Chapter 3 - The Whispering Mistress
At 10:00 AM, Detective Morales walked into the polished glass lobby of Prescott Specialty Pharmacy on West 50th Street. The air smelled of expensive lavender soaps and sterile antiseptic. Behind the counter stood Chloe Bennett, a twenty-eight-year-old lead pharmacy technician whose eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.
"Ms. Bennett?" Teresa asked, displaying her badge. "I’m Detective Morales with the Sheriff’s Department. I need to speak with you in private."
Chloe’s hands trembled as she pulled off her latex gloves. "Is this about Mrs. Prescott? Warren told me she had a medical emergency last night..."
"Let’s talk in the back office," Teresa said smoothly, steering the younger woman away from the curious glances of customers.
Once the door was closed, Teresa didn't waste time with pleasantries. She laid out three photographs on the desk: the requisition order for raw Dexopraline, a printout of Warren’s secret bank account in the Cayman Islands, and a surveillance photo taken two weeks prior showing Warren and Chloe entering a boutique hotel in downtown Chicago.
Chloe gasped, covering her mouth as color drained from her cheeks. "I... I don't know what that is."
"Chloe, listen to me very carefully," Teresa said, leaning over the desk, her tone deceptively calm. "Warren Prescott attempted to murder his wife last night using a custom-made chemical patch. We recovered the patch from her skin. It has his fingerprint on the adhesive border, and we have the paper trail proving the raw ingredients came through this location."
"No... no, he told me it was an experimental topical treatment for arthritis!" Chloe began to cry, her posture collapsing. "He said he was developing a patent! He told me we were going to sell the formulation to a pharmaceutical giant and move to France!"
"He lied to you," Teresa said firmly. "He used your credentials to sign off on the precursor orders. If you don't tell me everything right now, you are going to be listed as a co-conspirator in an attempted first-degree murder charge."
Chloe buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know! Three months ago, he started coming in late. He brought a small table-top compounding press into the basement lab. He locked the door and told me never to go down there while the air scrubbers were running."
"Did he ever ask you to handle the finished patches?"
"No!" Chloe shook her head frantically. "He kept them in a biometric safe inside his private office. He said the formulation was worth millions and he couldn't risk a leak. But... but last night, before he left the pharmacy, he was nervous. He kept checking his watch. He told me that after tonight, all their financial problems would be solved."
"Where is Warren right now?" Teresa demanded.
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"He called me an hour ago from a burner phone," Chloe stammered, wiping her nose with a tissue. "He sounded frantic. He asked if the police had come by the store yet. When I told him no, he said he had to clear out his safety deposit box at the First National Bank before catching a afternoon flight to Miami."
Teresa immediately hit the speed-dial on her radio. "All units, this is Morales. Set up a perimeter around First National Bank on Marquette Avenue. Suspect Warren Prescott may be attempting to retrieve assets. Approach with caution; suspect is considered dangerous."
