“Once you’re out of here, we may contact you with more questions,” Steele told Mandy.
“Of course. The officer out there has my number. And…detectives?”
“Yes?”
“It’s dangerous. I mean, I know most drugs can be. But this one…I know what happened, and I know what it caused. But already, thinking about that place I went with the colors and the ducks? I’d do it again. I’d do it again right now if I could.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When the phone jarred Steele from his sleep, he wondered if he’d managed to really sleep at all. He remembered laying down at 4:55 and after that, he must have dozed off, but it was fitful. Now, his phone was jerking him awake with his heart in his throat. The bedside clock told him it was 8:21. Jacki’s groaning complaint from beside him said it was far too early.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching for his cellphone.
“Ummph,” she replied.
He grabbed the phone and answered in his best I-was-awake-the-whole-time voice. “This is Detective Steele.”
“Steele, it’s Professor Leik.”
“Oh,” was all Steele could manage. He knew that later today, he and Flynt and the rest of the department would need to eye the man as their lead suspect. Given what they heard about the rave from Mandy Owen, Leik’s drug clearly was widely used last night, and the stories were only getting worse and worse. Now there were at least two D710-related deaths.
He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, Professor?”
“Well, I’ve been here at the police lab all night, working with some of the techs. I found something that I think might explain everything.”
“Any chance I’ll understand it? Can you explain it in English?”
“Well, we’ve analyzed samples taken from my rubber duck. An analysis showed that the residue we found on my window sill did indeed come from the duck. But another thing that analysis proved was that the drug in the duck is not D710. It’s quite close to it, but it’s been modified in a few very slight ways.”
Steele was suddenly very much awake, not having to fake it. “You’re certain?”
“Yes. Again, the alterations are very slight, but in the composition of the drug, they would make a huge difference.”
“Could these changes account for the violent and strange behavior?”
“At first glance, I’d say yes. I would want to conduct further analysis, of course.”
“But tell me this, Professor, how did a new modified drug get into the one safe place you used for your D710 supply?”
“I have a theory, but I wouldn’t want to accuse anyone without proof.”
Not wanting to accuse anyone without proof was something Steele specialized in. Fortunately, he was pretty sure he and Leik have come to the same conclusion.
“Good work, Professor. I’m going to run a check on a few things and will get back to you. Keep me posted if you find out anything else.” He ended the call, leaned over, and kissed Jacki on the cheek. “Sorry. Got to go.”
“Nothing new,” she said sleepily.
“You okay for now?”
“Mmf.”
“Eva will be here in fifteen minutes.”
He only got a little burst of snoring in response.
Steele frowned at this, but got out of bed without hesitation and got dressed. He was tired, but the promise of a new lead filled him with enough adrenaline to make him look past it.
* * *
Flynt was humming some old Beach Boys tune and doing that weird thing with the sprinkles on his donut as Steele drove to the hospital. He learned to live with most of his partner’s strange eccentricities but there was something about the donuts that bothered Steele in a way he did not fully understand.
“Why do you do that?” Steele asked.
Flynt took a moment, actually holding up his index finger (which was crusted with vanilla frosting) to hold Steele off a moment. He then continued to pick off the last few remaining sprinkles one by one and placed them in the heap he built on the napkin in his lap. When he was done, he licked the frosting from his index finger and then popped the mound of sprinkles into his mouth.
“Because,” Flynt finally answered, crunching the sprinkles between his teeth as he spoke, “there is nothing in this world better than sprinkles that have just been on a donut.”
“Yeah, but why not just leave them on the donut and enjoy them that way?”
“Because then, the donut is the star. You’re so distracted by the donut and the frosting that you only notice the sprinkles when they crunch. Also, if—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Steele said. “Sorry I asked.”
Flynt shrugged and started working on the donut itself. As he did, the Joe Pesci voice on his GPS told them to take a bleeping left at the next bleeping light or he’d break both their knees. They both knew how to get to where they were going, but Flynt liked to have the GPS voices on regardless. He claimed they made good company.
They reached their destination six minutes later, parking in the back lot of the hospital. Flynt called ahead before they left the station to make sure Ben Bower wasn’t discharged. According to the doctor, Bower was nearly back to normal and would be checked out later in the morning.
When Flynt and Steele reached his room, they found him coherent and in mostly good spirits. Still, when the detectives entered his room, he looked almost guilty.
“Hey, guys,” he said.
“Hello,” Steele replied. “You don’t need to worry about anything, Mr. Bower,” Steele said. “Well, aside from breaking and entering charges which, if I’m honest, I don’t believe Professor Leik will be pressing. We’re here to see if you can help us find out where the drug might have come from. Certain events transpired last night that make us believe that whatever you took out of that duck has somehow made its way onto the streets.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Yes. A rave. Lots of people were injured with at least three deaths.”
Bower let out a curse at the thought, shaking his head. “That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not. So please…can you think of anyone that might be selling the drug?”
