Page 37 of Liar's Point

“This just came in”—he glanced at his black sports watch—“two hours ago. Let’s see... ibuprofen, benzodiazepine—” He glanced up. “In other words, Advil and Xanax. Quite a lot of Xanax—about eight times the recommended dose for a woman her size. And a lethal injection of fentanyl.”

“Fentanyl. You’re sure?”

He nodded at the computer. “It’s right here.”

“No, I mean you’re sure that she was injected? Maybe her pills could have been laced with something or—”

“I swabbed the injection site at the back of her upper arm. She was injected with it. And the location would have been highly unlikely, if not impossible, if she had injected herself.”

He had swabbed the injection site. This guy thought like a detective. Emmet didn’t want to like him, knowing he’d been jerking Nicole around for weeks. But he had to admit the man was good at his job.

“The other thing,” Emmet said. “Your report mentions something about fibers on the body. Is that like carpet fibers or—”

“Not carpet.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Something else synthetic. I’m no expert, but the state has someone who could identify it. And the FBI. The feds have a huge database, actually. They’d definitely be your best bet.”

Emmet scoffed. “Yeah, if I had a year to wait.”

“Well, yes. There is that.”

The phone buzzed on the desk. David flipped it over and frowned as he read a text message. He glanced up. “I’m needed down the hall. If you have any more questions—”

“I’ll be in touch.” Emmet stood up, and the doctor stood, too. “Thanks for the time.”

“No problem.” David stepped toward the door and stopped. “By the way, is Nicole Lawson with you? I’m guessing she’s here about the victim’s car? Our lab techs just finished processing it.”

“Yeah, I think she’s upstairs.”

He checked his watch and opened the door. “Hey, tell her hi for me, would you?”

Emmet stepped through the doorway and looked back. “Tell her yourself.”

***

Nicole found Miranda in the women’s restroom near the forensics lab. The CSI was twenty minutes late for their meeting, which was totally unlike her.

“Hey, there you are,” Nicole said.

Miranda glanced up at her in the mirror, and her eyes were pink and watery. “I’m just finishing up.” She grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and dabbed her face.

Nicole stepped closer, eyeing the tote bag sitting beside the sink. “Everything all right?”

“Yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I don’t know. Sorry.” Miranda wiped her eyes. “I’m just having a day. My milk isn’t flowing, my nipples are bleeding, and I dropped my bottle and spilled half of it down the sink.”

Nicole noticed the baby bottle on the counter beside the tote bag—which she now saw contained a breast pump.

“Your nipples are... bleeding?” Nicole winced. “That sounds awful.”

Miranda blew her nose. “It’s no big deal, really. They’re just chafed, you know? Well. You don’t know. But it’s okay. It happens to people a lot. I’m just strung out today. Janie has a cold, and we were up all night.”

Nicole wasn’t a hugger, but she reached over and rubbed Miranda’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Thanks, though. I’m fine, really. It’s Joel I’m worried about.”

“Why are you worried about Joel?” Nicole asked, although she could guess. Miranda’s husband, who had once been a detective with Lost Beach PD, was now part of a multiagency task force working on drug and human trafficking throughout the Rio Grande Valley, including operations such as Red Highway. It was a hazardous job and grueling, too.