"May I ask what that has to do with—"
"See, his answer wasn't good enough for you, so as a ploy to drag us into this situation, you made up that story about the victim. At least that's the way it strikes me."
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Jodi looked down, defeated. "So you don't believe me?" He lowered the flashlight. His tone was all business. "Miss Adams, I have an obligation as an officer to maintain the integrity of any investigation. If that investigation starts with a fraudulent assertion of fact, well, let's just say we've got to drop it. In this case, the facts don't support your claim."
Jodi sighed now. The memory turned her stomach. She looked out the window of the police cruiser. To make matters worse, she recalled how she had met Reverend Bud as they left the warehouse. After accusing him of just about everything in the book, all he said was, "Hey, it took guts to bring the fuzz here."
"The fuzz?"
"Yeah, you know, the cops," Reverend Bud had said, nodding in the direction of Officer Dexter. "He must feel as out-of-place as a pig at a barbecue, you know what I'm saying?" He had laughed.
To his credit. Officer Dexter had ignored the friendly jab.
Then, of all the strange things. Reverend Bud had handed her a business card inscribed with his name, address, phone number, and the words "Peace, Love, Unity, Respect." Along the bottom edge of the card he had imprinted: This Entitles the Bearer to a Free Tab of Ecstasy.
What would she ever need that for? She almost tossed it on the floor. She stuffed it in her purse instead. She'd junk it later.
Right now, aside from the intense desire to crawl into bed and disappear under the covers, Jodi wished she could ask Phil Meyer what to do. Phil, the ex-Navy Seal husband of her social studies teacher, Rosie Meyer, had piloted the houseboat over spring break. He always knew how to handle any situation—at least that was her observation of the man. Talk about a rough character.
Jodi figured Phil could probably bust the rave single-handedly. She was tempted to call, but it was the middle of the night and she was in no mood to risk further embarrassment by waking him.
Besides, something else gnawed at her.
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Why hadn't Bruce called yet? Surely he would have arrived at the hospital by now. Did he have some kind of car trouble? What if he'd stalled out again in that old car? She desperately wanted to know what was up with Kat. Were the doctors able to stabilize her? Was she conscious? More important, would she make it?
Jodi reached for her purse and took out the phone to examine it. "I'm such a dorkus," she said to herself.
It had been oflF the whole time.
* * *
Officer Dexter pulled the car to a stop in front of the police station. "Would you like me to call a cab for you?"
"Um, sure thing. Great. Thanks." Jodi opened her door and stepped onto the sidewalk. She thought about mentioning to Officer Dexter that Kat was in the hospital because of the monkey business upstairs. Surely Kat would be able to back up her story about the victim. Somehow the whole idea seemed like a waste of time now that her credibility was shot—at least in the officer's eyes.
Officer Dexter waddled around the car.
Jodi said, "Listen, about this whole situation—"
"Aw, don't worry about it. I was just busy taking a nap. These overnight shifts are murder, you know what I'm saying?" He smiled, and then added, "While you wait, we've got the world's best stale coffee inside if you'd like a cup."
"No thanks." His offer sounded about as appetizing as week-old cold pizza. "I'll be fine, really" She forced a thin smile.
"I'll call that cab. Good night, Miss Adams." He turned and left.
Jodi powered up her cell phone. It indicated she had two messages. She punched the icon for messages and listened. The first was from Bruce:
"Hey, Jodi. We're at the Abington Hospital in the . . . Excuse me, what building is this?"
She heard Bruce calling to someone in the background. His hand partially covered the mouthpiece.
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"Sorry about that. We're in the Toll Pavilion. Gee, this sure looks like the same place Kat came to after her accident on the boat. An3rway, she's in room 210. They got her all hooked up to a zillion tubes and stuff. The doctor said she was seriously—"
The message stopped cold. What's with that? ]odi wondered. She waited for the second message to play.
