I handed her my card.
"Thank you, Ms. Rastitch. Please call if you think of anything that may help. If it isn't too inconvenient, we'd like to speak to a few other employees."
"Not at all. I'll announce you."
Herb and I spent another hour talking to Booster's staff and fellow doctors. They all echoed what the green-eyed nurse had said. No one knew why Booster would write a prescription for Seconal, and no one knew any patient who took it.
But Booster had written the prescription, as confirmed by the Illinois Department of Regulations, and someone calling himself Charles Smith had filled it and presumably used it in the abduction of our Jane Doe. If no one in Booster's office remembered him, maybe the pharmacist who filled the prescription would.
Benedict and I left the doctors' building, walking over to its ugly twin, where the hospital pharmacy lay in wait. There was a line. But one of the many perks of having a badge was the ability to bypass lines. This seemed toirritate the dozen people we cut in front of, but you can't please all the people all the time.
The pharmacist looked like I'd picture a pharmacist to look: balding, fortyish, WASP, with glasses and a white coat. His name was Steve, and he informed us he'd been working there for three years.
"Were you working here last August tenth?"
He double-checked his schedule and informed us that yes, he was indeed working that day.
"Do you remember filling out a prescription for sixty milliliters of liquid Seconal on that date?"
His brown eyes lit up. "Yes. Yes, I do. It practically depleted our stock."
"Could you describe what the individual looked like?"
He furrowed his brow. "It was a man, I remember that much. But what he looked like? I'm drawing a blank. I fill hundreds of prescriptions a day, and that was two months ago."
"Was there anything unusual about his appearance? Very tall or short, old or young, skin color, eyes?" Herb asked.
"I think he was white. Not old or young. But I'm not sure."
"Was he a hunchback?" I asked, bringing up the FBI's profile.
Benedict shot me a glance, but honored my rank by not questioning me in front of a civilian.
"You mean like Quasimodo?" Steve asked.
I felt silly, but nodded.
"No, I would have remembered it if he was."
"Did he also get syringes with the Seconal?"
"I'm not sure. Let me check."
He went to his computer and hit a few keys.
"Here's the prescription." Steve pointed at his screen. "Under the name Charles Smith. He isn't listed anywhere else in our computer. No needles, either. All he got from us was the Seconal."
"Do you have the original handwritten prescription?"
"Nope. We throw them away at the end of the week."
"How do you know if a prescription is real or faked?"
"I suppose it's possible to counterfeit prescriptions, but who else but a doctor would know how many mgs of tetracycline are used to fight a respiratory infection? As for the Class B and C drugs, the ones that could be sold on the street, we call on them."
"Did you call for this one?"
"No. I remembered considering it, but it was eight in the evening and Dr. Booster's office was closed. I also recognized Dr. Booster's signature. Even though the amount was strange, it seemed authentic."
I sniffled, puzzling it over.
"Catching a cold?" Steve asked.
"Not on purpose."
"I'd suggest an over-the-counter antihistamine. Stay away from nasal sprays. They're addictive."
"I'll keep that in mind." I handed him my card. "If it's convenient I'd like you to come in after work today and sit down with a police artist. See if we can get a picture of this guy."
"I really don't remember him."
"Our artist is good at helping people remember. This is extremely important, Steve. This Charles Smith has been linked to the brutal murders of two people. Anything at all you can give us is more than we had before."
He nodded, promising to stop by. Herb and I left to the sour looks of the people we'd cut in front of. One old woman in particular gave me a sneer that could curdle milk. I considered sneering back, but that would be petty. We left the hospital without incident.
"What about the candy?" I asked Benedict when we got into my car. "What happened to giving it to sick kids?"
"I decided that candy is bad for the teeth and generally all-around unhealthy. Not something sick kids should be exposed to."
"How gallant of you, bearing that unhealthy burden all yourself."
"Want one?"
"Yeah. If you can part with it."
"Just one. I'm looking out for your health, Jack."
He handed me a candy bar and I pulled out of the parking lot. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I tore the wrapper off with my teeth and was about to pop it into my mouth when Herb yelped.
At first I thought he was vomiting.
But it wasn't vomit.
It was a lot of blood.
Chapter 9
HERB GOT ELEVEN STITCHES IN THE mouth. A shot of Novocain made it painless, but watching the curved needle stitch in and out of his squirming tongue was torture to see. I could have waited by the emergency room entrance, but I wanted to witness what some sick bastard had done to my friend.
"Thanth." Benedict nodded at the doctor when the last knot was tied.
I eyed the bloody candy bar in the metal tray next to Herb's bed. The edge of an X-Acto knife peeked out through the caramel, shining in the fluorescent light.
"One more favor, Doc. I know this is unorthodox, but I don't have access to an X-ray machine at the station."
I explained my request and he agreed, sending me and Herb out into the waiting room. While Benedict filled out forms, I went through my mental files of all the enemies I'd made throughout my life.
There were more than I'd care to mention. Anyone I'd ever busted from my patrol days up until now could have nursed a grudge. I've also pissed off a few people in my personal life. But I couldn't think of anyone, even murderers I'd put away who swore they'd break out and kill me, who would leave me such a horrible gift.
It could have been just bad luck. Some random freak I never met decides to express his hatred for cops by dropping off treats in the police parking lot. But an earlier call to the district killed that theory. No one else seemed to have gotten candy. I faced the disturbing truth that it was meant for me specifically.
"How about rethent catheth?" Herb asked.
"Recent cases?"
He nodded. Herb's lower lip had swelled up from the stitches, causing him to pout. His tongue was also swollen, making him look like his mouth was full. But a full mouth was the normal look for Herb, so it didn't detract too much.
"The only cases we've had in the last few weeks are gang deaths and suicides. Except the Gingerbread Man case. But how would he even know who I am?"
"Newth?"
"I don't think I've been mentioned in the news."
He shrugged. A line of drool was running down his chin; Herb was still too numb to feel it. I made the universal wiping motion on my own face, and he got the hint and cleaned himself off.
"Do you want to keep our appointment with Dr. Booster's daughter, or call it a day?"
"Bootherth daubder."
I nodded, glancing to the right as Benedict's doctor approached. In one gloved hand was the bag of candy bars. In the other was a manila folder.
"This may sound callous," he said, handing us the folder, "but you got very lucky. Not only could it have been much worse, but it might have been fatal. I've never seen anything like this."
I opened the folder, taking a look at an X ray of the twenty-one remaining candy bars, including the one I'd almost bitten into.
"Jethuth," Herb said.
"We counted over forty needles, thirty fishhooks, and ten X-Acto blades." The doctor shook his head. "Only one candy out of the bunch was untampered with. If a hook or a blade got lodged in the throat, it might have easily severed an artery."
I stared mutely at the X ray, feeling myself grow very cold. Someone had spent a long time doctoring up this candy. Hours. I tried to imagine that person, hunched over a table, inserting fishhooks into chocolate bars. All this trouble, hoping I'd eat just one. Or maybe hoping I'd pass them out to people. I thought about Herb, almost dropping off the candy at the children's ward. Both my hands clenched.