“Yeah, but…well, I don’t like the dude. And I wasn’t even sure how he got it, so I didn’t go to him when I…well, when I wanted it. That’s why I broke into Professor Leik’s office.”
“Who is this other guy?” Steele asked.
Beside him, Flynt pulled out his trusty unicorn notebook and readied his pen.
“Bob McKee. He’s Leik’s teaching assistant.”
“Any reason you didn’t like him?” Flynt asked, breaking out his one useful contribution to the conversation.
“Well, he’s a TA. No one really likes them. They’re butt-kissers, you know? Plus, the way this guy carries himself is just disgusting. Thinks he’s better than everyone.”
“How long has he been selling?” Steele asked.
“Not long. Maybe two weeks.”
“You ever speak to anyone that bought from him?”
“Yeah, but they hadn’t taken it yet.”
“Any chance Carson Butler might have known him?”
“No clue. I didn’t really know Carson that well. I already told you that.”
“As a TA, McKee would have access to most of Leik’s records, files, teaching materials, and things like that, right?” Steele asked.
“I guess. I’ve never been one. I just went to some of those Awakening meetings and hung with Leik and his inner circle after the meetings. But I think that’s the general role of a TA, yeah.”
There was another question on Steele’s mind, but he kept them to himself. He did not want to put any ideas in Bower’s head that he might take back to his friends.
“Mr. Bower, I need to ask one favor of you and then we will leave you to be discharged. When you get back home, I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear of anyone purchasing D710 or even thinking of getting some, I need you to call me.” As he
ended this statement, he handed Bower one of his business cards.
“Sure. But…what’s D710?”
“It’s the drug, duh,” Flynt said.
“Oh. On the street, they’re calling it Ducky.”
Fitting, Steele thought. “Thank you very much, Mr. Bower. Please try to make better decisions in the future.”
Bower nodded, but there wasn’t much enthusiasm in it. Steele and Flynt left the room and headed for the elevators. Before they got there, Flynt lightly tapped Steele on the shoulder with his sparkly unicorn notebook.
“If this Bob McKee dude had access to all of Leik’s materials, wouldn’t he have access to the rubber ducky, too?”
It was the exact thought Steele kept to himself in Bower’s room. He nodded with a smile, encouraged that he and Flynt were on the same page. It didn’t seem to happen all that often.
“I was thinking the same thing. And I think the only way to know for sure is to pay Mr. McKee a visit.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All it took was a single call to the police station to get McKee’s information: phone number, address, and the fact that there were two arrests for possession of illegal drugs on his record. Steele also called Leik to get any information he could about the TA.
“He’s always been a very formal and polite young man,” Leik said. “He did admit to me when he came on board that he’d been involved in some drug troubles in his past, but nothing serious.”
“Did you ever suspect that he’d go snooping through your personal things? Stealing your rubber duck, maybe?”
“No. I must admit, that comes as a shock.”
Steele wasn’t surprised. Typically, people that tended to use drugs on more than an occasional basis are willing to do whatever it takes to get that next high. He kept this to himself as Leik told them that if he knew McKee well, and he thought he did, he would be spending his Sunday morning at home.
The Joe Pesci voice on Flynt’s GPS cursed them out in a thick Italian accent as it told them how to get to Bob McKee’s off-campus apartment. As always, Steele took the lead and knocked on the door. When McKee answered, he looked like he’d just woke up. His shaggy black hair was in disarray and there was an obvious pillow-print on the side of his face.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Bob McKee?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re Detectives Steele and Flynt. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind. Can we come in, Mr. McKee?”
“Yeah, yeah, come in.”
The apartment was immaculately clean and had a smell that Steele always thought of as “new age.” Incense was burned here a lot in the past. There was an earthy sort of smell, too. Not patchouli, but maybe bergamot or something similar. On the far-right wall, there was a large reproduction of psychedelic artwork. Fractals, colors, and patterns all merged in a way that, when looking at it for more than two seconds, made Steele feel slightly unbalanced.
“Mr. McKee, you are the teaching assistant for Professor Leik, is that correct?”
“I am. Two semesters now.”
“Have you ever attended his Awakening meetings?”
“Yeah. I go to almost all of them.”
McKee led them to the couch and gestured for them to take a seat. They did, and McKee elected to sit cross-legged on what looked to be a yoga mat in front of the coffee table.
“Have you ever taken a drug that he is testing out known as D710?”
McKee gave them a skeptical look and nodded slowly. “I have. But there are many others, too.”
“We’ve gathered that much,” Steele said.
He noticed that beside him, Flynt was staring at the psychedelic art on the wall. A small grin was coming to his lips as he fumbled for his unicorn notebook.
“Is that why you’re here? Trying to grill me for taking a drug?”
“No, of course not,” Flynt said, still staring at the artwork. “We want to know what you know about the duck.”
