35. Diem

35

Diem

T he following Tuesday morning, while doing surveillance for a new client, my phone rang. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought it might be Tallus and fumbled the device from the cup holder to check the screen. It had been a miserable, lonely eight days, and I couldn’t get the too-hot-for-his-own-good records clerk off my mind.

My sessions at the gym had become unhealthy, my drinking was out of hand, and I’d smoked nonstop since we parted eight days ago. Worse, I couldn’t quell the incessant rage that filled my chest when I thought about Tallus returning to Gasoline and hooking up with random men.

Doyle’s name flashed across the screen, and although I’d been anxiously waiting for his call, I was swamped with disappointment that it wasn’t Tallus.

I answered with a grumbled, “Yeah.”

“I’ve got a golden ticket,” he sang annoyingly in lieu of a greeting. I was starting to hate that song.

But the implication sank in, and I sat up straighter. “I was right.”

“You were right. Bring your boy toy and meet me at Casey’s tonight at six.” Doyle hung up without hinting at what he’d found. The prick.

My head spun with possibilities as I located Tallus’s number in my contacts. For eight days, I’d feared I was wrong and would be left questioning this stupid fucking case for all of eternity.

But I was right. Whatever was inside those pills was toxic.

My finger stilled over Tallus’s name, and it took all my willpower to connect the call, fearing I’d turn into a tongue-tied idiot the second he answered.

Three rings, and his instantly chattering voice was music to my ears. “Guns! Oh my god, you have no idea how happy I am that it’s you. Memphis has been riding my ass about that damn shirt I owe him. You remember the bet? Seriously, though. Come on. What kind of princess bitch does he think he is wanting a one hundred and seventy-five-dollar shirt? I can’t afford that. If I had that kind of extra money, I wouldn’t be eating Kraft dinner and hot dogs every night.”

He moaned. “It was better when he wasn’t talking to me. How are you? It’s been ages. Where are you? What time is it? Oh my god. Did Doyle call? Are the results in? Why are you leaving me in suspense? Hello? D? Words. Talk. Converse. Are you there?”

My lips twitched, and I almost smiled as he senselessly yammered on. I’d missed his energy. His spunk and sass. I missed having the chance to tell him to shut up because he talked too much. For someone whose life felt suffocating all the time, it was a wonder that I’d found myself so comfortable in Tallus’s presence. Comfortable enough, his absence had left a mark.

“D?”

“Hey.” My voice rasped, so I cleared my throat. “Casey’s diner at six. Can you be there?”

“Casey’s? Oh. Um… yeah… I can… Sure. Are we meeting Doyle?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he say what—”

“No.”

“Six o’clock?”

“Yeah.” I paused, absorbing his Kraft dinner and hot dog comment, and quietly added, “It’s on me.”

“D, you don’t have to—”

“It’s a business expense. No big deal. I’ll pick you up.”

A long pause ensued. “Yeah. Okay.” Why did he sound defeated? “See you tonight.”

When I disconnected and analyzed the conversation for where I’d gone wrong, I felt like an ass. Business expense. Fuck. It was not what I meant. I wanted to call him back and correct my error, but it was too late. Plus, how did I explain to Tallus he meant more than that when I could hardly admit it to myself?

***

Doyle sat across from Tallus and me. We’d secured the same booth as before. Vanessa wasn’t working, and the prepubescent boy taking her place needed fewer holes in his head—he was pierced to the point of concern. Lip, nose, septum, tongue, eyebrows, anti-eyebrows, bridge, several in his ears, one that looked like a dimple, and another in the divot above his chin. I counted fifteen, and if he didn’t want me to stare, he should consider his life choices.

Doyle slapped a sheet of paper onto the table between us. It was an information fact sheet from the Drug Enforcement Administration. “Ever heard of kratom?”

“No.” I drew the page forward and scanned it. Tallus pressed his body against my shoulder to read as well. His scent filled my nose.

