"Collect it all, put it in a bag or something. If there's more outside this room, get that, too. I want it all."
Dave was watching him carefully. "Dad, what're you doing?"
"Later," Spinney ordered. "Do it. And crush out that joint you dropped."
Quietly, fearfully, Dave set to work collecting bags and bottles and joints from various corners of the room, as Jeff squeezed by Spinney to do the same elsewhere in the house.
About halfway through his labors, Dave found the courage to address his silent father again. "What's going to happen?"
"You and I are going home. Jeff's father is waiting downstairs. I'll have one of the local cops pick up Steidle."
Dave kept working. "What about Jeff and me?"
"I'll try to keep you out of it."
His son stopped and stared at him.
"I can't promise anything," Spinney continued. "If Steidle talks too much, you might get sucked into it. We'll just have to deal with that if it happens."
"Couldn't you get in trouble for this?"
Spinney hesitated a moment, mulling over just how true that was. He was risking his job certainly, and maybe more.
"Yeah," he conceded.
Chapter 20
Sammie opened her eyes at the sound of the doorknob turning. Joe stepped inside the hospital room and quietly closed the door.
"Hey, Sam. How're you doing?"
She smiled lopsidedly. "A little sore. My pride took it worse."
He crossed the room, sat down on the edge of the bed, and placed his hand on hers. "Yeah. Your fairy godfather told me."
"Really? I thought he'd stay in the woodwork."
Gunther laughed. "Willy? And spare reaming me a new asshole? I don't think so."
"I am sorry," she said.
"Those things happen, Sam, and he was right. I should've dug into those names deeper-found out where everyone had been busted and who by."
"Nothing went off in my head, Joe. Not even Stuey's name. I hate to think-if Willy hadn't showed up."
Gunther squeezed her hand. "His full name's Allan Steward Nichols. He was calling himself Al when we knew him. I checked. 'Stuey' is part of his new, cool image. Should serve him well in jail. And even Willy conceded he'd changed his appearance."
"Is my cover still good?" she asked.
"Sure. Nichols is under wraps, in isolation for as long as we can get away with it, and you're in here under an alias. The doc said he had one more test coming back and that if it clears, he'll kick you loose in half an hour. You think you'll have a problem with Manuel?"
She shook her head. "Don't see why. I'll come up with something. If they're doing a blood test, by the way, it'll probably come up dirty. I had to take something when I interviewed Ralph Meiner. He said it was Ecstasy, but I don't know for sure. I kept a few extra for analysis. He held a gun on me and put the damn thing in my mouth himself. I couldn't get out of it. I was going to tell you at our next check-in."
"You do all right with it?" he asked, concerned.
"It was weird. I hope I don't have to do it again."
"Bad, huh?"
"No," she admitted. "Too good, I mean, it's not my taste, but I could see what people get out of it."
He gazed at the floor. "Yeah-that's the irony, isn't it? It's like telling a bunch of kids they shouldn't eat ice cream 'cause it'll kill them."
A meditative silence fell between them, after which Sam confessed, "I think something's a little screwy with this case."
He looked at her carefully "What?"
"I told Willy about it last night. It's the pale blue bags the heroin's being packed in. I saw ones just like it when we visited the Torres headquarters in Holyoke. First time I've ever seen colored baggies. I knew they weren't Rivera's, so I called the Holyoke PD's drug unit an hour ago to find out what they knew about it. It's Torres's trademark, like I thought. He calls it Blue Heaven."
"And that's what Nichols had?"
"And Meiner," she added. "Willy thought maybe they were leftovers from when Torres dominated the route, but heroin has a short shelf life-sold within a couple of days of arrival. I mean, I know Manuel and I are stocking it in quantity, but that's supposed to be revolutionary for around here. Otherwise, it's first come, first served, bim-bam and you're out of town for more."
Gunther scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "What do you think?"
"I don't know. I can't figure it out. And there's another thing: After Meiner thought I'd passed his undercover test by taking the Ecstasy, he asked me what I thought Torres would do if he found out we were setting up shop here. I was surprised, 'cause despite Jimmy Hollowell getting killed, Rivera had told me he now owned the route, at least for the moment."
"I remember," Joe commented.
"Well, Meiner said that Hollowell had thought the same thing and that I should ask myself what had happened to him."
Gunther scowled. "We figured he was a combat casualty, that there might even be more. Do you have any idea who else Rivera has in place? I know he wouldn't tell you because you had to pass muster, but it seems now would be the right time to bring everybody together."
"I could go down there and rattle his cage," Sam agreed. "Be a reasonable question to ask. I might as well do it now, so I can tell Manuel that was the plan when I disappeared last night."
Joe glanced at her stomach. "You up for that?"
She flipped the cover off and swung her legs off the far side of the bed, looking like a kid in her hospital johnny. "It's sore," she said, moving around, touching her toes, "but if the doc clears me, I think I'm good to go. What'll you be doing in the meantime?"
Gunther stood up and moved toward the door. "I think I'll drop by the Rutland BCI unit. Find out where they are on the Hollowell case."
Sam looked up sharply and saw him smiling at her. "Thanks, Joe. And thanks for not being ticked off."
* * *
Lester had called his wife at work from his cell phone, so by the time he and David reached home, she was only ten more minutes from joining them.
They were sitting in stony silence at the kitchen table when she entered, wearing her usual nurse's uniform and a concerned expression on her face.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. "Where's Wendy?"
"She's fine," Lester said. "I sent her over to Louise's for a while." He pulled out a seat facing the third side of the table, between his son and himself. "Sit down, Susan. David's got something to say."
Tentatively, she joined them, looking at Dave as if he might break apart before her eyes. Dave stayed silent and withdrawn, staring at his clasped hands.
"Dave?" she asked fearfully. "What's up?"
"Dad found me at Craig Steidle's house."
Susan glanced at her husband, the name meaning nothing to her.
"The guy he was picked up with that night at the Zoo. The one we told him to stay away from. There's more."
"What else?" she asked her son, touching his hand with her fingertips.
He moved his hand away. "There were drugs."
She covered her mouth. "Oh my God. Were you taking any?"
"You bet," Lester said.
Dave looked up quickly. "It was only weed. I wasn't doing anything else."
"Only weed?" his father burst out. "What the hell were you holding when I walked in-after I cuffed the guy downstairs for coming at me with a knife?"
Susan's mouth dropped open.
"Jeff was showing me what he had, Dad. I wasn't doing anything."
"What was it?" Susan asked in a small voice.
"Cocaine," Lester said.
"Oh, sweetheart. What were you thinking?" She looked at her husband again. "And someone came at you with a knife? Were you hurt?"
"Not physically. I don't know about professionally."
She turned her head from one to the other of them, as if they were lobbing a ball back and forth. "What do you mean?"