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drugs into the locked box. When the pharmacy picks up the box later, they verify that the types and quantities of drugs in the box match the log."
    Mallory mused for a moment and then said, “It seems like a long shot, but just in case, I could compare the drugs dispensed—based on the Pyxis records—to the drugs left over according to the log of drugs deposited into the ‘narcotics destruction box’, and then compare those results to the drugs recovered from the ‘narcotics destruction’ box. A mismatch between any of those three steps would be a logical starting point to investigate further. Assuming I don’t find anything there, I’ll have to dig deeper.”
    Cline smiled. “I can see you’re the right person for this job. You’re right—you probably won’t find any mismatches in those steps. If you’re a hospice employee who wants to skim meds, you know you’d probably be caught trying to take the meds of deceased patients. No, the most likely approach would be to slip the medicine of living patients in your pocket but log that you gave them their meds. Many of our hospice patients are too unresponsive to tell anyone whether or not they’ve taken their medicines.”
    Mallory remembered Nancy Goins suggesting the same theory. “Thanks. With your permission, I’ll eliminate the ‘narcotics box’ option and then explore the idea you just proposed.”
    “Excellent. If you’re ready to begin, I’ll take you down to the pharmacy so you can start with the dispensing records.”
    “That’ll be fine,” said Mallory.
    As they stood up to leave, an imposing figure filled the doorframe, a tall and thick man with a balding crown and steel-rimmed glasses pushed far down his nose. He wore a white lab coat over a plaid cardigan. His overall appearance was strangely reminiscent of the near-sighted scientist on The Muppet Show .
    The figure entered the office and at first scarcely glanced in Mallory’s direction. After a moment, he did a double-take and studied her in more detail.
    “Doctor Oswald,” said Cline, “I’d like to introduce you to FBI Agent Mallory Wilson.”
    “Pleased, I’m sure,” said Oswald. Turning to Cline, he asked, “Do you have those charts you mentioned in our call yesterday?”
    “Yes,” said Cline, handing Oswald a pile of records two inches thick. “Agent Wilson, this is Doctor Reginald Oswald, a research scientist. He works with some of the patients in our hospital.”
    “Really? What exactly are you researching, Doctor Oswald?” asked Mallory.
    “Therapies for intractable GI—Gastrointestinal—diseases.”
    “Doctor Oswald is a world leader in the field,” said Cline.
    The doctor grinned sardonically. “Not to hear Powell describe it. Well, I really must be going.  It was nice meeting you, Agent…?”
    “Wilson,” supplied Mallory. “Likewise, Doctor Oswald.”
    After Oswald left, Mallory turned a questioning head to Cline. “Powell?”
    “Andrew Powell is a competing GI doctor—works across town at San Cristobel General. He and Doctor Oswald have competing theories and go after the same federal funding, so there’s not much love lost between the two. I’d say Doctor Oswald is winning both contests.”
     
    Cline guided Mallory to the pharmacy and ensured she had access to the appropriate records to begin her investigation. Mallory settled into her work, conscious of the staff’s questioning glances but unable to satisfy their curiosity.
    “Okay,” she murmured to herself as she accessed the pharmacy’s records. “Let’s just see what kind of tale these records will tell.”

CHAPTER 7
    Scrubs drove slowly through one of the seedier neighborhoods of downtown Washington.
    “Don’t let them rip you off this time,” Jeanette had warned as he departed.
    “Easy for her to say,” he grumbled to himself as he recalled the admonition. “She ain’t the one dealing with these guys. They’d just as soon kill you as take a piss.”
    Scrubs hated doing