Doyle explained. “Kratom comes from a tropical tree native to Southeast Asia. Its leaves can be chewed, smoked, brewed in tea, or dried and ground to fill gelcaps like the ones you found. When consumed, it can produce a stimulant or sedative effect, depending on dosage. It can lead to psychotic symptoms and dependency. In Southeast Asia, it is known by many nicknames, kratom being the most widely used. The scientific, medically known term is mitragyna speciosa, and its abuse in North America is on the rise. It is not regulated under the Controlled Drugs and Substances Act, so it’s technically not illegal to possess, but that does not imply that it is safe.”

I stabbed a section of the information sheet a few paragraphs down, interrupting Doyle. “It says cases of psychosis resulting from the use of kratom have been reported. Individuals addicted exhibit psychotic symptoms including hallucinations, delusions, and confusion.”

“Holy fuck,” Tallus breathed by my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. It was distracting enough that I wanted to shrug him off, but I also didn’t. I’d been craving contact from him for over a week and missed how the man invited himself into my bubble. “That’s exactly the kind of behavior Amber and Allan’s family and neighbor reported.”

“Here’s the thing,” Doyle continued. “It’s unregulated, yes. It’s listed as a drug of concern, yes. The federal government hasn’t banned kratom, but restrictions for import have been implemented. If it’s believed the intent is ingestion, the drug can be confiscated. Health Canada has not approved it as a natural health product or medication.”

Tallus pointed to a section on the form, reading, “It can cause minor side effects like nausea, drowsiness, tachycardia, vomiting, seizures, and it goes on and on.”

“Yep,” Doyle said. “And according to an associate, when mixed with other drugs, it can be fatal. Because it has an opioid effect, it’s often abused by individuals who are trying to come off opioids because they think it’s a safer bet. The problem is, kratom is also highly addictive and dangerous in its own way.”

“So it’s used for pain control?” Tallus asked.

“I imagine so.”

I felt the heat of Tallus’s gaze on the side of my face. His breath against my cheek. My heart kicked, and a blistering sweat beaded my forehead.

“D.”

“I know.”

The people Hilty had been treating had gone to him because of chronic pain of one kind or another. Migraines, diabetic neuropathy, arthritis. They would have all benefitted from a drug of this sort if it was presented. Sally would have known the type of person to look for.

I focused on Doyle because I sensed he had more to say.

“Your eleven deceased individuals all had medical issues,” he said, reading my mind.

“Yeah.”

Doyle nodded. “I talked to my associate at the lab. Considering the number of prescription drugs most of them were taking, she felt it was highly probable, if mixed with kratom, that the combination could result in heart problems and possible death like what we saw in their autopsies.”

“I knew it. And,” I prompted when he paused.

“And since kratom, or mitragyna speciosa, isn’t something our labs typically test for, they’re rerunning tests on those eleven people.”

I sat back, feeling oddly validated. Ever since Tallus presented me with Amber’s case, and we’d listened to her brother describe her behavior, I’d said it was drug-related, and I was right.

Tallus spoke. “We can track down the other people, ask them if they’ve been given—”

“Cool your jets, hotshot. This is my case now.” Doyle drew the fact sheet toward him.

I was about to say something unsavory when Tallus pressed a hand to my thigh. “We can help, though, can’t we?”

Doyle eyed Tallus as he folded the sheet in half, then in quarters, tucking it inside his shirt pocket. “I won’t get results overnight. If the autopsies prove they were taking this substance, I have no way of proving how they got it. They could have purchased it themselves online. It’s not hard to do. The bags full of pills seem to prove someone is dealing, but unless I can put these specific bottles into their hands, I’ve got nothing. It doesn’t matter that they all saw the same doctor. It’s irrelevant.”

“The other people from the files,” I said, steering back to what Tallus had been about to say. “What if they know something or have the same pills in their possession? They could name your dealer.”

“It’s still a sticky situation. Technically, it’s not cocaine or heroin, and again, a shared doctor means nothing. Those people are alive. There is no crime. No judge would listen based on that evidence alone. The crime only applies to the deceased. Even then, it’s sketchy. The most I could charge a dealer with is negligent homicide, maybe manslaughter, and they could easily plead ignorance since the drug isn’t regulated.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I agree, but that’s what I’m saying. At this point, there isn’t much I can do. Unless you can put one of those phony echinacea bottles into one of your deceased people’s hands, and the tests prove kratom played a part in their death, I likely won’t get anywhere with this.”

