Chapter Four

Meatloaf is Good for the Brain

Mark grinned.

"If you keep gnashing your teeth like that, Son," he said, "you will wear all the enamel off them."

Throwing his father a look of disgust, Steve replied, "So, are you going to help me?"

Deciding that he had tortured his son long enough, Mark answered in a more sober tone, "Are you serious about a list of doctor's work related medical conditions?"

"Yes please, Dad," Steve answered.

"Okay, I'll give it some thought and let you know tonight." Mark paused as a loud rumble erupted from the general area of his son's abdomen, "Hungry? It's meatloaf day."

"I know," grinned Steve as he opened the door, gesturing for his dad to precede him, "I thought you'd never ask."

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The two uniformed officers stepped from their shiny black and white, before crossing the sidewalk making their way towards a frantically gesturing young woman. As they reached her she said, with a breathlessness brought on by animation, "He's down here!"

Almost dragging the first officer along the darkened alleyway, the woman stopped next to one of the grey and overflowing dumpsters. Pointing in a dramatic fashion that immediately singled her out as one of the many aspiring actresses who populated LA, she exclaimed, "He's here. I think he's dead!"

"We'll be the judge of that, Ma'am," the first officer spoke with a smile in his voice then, bending down to join his partner he continued, "What have we got, Harry?"

"Well, he's not dead," Harry Porter, a veteran of many alleyway bodies, answered, "but he's in a bad way. We'd better call for the paramedics."

In the time it took for the ambulance to arrive the two officers continued with their duties. Harry sifted through the rubbish which surrounded the scruffy and very grubby individual on the floor of the alley, hoping to find some clue as to his identity, placing a number of items in an evidence bag whilst Josh, his partner, spoke to the young woman who had found him. Fortunately for Josh, she had calmed down somewhat as the reality of the situation penetrated her mind.

"I work in the restaurant," she said, gesturing towards a door with paint peeling off it, "and the boss told me to bring out the trash. It's quite dark out here and I didn't see the guy at first. It was only when I kicked something that I looked down and realised that there was someone lying there. Is he going to be alright?"

"I don't know, Ma'am," Josh replied, "but I know they will do all that they can for him."

The wailing of the ambulance siren cut short any further conversation.

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Steve was back at his desk after a satisfying and very filling lunch. He was running his eyes down his notes and, suddenly, his gaze was arrested on the items that were missing from the victims. A thought struck him. Where had each person got the item? The majority of people had their prescriptions filled at a pharmacy and he suddenly wondered if there was a link there. Quickly picking up the phone, he made the first of four phone calls to their next of kin.

As he finished the last one a slow smile emerged on his face as, for the first time in nearly six months, he actually felt like he was getting somewhere. Grabbing his jacket, Steve quickly exited the squad room and headed back to Community General to see his dad.

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The ambulance came to a halt outside the doors of the Emergency Room and the paramedics carefully unloaded their charge from the ambulance and wheeled him inside to where Mark and Jack were waiting.

"What do we have?" Mark asked whilst making an initial visual scan of the patient, as he often found this to be extremely beneficial.

"Heart rate rapid, profuse sweating," began the paramedic, "and during the ride in he came round and was complaining of chest pains, although it was hard to hear him as he wasn't able to talk very well."

"Okay," Mark replied, "thanks guys. See you later."

Dropping the plastic bag of personal possessions just outside the door to Trauma 1, the two paramedics left the ER in search of their next patient.

"What do you think, Mark?" Jack asked.

"What do you think?" Mark, ever the teacher, threw the question back at his young friend.

"Given the symptoms that Roy and James gave us," Jack began slowly, trying to give himself time to think, "I would be looking at asthma."

"Good call, Jack," Mark congratulated, "that is what I was thinking. Why don't you check in that bag they left to see if you can find an inhaler?"

The bag was just outside the door and Jack wedged the door open with one foot, whilst bending down to check in it. Very quickly, he pulled out an inhaler and called, "I have it, Mark. Our patient's name is Lazaro Coronado. Hey, that name seems familiar to me."

"It should, Jack," came a voice from behind him, "that is the name of my second victim."

"So how come my patient has his inhaler?" Mark turned to look at his son, who had just exited the elevator and had come to a halt next to Jack.

"I don't know the answer to that one, Dad," Steve answered, "but I have found a link between all four victims."

The response to his pronouncement was all that Steve could have hoped and he waited for a few seconds until the questioning died down.

"So?" Mark demanded eventually.

"All four victims were very busy and used a medical courier service to pick up their prescriptions and deliver them."

"Even the last one with her glasses?" Jack queried, "I thought they had to be checked to make sure the new frames fitted."

"Quite right, Jack," Steve responded, "however, Mrs. Donovan's glasses were her spare pair in an old set of frames, so they didn't need to be checked."

"Do you know which courier service it is, Steve?" Mark asked.

"They are called Medi-Quick," Steve answered.

"I know the guy who owns that company," Mark replied.

"Why am I not surprised?" Steve asked, of no one in particular, "Do you think you could give me a name and/or number?"

Reaching into his back pocket, Mark said, "Certainly, get your notepad and pen out."