"Jodi, it's me again. Must have hung up accidentally. Anyway, she's dehydrated and, um, in critical condition. She looks pretty bad if you ask me. They're running a bunch of tests, but it's too early to tell, like, what's going on. She's alive and that's a plus, right? Well, I'm going home now—hate to leave her, but visiting hours are over. Besides, I really need to grab some sleep. Like I said, gotta work in the morning."
Jodi heard Bruce fumbling with the phone as if he were about to hang up but then heard him add, "Oh, you know what's really weird? I heard Kat mumbling something in the car . . . probably three times. I finally figured out what she was saying: 'I didn't do it.' Go figure. I think she was just majorly delirious. Gotta run. Ski-ya later."
Jodi put the phone in her purse.
Kat was alive. There was still a chance she'd make it. Jodi whispered, Thank you,JesiLS. More than anything, Jodi wanted to see Kat for herself—right then. But Bruce had said visiting hours were over. She considered chancing a visit anyway. Then again, without a car, and with limited cash for taxis, she resolved herself to visit Kat in the morning instead.
At the same time, she was puzzled by what Bruce had said that Kat had mumbled.
Kat "didn't do" what?
Jodi was considering several options when a new idea hit her like a ton of bricks. Maybe Kat was claiming she didn't give the drugs to the boy who had died. If she had, that would make Kat an accessory to murder. What's more, Jodi and Bruce had witnessed the scene, so they could be called to testify against her.
Was that it?
Bruce arrived at work fifteen minutes before his shift. His eyes were red and slightly puffy from a restless, fitful sleep. Thoughts from last evening had plagued him throughout the night: If the syringe from the dead boy came from their clinic, how would the guy have come into possession of it? Did he steal it? That was one possibility—but not a good one.
He knew the clinic had an alarm system. He also figured as an employee he would have been informed had there been a break-in. So, how did the guy get ahold of it? And, what was in the syringe that killed him?
Then again, Bruce was perfectly willing to admit that, as Jodi had suggested, he could be all wrong. Maybe the syringe wasn't from the Pet Vet supply. To satisfy his curiosity, and knowing full well that Saturdays were ultra busy, he arrived early for work.
The supply room containing cases of the unused syringes was located on the main floor. Bruce found it open, as was typically the case at this time of day. He stepped inside, located a brown cardboard box marked Ace Medical Systems Syringes on the third shelf. He withdrew a sealed, individual sample of the unopened product.
One side of the sterile wrapper was transparent, the other side a white paper with green type. The contents were described as a 3ml 21G1 Luer-Lok™ Latex Free syringe. Bruce compared it to the syringe he had taken ft-om the boy last night. It was an exact match. Same red plunger. Same reference number. Same lot number.
Out of concern that their facility may have been compromised,
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Bruce knew he had to inform Dr. Blackstone. He placed the unused syringe in the box and returned the box to the third shelf. Behind him he heard footsteps.
"May I inquire what you are doing, Bruce?"
Bruce spun around, surprised to see his boss in the doorway. "Oh, hi, Dr. Blackstone. Actually, there's something I was about to come and see you about."
"Yes, and what might that be? I haven't much time this morning. Be quick with it." Dr. Blackstone folded his left arm over his right. This ke
pt his watch in plain view. Bruce observed a few bloodstains on Dr. Blackstone's white lab jacket. Not unusual since animal surgery was part of the scope of their work at the clinic.
"Well, last night my friend and I went to ... to this rave. That's um, like, a dance party." Bruce, unsure whether Dr. Blackstone would know what a rave was, started to explain further. "See, there's a DJ, and kids from all over—"
"What you do with your free time is no concern of mine."
"Um, right. But see, I found this." Bruce pulled the syringe from last night out of his pocket. He fumbled for a long moment to unwrap it. As he worked, he heard Dr. Blackstone exhale a puff of impatient air.
"Well . . . you see . . . sir, it looked a whole lot like one of ours, which didn't make sense."
"I agree. And I'm sorry to cut you off, but—"
"If I can just say ... I compared it this morning to one of those." Bruce pointed to the box on the shelf 'And, like, it matches perfectly. And so, what I can't figure for the life of me is how some kid ends up with one, you know?"