Doyle left the restaurant a short time later, claiming he had to get home. He said he’d call once the lab reports were in—as a courtesy—but not to hold our breath.

“I’m pissed,” Tallus said once the diner door closed behind Doyle.

“Yep.”

“They didn’t buy their own kratom online. That’s way too big of a coincidence, and I get what he’s saying about proof, but come on. Sally or her kid or Madame Freaky Fortune Teller Bitch gave it to them. We know it, and he knows it.”

“He needs proof.”

“Proof my ass. I’ll give him proof.” I loved the fire in Tallus’s tone. His feisty edge appealed to me, but Doyle was right. I knew how the judicial system worked. If you couldn’t back up your facts with evidence, nothing stuck. Christ, half the time, even when you could, people got away with murder.

“Oh my god.” Tallus sat upright, eyes blown wide, irritation from a second ago gone.

“What?”

“Oh my god.” He swung around on the bench to face me. “Allan’s drug cupboard.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He had a bottle of echinacea. The only reason I remember is because Winifred said she recommended Janek to Allan and was disappointed to discover all the bottles he’d been given by the naturopath were still sealed, indicating he hadn’t bothered taking them. All except the echinacea. I saw it with my own two eyes. Oh my god. It’s Doyle’s proof.”

He paused, his eyes flicking back and forth like he was seeing something inside his head. He gasped again. “And the parking ticket places him at York Cemetery, where Sally’s kid dealt drugs. Diem, this is it.”

“Except Allan committed suicide.”

“But if there’s kratom in his system.”

“Allan committed suicide.”

“Fuck.” Tallus scowled, and I had to look away because his animosity would make me smile.

But he was onto something. “What about Peggy, Ezra, Kennedy, or the others. Maybe we can find another bottle that once belonged to them.”

“That would be Doyle’s proof, right?”

“It might help. He would still need those test results to come back positive.”

Tallus whipped out his phone. “I’m calling my girl Winnie. See if Allan’s relatives cleaned out his apartment yet.”

“But Allan was—”

“A suicide. Yeah, I know, but it’s still proof, and we need as much as we can get. He had a file. He counts.”

Tallus’s fire was back, and I happily relinquished control. “What do you want me to do?”

Holding the ringing phone to his ear, Tallus patted my cheek, smiling his gorgeous smile. “Sit there and look handsome. We both know I’m better with people. Winnie, hi. It’s Tallus.”

Winifred confirmed that Allen’s family had yet to deal with his belongings, and although the landlord had hired a company to clean out his apartment, they weren’t scheduled to arrive until the weekend.

Ezra’s mom confirmed she had a bottle of echinacea as well. Peggy’s sister, however, had gotten rid of everything. After contacting as many people as he could, we ended up with four positive hits.

Tallus had a magical way with people, easing their concerns without expunging them. He was also careful not to say too much about the case and our suspicions, knowing Doyle would have a fit.

It took another hour to race around town and collect the bottles. I slipped each into a clear plastic bag to preserve evidence despite them having been handled to the extreme. If Doyle did print the bottles we’d found in the dumpster, he would likely find matching sets on these bottles.

“Do we go to his house,” Tallus asked once we’d made our rounds.

“No. We need him on our side. He won’t be happy we overstepped. Best we don’t pound on his door at this time of night.”

“But he wanted proof.”

“I know. I’ll deliver them tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Tallus eyed the time on the dash. It was after nine.

What else was there to do?

“Do you mind taking me to my car?”

“Sure.”

I drove to headquarters and parked in the lot behind the building. Once again, we were parting ways, and since Doyle had taken command of the case, I didn’t see a time in the future when we would meet up.

We’d had one more evening, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

At a loss for words, verbally crippled as usual, I waited for Tallus to get out and say goodbye.

For the second time, I was the recipient of a meaningful look. One that spoke volumes without Tallus having to say a thing.

He brushed a hand over my thigh, squeezed once, and released. “Take care, Guns. Keep me posted if you hear from Doyle.”

“I will.”

Then he was gone.

Again.

And every cell in my body ached with the void he left behind.