White Collar Girl by Renée Rosen

voice and hoped he couldn’t hear the fear in mine when I said, “We’re talking insurance fraud. This isn’t the first time Dr. Zucker’s been accused of falsifying medical records. I’m giving you a chance to explain your role in all this. A chance to say you had nothing to do with it.”
    I expected him to explode, but instead he scratched his head and lowered his voice. “Look, I just saw Dr. Zucker the one time. That was it.”
    My pulse quickened. I couldn’t believe it; he was softening. “So why did you see him if it wasn’t for the ruptured disc?”
    â€œThey told me to go see him, so I did. It was just a routine checkup. I was flat broke at the time, and they said they’d give me twenty-five bucks for my troubles.”
    â€œWho’s they?” I reached inside my bag for my pad and pencil. “Do you mind if I take down a few notes?”
    He looked back at his wife, standing on the edge of the lawn. “I—I really—I can’t talk about this.” He stuffed the rag back in his pocket. “I don’t want to say nothing more without my lawyer here.”
    I was still firing off questions as he lay back down on the creeper and disappeared beneath his Buick.
    I stood in the driveway writing everything down:
Someone paid him twenty-five dollars to see Zucker.
Mentioned his lawyer.
I called to Officer Pratt again, but he refused to come back out from under his car and finish our conversation.
    Next I tracked down Officer Nelson. It was his day off, and his wife said I’d find him over at the school playground, shooting baskets with his son. Shooting baskets when my notes said that he had ruptured his fifth lower lumbar and was in acute chronic pain.
    I found another officer right where his precinct said he’d be, in uniform, directing traffic at Lake and LaSalle. According to Ahern’s records, this officer was listed with a broken jaw after being pistol whipped. When the light turned red, I rushed up and introduced myself. The records said Zucker had wired the officer’s jaw shut just three weeks before, but there was no evidence of that now. He went on conducting traffic the whole time we spoke. If he was listening to anything I said, he didn’t indicate it.
    â€œI see your jaw has healed rather quickly.”
    â€œMy jaw?” He stopped with his hand gestures and looked at me. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou were treated by Dr. Zucker for a broken jaw. You had it wired shut.”
    â€œLady, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He blew his whistle and resumed his work. “I’ve never broken my jaw, and I’ve never heard of Dr. Zucker.”
    I was stunned. My feet were glued to the pavement as cars whirled past me. It wasn’t until someone laid on their horn that I made it back to the safety of the sidewalk. I was light-headed; my whole body was swaying along with the buildings.Everything was moving. Nothing felt solid just then. No doubt about it, a pattern was taking shape.
    I darted to the pay phone on the corner. My heartbeat pounded inside my ears as I pushed a nickel through the coin slot and dialed Ahern’s number. While I was waiting for the switchboard operator to connect the call, I pulled out my notes, trying to make sense of my hurried handwriting. The claims were as recent as three weeks ago, and some of the officers said they hadn’t seen Dr. Zucker in more than a year. Others, like the man I’d just spoken to, claimed they had never heard of Dr. Zucker. Still there was the officer who’d been treated for a dislocated shoulder and another for a double hernia that both sounded legit. Honestly, I didn’t know who was lying and who wasn’t. But despite that, I found at least ten officers with ruptured discs or back injuries, and yet when I went to see them, I discovered they were out golfing or playing basketball or lying on