Dr. Blackstone leaned his head to one side. "May I see the syringe you're holding?" His fingers beckoned with a rapid twitch.
"Sure thing." Bruce handed it over. "See, what bothers me is that we only use these syringes to tranquilize the animals with a keta-mine solution before surgery, right?"
Dr. Blackstone held the syringe up to the light. "That's correct."
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Bruce offered, "There's still some solution, or whatever, left in it. Plus, you know how we've been making batches of the ketamine-filled syringes for other clinics? I wonder if this is somehow one of them. I ... I figured you might be able to analyze what's inside."
Dr. Blackstone lowered the syringe and placed it in his lab coat pocket. "That's certainly within the realm of possibility—that is if I can find the time. Speaking of time, I've got a tight schedule this morning." He turned to leave.
'Ah . . . there's one more thing." Bruce hesitated to detain him further.
Dr. Blackstone turned halfway around, one hand lingering on the doorjamb. "And that would be?"
"Well, we found it next to the body of a dead boy."
Dr. Blackstone raised an eyebrow. His forehead wrinkled as if his mind was lost in a deep mystery. The intense look in his eyes made Bruce uncomfortable. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. After all, there was probably nothing to it.
"Bruce, you did the right thing . . . bringing this to my attention." Dr. Blackstone stepped back into the supply room next to Bruce and then nodded toward the hallway. "This is serious, indeed. I'd like to have a word with you in my office." He placed his hand in the small of Bruce's back to give him a ftiendly nudge.
Bruce followed him down the hall and then into the office.
"Please, sit down." Dr. Blackstone motioned to a chair facing his desk. He leaned against the edge of the credenza and folded his arms.
"That's quite a collection of spiders, Dr. Blackstone." Bruce eyed the terrarium behind his boss. "Funny, I didn't know they could live together like that, you know, all three in the same cage."
Dr. Blackstone cleared his throat. "I guess when you know your place, nobody has to get hurt, now do they?" His thick eyebrows narrowed, the right side arching as he spoke.
"Um, you can say that again." Bruce swallowed.
"Now, as you can imagine, I'm troubled at the news of these
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missing syringes. Naturally, if someone has stolen ketamine from this or any other clinic, I want to do everything in my power to find the culprit and bring him to justice."
Bruce was relieved. "I thought you'd be concerned—"
"That's an understatement. Bruce, you've been with us, what, three or four months?"
'About that, yes, sir."
"Then you'd know that when properly administered in the prescribed dosage ketamine disassociates the nervous system from the mind. And that's what makes it such a tempting choice for drug addicts."
Bruce scratched his head. "I don't follow. How would that be, like, interesting to a druggie?"
"In short, ketamine is a powerful substance that produces an out-of-body experience that can last several hours. Mind you, it's not designed for human consumption. But when a human takes it, usually mixed with Valium, they sustain the sensation of floating above their body."
"Wow Really?"
"That's why it's illegal to sell it over the counter in every state. Only a certified vet may purchase it. But when it hits the streets, my understanding is that kids call it Special K."
Bruce sat up straight in his chair. Where had he heard that name before? Wasn't it at the rave?
"You'll never believe this, Dr. Blackstone, but just last night I was approached by a guy who asked me if I'd like Special K! Gee, I had no idea."
"Here's the catch." Dr. Blackstone pulled his chair away from his desk, sat down, and folded his hands as if about to launch into a lecture on the subject. "Ketamine is a seizuregenic drug. True, we use it ten, maybe fifteen times a day in this clinic. But in the hands of an untrained individual, that person is literally playing with death. That's why we're required by law to keep all ketamine supplies under lock and key."
I
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Bruce's mind drifted to Kat. So that's what happened to her, he thought. She must have taken the drug and gone into a seizure. Ditto for the boy, only it killed him.
"Tell me, Bruce, where was the location of this dance party?"
