the bedrooms, checking behind doors, in the closets, and under the beds. All clear.
She returned to her office and sank into her old, familiar chair. The adrenaline was ebbing, leaving her trembling and spent. The reality of the situation began to sink in.
So, Van Guy is trying to keep me from presenting and publishing my study findings.
Suddenly, she remembered the slides for her talk. A jolt of alarm propelled her upright. With trembling fingers and a brain fogged with shock, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk. Empty!
She flicked through the files on her desk and in her chair, looking for her MD Anderson presentation notes, but they were gone too.
She dropped into her chair again. When she’d arrived, the front door was unlocked and ajar, yet she was sure she’d locked it. And there had been no sign of forced entry. Had Van Guy picked the lock? And helped himself to a glass of water and ham slices? The only other person with a key to the front door was Rick. Her heart sank. The thought that Rick might have helped Van Guy enter her house added another layer of betrayal.
She remembered she needed to feed Orange Cat and descended the stairs on shaky legs.
“All clear, now,” she called to Orange Cat. He only squeezed himself out from under the couch after she opened his food with the electric can opener. On automatic pilot, she dumped the smelly fish concoction into his bowl. He sniffed it and walked away.
“Not hungry? I know. I’ve lost my appetite, too.”
She unpacked the refrigerated groceries and considered calling the police. Closing the freezer door, she sighed and leaned against it. She badly needed to talk to someone. Not just someone, Jo. She grabbed her car keys and left the house to drive to the nearest payphone. Her eyes constantly scanned for Van Guy.
An unfamiliar voice answered Jo’s phone. Perhaps Kate? Tori introduced herself and asked for Jo. She heard the woman whisper, “It’s your friend Tori. She sounds upset.”
“Hi Tori, what’s up?” Jo asked. “We just finished dinner. I tried your sweet potato fish taco recipe.”
“Van Guy was lurking across the street when I left for the grocery store. And while I was out, someone broke in.”
“Oh, my God, Tori, are you okay?” Jo said.
Jo’s concern enveloped her like a comforting embrace. “Yes. He was gone when I returned. I checked the entire house. The door was unlocked, but I’m sure I locked it. I smelled his cigarette smoke. He stole my computer, my MD Anderson presentation slides, and notes. I’m guessing he was hired by someone who didn’t want my cancer study made public.”
“Holy shit. We knew it! All your data and hard work! Bastard!”
Tori found herself clinging to the sound of her friend’s voice, a lifeline in chaos and loss that had become her evening.
“Right.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “He even helped himself to a glass of water and slices of deli ham and had a smoke. As if he were taunting me.”
“What?” Jo said. She paused. “Does Rick still have a key? Could he have helped him?”
Tori ran a hand through her hair. “Yes, but Rick wouldn’t do this.”
“Hmm,” Jo said. “I hope you’re right.”
Torn with uncertainty, Tori wanted to dismiss the possibility of Rick’s involvement outright, but the thought stuck. I should change the locks.
“Should I call the police?” Tori asked.
“Yes, call them. To document the break-in.” She hesitated. “But—”
Tori finished her sentence. “But the police may be in on it?”
Jo paused, and Tori could imagine her biting her lip as she thought.
“No, that would be absurd. Really, I doubt it. But if we could prove someone hired by World Petrol stole your data to suppress your study, that might strengthen your case at trial.”
Tori sighed. “Okay, I’ll call the police for whatever good that will do.”
“Even if they don’t find out who broke in, it will be recorded in their files.”
Tori twisted a strand of hair around her forefinger. “You’re right. But I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“I can understand.” Jo was silent for a moment, then said, “Do you have an off-site backup of your study data?”
A flood of relief filled Tori. “Yes! I was so flustered before, I nearly forgot!” A month ago, she’d thought of protecting her precious findings, and so she had done just that. It had seemed prudent to store a backup away from her home in case of fire. She felt a glimmer of hope. But as quickly as it came, it was replaced by a new worry. “Oh my God. I hope it’s still there.”
“At the university?”
“No. In my locker at the gym.”
“Where he’s also been watching you.”
She frowned, thinking. She couldn’t imagine how a guy like that could inconspicuously enter the women’s locker room and break into her locker.
“I’ll have to wait until morning to find out if it’s all still there.”
“Have you spoken with Brian about hiring a private investigator yet?”
“No. But I agree, it’s time. I’ll call him tomorrow.” She and Jude had little in-person contact now, anyway.
“Okay. Can you call someone to stay with you tonight?”
“No. Not at this hour. But I’ll be okay. I’ll call the police. And don’t worry. Van Guy got my study data. I assume that’s all he wanted.”
