Page 68 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“’Fraid not,” he says. “As far as the mix of adulterants in the pills goes, there’s been some busts with very similar blends that came out of the Gulf Coast region. Houston area, New Orleans. Mobile. Those were isolated to a series of labs in Jackson, Mississippi and Shreveport, Louisiana, though.”

“How long ago?” Maybe there’s another way I can attack this.

“Oh, it’s been a couple years since they got taken down,” Ken says, dismissively. “Three, maybe four? Something like that, anyway.”

“So, what’s your take on the similarity?”

The phone crackles as Sparkypoofsout a breath, hard, into the microphone.

“The similarities make it a possibility that the same people were connected to the lab that made this. Maybe four years is long enough for someone to get out of the slammer and start playing with a chemistry set again? I don’t know.”

“If I can get you another sample, though, you’d be able to recognize it?” I drum my fingers on the desk, musing about the other Ecstasy convictions from Ferry’s entourage, and wondering if I’ve got enough strings to pull with the DEA to get samples from those cases, if they weren’t already destroyed.

“Yes. One hundred percent. It’s very unique, if you poke at it in the right way.”

“Okay, gotcha.” Dammit! “I’ll see what I can do about finding some more of it for you to play with.”

“Sweet, thanks! Got to justify my budget somehow, y’know,” Ken says with a laugh.

After a quick good-bye, I hang up the phone.

Emily stares nervously at me, wide-eyed and impatient to find out about the parts of the conversation that she couldn’t hear, but afraid of disappointment. She still has almost a death grip on my forearm.

“Do we have something?” she asks.

“Yes and no,” I tell her, explaining about the uniqueness and possible Gulf Coast connections. “Has your brother ever been to New Orleans? Houston? Anything in that area?”

“No,” Emily says, frowning. “Not that I know of, at least. The last tour finished up in New Orleans, though. The House of Blues was the last show they played, last year.”

“Interesting data point,” I say, “but just by itself it’s not going to be very helpful. Anywhere on the Gulf Coast is still close enough for easy transportation to here.”

“I know,” Emily sighs, finally releasing my arm and leaning back in her chair. Hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed and legs stretched out in front of her, she stares at something invisible and well beyond the ceiling tiles.

Jesus, her legs. The long lines catch my eye, drawing my attention ever higher. I could stare at Emily Wilson all night long, but I quickly jerk my eyes away when she sits up straight again.

“I guess it’s time to get back to work,” she says. “There’s got to be something that we’ve missed. Something we can use.”

That damn wall of separation, again.

“There’s just one more thing, really.” It’s not about Frank Wilson’s case at all. I’m rationalizing and I know it, but that’s still precisely accurate. I’m not committing an ethics violation. “But I just don’t know how long it’s going to take the DEA and the other agencies and prosecutors to get together on it. It’s a long shot, but if they can find the other Ecstasy samples, and if they’ll let us have a crack at them, and if…” I let my voice trail off, holding out my hands, palms up, in a gesture of uncertainty.

“And if there’s a match, then, yes. If we can show that this blend of Ecstasy has been seen exactly three times, ever, and it was connected to Ferry on all three occasions, that’s a search warrant for Ferry.” Emily flashes me a wan smile. “And it’s also reasonable doubt for Frank, though I know you’re not going to talk about that part of it.”

“No comment,” I answer, with my own smile.

“So what’s next?” Emily asks.

My body answers the question before my mouth does, with an audible rumbling from my belly that sets us both to laughing.

“Food, it sounds like. And my stomach lining wants something to drink that’s not shitty government-contract coffee,” I say.

“And then back here to work, of course?” Emily raises one eyebrow at me, lips pursed in disapproval.

“Back to work, maybe. But not here. I need a change of scenery,” I tell her, scrubbing fingers through my hair. “I can’t stare at these walls any more. I’ll just take some stuff home.”

“It must be nice to have a place by yourself,” Emily sighs, digging in her bag for car keys. “I’m with you on getting out of here—my brain is fried, too—but I’m not really ready to go and deal with my stepmother yet. And I have no idea yet what I’m going to have for dinner.” Keys jingling in her hand, she glances back up at me. “What are you going to have for dinner? Give me some ideas.”

“Oh, man. I have no idea. I might just stop and grab a burger on the way home. Or order pizza once I get there, or maybe some Thai.”

---