"The rave? Oh, it was downtown Philly, on, um, Christopher Columbus Boulevard ... in an old warehouse. Can t say exactly It was late, and dark—"
"Not to worry" Dr. Blackstone leaned forward, the palms of his hands resting on the surface in front of him. "But I am wondering, Bruce. YouVe said 'we' several times. Is there anybody else that can support your claim about the death of the boy . . . from what might have been one of our syringes?"
Bruce was thankful that his boss was taking this seriously. "Yes, actually. My friend Jodi saw him, too."
"Jodi. And her last name?"
"Adams. Jodi Adams. She goes to my school. She even took a picture of him."
Dr. Blackstone's eyes widened. For an instant, Bruce thought his boss appeared panicked. Who wouldn't be, especially if something from their lab was involved in a death.
"Listen, Bruce. I'd like to speak with this friend of yours. Could you arrange for her to stop by . . . say, later today?"
"I'll sure try."
"You do that—I'm counting on you. This is of utmost importance." His intercom crackled.
"Doctor?" The voice from the speakerphone filled the room.
"Yes?"
"Your 8:30 surgery is prepped and ready."
"Thank you, Susan." Dr. Blackstone punched a button on the phone and then stood to leave. "Naturally I'd make room in my schedule whenever a meeting with your friend. Miss Jodi Adams, can be arranged. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Chapter 15 ^ Saturday, 1D:D7 a.m
In retrospect, Jodi wasn't surprised to be the only person at Kat's hospital bedside. She knew Kat's dad was doing time in a New Jersey jail, while her mother, a borderline alcoholic and drug user, was in a jail of her own making. "A free spirit," was the way Kat had described her mom before the first time Jodi met her. That was an understatement.
Presently, Jodi sat in an uncomfortable, low-back chair. She had pulled it close to Kat's side, positioning it so that she could occasionally dab Kat's forehead with a cool, damp washcloth. Kat remained motionless, a white sheet pulled up to her chest, the bed slightly elevated underneath her head. The only sound in the room came from the chorus of beeps and chirps emitted by an assortment of equipment adjacent to the headboard.
It took all the restraint Jodi could muster to keep from running out of the building. She hated hospitals. Always had, ever since the death of her grandfather. The smells nauseated her. She could handle the dentist's office just fine. But hospitals, with their rows of
rooms filled with sickness, suffering, and the constant parade of nameless doctors and nurses armed with clipboards and needles, unsettled her.
She yawned, covering her mouth as she did. Naturally, it didn't help that she was exhausted from the night before. She had arrived an hour earlier, having first stopped by the InstyFoto Mart to drop off the disposable camera for developing. She'd pick up the pictures from the rave later that morning.
Upon Jodi's arrival, the nurse explained that speaking to Kat in
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low tones was good therapy, but not to expect a response. Kat was heavily medicated to prevent another seizure. She drifted in and out of consciousness, although she'd been unconscious all morning. Jodi learned that Kat's blood work was being processed at the lab and they'd know the results in twenty-four hours. Meanwhile, it was a waiting game.
Jodi crossed her legs and then hooked her hair over her right ear. A painful mixture of emotions, like a fountain, sprang up inside her as she watched Kat lying unconscious. Jodi leaned forward and, with a soft squeeze of Kat's hand, continued to vocalize her feelings.
"Kat, I... I thought you were, like, finally coming to understand God, you know? You asked me all those great questions and, um, you pushed me for real answers. It's funny how you even made me rethink stuff I've always known but taken for granted. You started to believe life was worth living, remember? And things began to, like, make sense as you learned more about God. You said so yourself"
Jodi gently dabbed Kat's forehead again. A thin, clear oxygen tube strapped beneath her nostrils provided a steady, regulated supply of purified air. She was careful not to dislodge it.
"So what happened, Kat? What were you thinking? How could you do such a foolish thing? I mean, to gamble with your life? Maybe it was all me . .. maybe I was too pushy, too anxious to see you invite Jesus into your heart. I don't know. Did I come on too strong? Or, was I too laid-back? Too afraid to let you know what I was really thinking?"
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