Steele was, at first, irritated that Flynt approached things in this way. However, when he saw the look of concern on McKee’s face at the mention of a duck, Steele was pretty sure they’d struck paydirt. He wasn’t sure if Flynt purposefully did this or not. If he did it was sort of genius.
“What duck?” McKee asked.
“Whatever duck came to mind when that look of fear came over your face,” Steele said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Steele sighed and sat forward. “Here’s the deal, Mr. McKee. Honestly, we don’t have time for you dancing around the matter and telling lies. So, let’s play Let’s Make a Deal. You give me honest answers that might help us with this investigation and you might get off easy.”
“Off easy for what? What have I done?”
“We have it on sound authority that you are selling D710. And between the three of us, I’m not even too concerned about that. What I am concerned about, is why you would have altered the ingredients.”
McKee didn’t have much of a poker face. He looked shocked first, then scared, then confused. Steele thought it might be the way someone would look if a prophet read his mind and revealed what he saw.
“How did you know?” McKee asked, apparently not willing to put up a fight.
“Well, D710 is slowly making its way to the street. We recently had the unpleasant experience of seeing someone high on it, only it wasn’t the D710 that Leik has been providing to his students in micro-doses. This is some other version of it. Leik himself has compared his own batch with the batch that is on the streets.”
“I don’t get it…”
“We don’t either,” Steele said. “So, if you’d explain it to us so we can prevent more people from dying, that would be great.”
“People are dying?”
Sighing again, Steele recounted the tale of Carson Butler and what they knew of the rave that took place last night. The entire time, McKee looked mortified. On more than one occasion, Steele thought the young man might start weeping.
“I’m so sorry. But I didn’t know…”
“Start explaining,” Steele spat.
“Fine. I stole that little rubber duck from Leik’s office. I stole the duck and I took a picture of some of his notes—the ones with the chemical compounds and makeup of D710. I brought it all here and made my own. I compared mine to his and it seemed like it was right…like it was perfect.”
“Why would you do that?” Flynt asked, genuinely curious.
“Because it’s an amazing drug. It gives a breakthrough like some people report with DMT, but it’s cleaner. It’s…I don’t know. It’s more tangible. It’s hard to explain.”
“And you returned the duck?” Steele asked.
“I did. But by the time I perfected my batches, the duck was empty. So, I just refilled it with my stuff and put it back in his office. But…I followed his steps carefully. It was the exact same thing! I even tried a small dose and it was fine!”
“How much have you sold, Mr. McKee?”
“Only nine vials. Small doses. But…I don’t know. I felt bad, felt like I was betraying Professor Leik. So, I decided to stop making it. But the recipe…I sold them.”
“To who?”
“An old friend of mine. A guy that I used to deal with.”
“Is he experienced with cooking up drugs?” Flynt asked.
“You could say that. He’s been cooking meth for about five years. He doesn’t deal much around here, though. He goes up north a bit, nearer to LA.”
Steele got up and motioned for McKee to do the same. He obeyed, rising up on shaky legs.
“I know I said it would just be a slap on the wrist, but that might have been a lie,” Steele said. “An unintentional one, but a lie all the same. Bob McKee, I’m placing you under arrest for the production of illegal substances with intent to distribute.”
“But hey,” Flynt said, clapping McKee on the back. “That’s a sweet poster you’ve got on the wall!”
He giggled as if
this would soften the blow for McKee. And perhaps it did. The young man did not fight the arrest and, he just hung his head in defeat.
* * *
When Flynt and Steele met with Professor Leik an hour and a half later, he looked exhausted. There were dark half-moons under his eyes and he looked ragged. He was sipping on coffee from one of the station’s Styrofoam cups, grimacing after each sip.
“You don’t like the coffee here?” Flynt asked as the three of them reconvened at Steele’s desk.
“No. It’s like it was brewed from an ashtray full of butts.”
“You have to try it with the hazelnut creamer stashed in the back of the break room fridge.”
Steele, who was also drinking the station coffee, regarded Leik with a frown as he sat down. “Have you been awake ever since you came into the station?”
“Yes. I needed to make sure I was right about the differences in the makeups of my two batches.”
“Well, we have some answers that might shed some light on that. Your TA is in handcuffs down in an interrogation room.”
“How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad. He admitted to stealing your duck and snapping pictures of your notes. He said he used your notes and your original batch to make his own. Which makes me wonder…what batch were you using to compare the tainted batch within the lab?”
“I have the original batch I made in another duck at home. No one knows about that one except me.”
“And now us,” Flynt said with a wink.
“What concerns me the most,” Leik said, “is that he was taking pictures of my notes. Do you have any idea which notes he’s talking about?”
“Sure,” Steele said. He pulled out his phone, swiping around until he came to a series of texts he sent himself from McKee’s phone. There were four pictures, all taken from Leik’s notes exactly twenty-two days ago.
He handed the phone to Leik and it took less than five seconds for a look of horror to cross the professor’s face. “This is not the correct formula,” he said. “Things are missing. Some pretty crucial things, but…”
Dead Duck Page 10
