LaTour said to Billings, “Can you tell me where you were on April seventh and the ninth?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Simple question, lady. Where were you?”
“I’m not answering any goddamn questions without our lawyer.” She crossed her arms, sat back and contentedly began a staring contest with LaTour.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Tal nodded at the documents.
Montrose said to Billings, “The dimethylamino.”
“They found out about that?” she asked.
“Yeah, we found out about it,” LaTour snapped. “Surprise.”
Montrose turned to Tal. “What exactly did you find in the victims’ blood?”
Unprepared for the question, he frowned. “Well, Luminux.”
“You have the coroner’s report?”
Tal pulled it out of his briefcase and put it on the table. “There.”
Montrose frowned in an exaggerated way. “Actually, it doesn’t say ‘Luminux.’ ”
“The fuck you talking about? It’s—”
Montrose said, “I quote: ‘9-fluoro, 7-chloro-1,3-dihydro-1-methyl-5-phenyl-2H-1, 4-benzodiazepin, 5-hydroxytryptamine and N-(1-phenethyl-4-piperidyl) propionanilide citrate.’ ”
“Whatever,” LaTour snapped, rolling his eyes. “That is Luminux. The medical examiner said so.”
“That’s right,” Karen snapped right back. “That’s the approved version of the drug.”
LaTour started to say something but fell silent.
“Approved?” Tal asked uncertainly.
Montrose said, “Look at the formula for the early version.”
“Early?”
“The one the FDA rejected. It’s in that printout of yours.”
Tal was beginning to see where this was headed and he didn’t like the destination. He found the sheet in the printout and compared it to the formula in the medical examiner’s report. They were the same except that the earlier version of the Luminux contained another substance, dimethylamino ethyl phosphate ester.
“What’s—”
“A mild antipsychotic agent known as DEP. That’s what caused the problems in the first version. In combination it had a slight psychedelic effect. As soon as we took it out the FDA approved the drug. That was a year ago. You didn’t find any DEP in the bodies. The victims were taking the approved version of the drug. No DEP-enhanced Luminux was every released to the public.”
Billings muttered, “And we’ve never had a single incidence of suicide among the six million people worldwide on the drug — a lot of whom are probably alive today because they were taking Luminux and didn’t kill themselves.”
Montrose pulled a large binder off his desk and dropped it on his desk. “The complete study and FDA approval. No detrimental side effects. It’s even safe with alcohol in moderation.”
“Though we don’t recommend it,” Billings snapped, just as icily as she had at their first meeting.
“Why didn’t you tell us before?” LaTour grumbled.
“You didn’t ask. All drugs go through a trial period while we make them safe.” Montrose wrote a number on a memo pad. “If you still don’t believe us — this’s the FDA’s number. Call them.”
Billings’s farewell was “You found your way in here. You can find your way out.”
Tal slouched in his office chair. LaTour was across from him with his feet up on Tal’s desk again.
“Got a question,” Tal asked. “You ever wear spurs?”
“Spurs? Oh, you mean like for horses? Why would I wear spurs? Or is that some kind of math nerd joke about putting my feet on your fucking desk?”
“You figure it out,” Tal muttered as the cop swung his feet to the floor. “So where do we go from here? No greedy daughters, no evil drug maker. And we’ve pretty much humiliated ourselves in front of two harsh women. We’re batting oh for two.” The statistician sighed. Maybe they did kill themselves. Hell, sometimes life is just too much for some people.”
“You don’t think that, though.”
“I don’t feel it but I do think it and I do better thinking. When I start feeling I get into trouble.”
“And the world goes round and round,” LaTour said. “Shit. It time for a beer yet?”
But a beer was the last thing on Tal’s mind. He stared at the glacier of paper on his desk, the printouts, the charts, the lists, the photographs, hoping that he’d spot one fact, one datum, that might help them.
Tal’s phone rang. He grabbed it. “ ‘Lo?”
“Is this Detective Simms?” a meek voice asked.
“That’s right.”
“I’m Bill Fendler, with Oak Creek Books in Barlow Heights. Somebody from your office called and asked to let you know if we sold any copies of Making the Final Journey: The Complete Guide to Suicide and Euthanasia.”
Tal sat up. “That’s right. Have you?”
“I just noticed the inventory showed one book sold in the last couple of days.”
LaTour frowned. Tal held up a wait-a-minute finger.
“Can you tell me who bought it”
“That’s what I’ve been debating... I’m not sure it’s ethical. I was thinking if you had a court order it might be better.”
“We have reason to believe that somebody might be using that book to cover up a series of murders. That’s why we’re asking about it. Maybe it’s not ethical. But I’m asking you, please, give me the name of the person who bought it.”
A pause. The man said, “Okay. Got a pencil.”
Tal found one. “Go ahead.”
The mathematician started to write the name. Stunned, he paused. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Positive, Detective. The receipt’s right here in front of me.”
The phone sagged in Tal’s hand. He finished jotting the name, showed it to LaTour. “What do we do now?” he asked.
LaTour lifted a surprised eyebrow. “Search warrant,” he said. “That’s what we do.”
The warrant was pretty easy, especially since LaTour was on good terms with nearly every judge and magistrate in Westbrook County personally, and a short time later they were halfway through their search of the modest bungalow located in even more modest Harrison Village. Tal and LaTour were in the bedroom, three uniformed county troopers were downstairs.
Drawers, closets, beneath the bed...
Tal wasn’t exactly sure what they were looking for. He followed LaTour’s lead. The big cop had considerable experience sniffing out hiding places, it seemed, but it was Tal who found the jacket, which was shedding off-white fibers that appeared to match the one they’d found at the Whitleys’ death scene.
This was some connection, though a tenuous one.
“Sir, I found something outside!” a cop called up the stairs.
They went out to the garage, where the officer was standing over a suitcase, hidden under stacks of boxes. Inside were two large bottles of Luminux, with only a few pills remaining in each. There were no personal prescription labels attached but they seemed to be the containers that were sold directly to hospitals. This one had been sold to the Cardiac Support Center. Also in the suitcase were articles cut from magazines and newspapers — one was from several years ago. It was about a nurse who’d killed elderly patients in a nursing home in Ohio with lethal drugs. The woman was quoted as saying, “I did a good thing, helping those people die with dignity. I never got a penny from their deaths. I only wanted them to be at peace. My worst crime is I’m an Angel of Mercy.” There were a half-dozen others, too, the theme being the kindness of euthanasia. Some actually gave practical advice on “transitioning” people from life.