Page 97 of The Hanging Dolls
He led Zoe down a narrow, dimly lit hallway with low ceilings and walls adorned with yellowing posters warning against various misdemeanors. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the cold concrete floor as they approached a heavy, metal door at the end of the corridor.
The patrol officer unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing the evidence room. It was a cramped, windowless space filled with metal shelves stacked with brown evidence boxes and a few locked cabinets along the walls. The air inside was stale, with a faint scent of dust and old paper that tickled the insides of Zoe’s nose.
“Here we are, ma’am,” the officer said, moving toward a corner where several large, black trash bags were piled up haphazardly. He reached down and grabbed two of the bags,hoisting them up with a grunt. “These are the ones you asked for.”
Zoe slipped on her gloves. The weight of them suggested they were full, and as she set them down on the nearest table, the distinct, unpleasant smell of rotting garbage began to waft from the seams.
“Would you like some assistance?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” She wasn’t in the mood. She needed to be left alone today.
She pulled open the first bag, and the stench hit her—an overpowering mix of decaying food, sour milk, and the acrid tang of something chemical. She wrinkled her nose but didn’t hesitate, plunging her gloved hands into the bag. The contents were a chaotic jumble: crumpled fast food wrappers, soggy coffee grounds, and bits of unidentifiable sludge that stuck to her gloves. She turned over each piece, inspecting it carefully, ignoring the way the slimy, putrid mess clung to her fingers.
Anything that would stand out. She wanted Scott’s instincts to turn out to be right. It made her proud how extra careful he was. He didn’t deserve to die, not like that, and he certainly didn’t deserve the train wreck of his last few days.
Zoe reached deeper into the bag, sifting through more debris—broken glass, twisted metal, a tangle of hair that made her grimace. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just the usual filth one would expect from a dumpster.
She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Her hand pulled out what looked like an empty package. It was hollow but Zoe stopped, noticing something on it. It was a phlebotomy kit. The outer packaging contained information on what to expect inside—needles, collection tubes, alcohol swabs. She studied it for any information on the recipient name or address but the package had been torn. Stuck to it was a manual with details on how to draw blood.
The supplier information was on it though.Harborwood Central Pharmacy.
Zoe’s mind raced. Phlebotomy kit. This was something that could be used for the treatment of hereditary hemochromatosis. Was this a coincidence? What if the killer had discarded this? What if he lived near Lucy?
FIFTY-THREE
Zoe could feel the dampness of the night clinging to her skin, her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her body. The sky was a deep, inky black, with only a few stars peeking through. The neighborhood was quiet, save for the constant chorus of crickets chirping from the overgrown lawns that lined the narrow, cracked sidewalk. The houses here were old, their paint peeling and rusted bikes leaning against sagging porches.
She paused for a moment at the foot of the steps, glancing around the empty street, then climbed the steps to the front door. Was this the best idea? She was still livid, feeling that wrath coursing through her body.
She knocked thrice. For a moment, there was no response, just the persistent chirping of the crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the distance. Then, the door creaked open, and Terri appeared in the doorway, her face lit by the weak glow from inside.
She looked different out of uniform. Her hair, usually in a tight bun, cascaded around her shoulders. “Agent Storm? What are you doing here?”
“I heard you lost your job.”
Her nostrils flared. “Yeah. Can’t say I didn’t deserve it. Internal Affairs might get involved.”
“Did you mean it when you said you would do anything to redeem yourself?”
“Yes.” A spark of hope. “Please give me chance.”
Zoe had taken a few hours to cool down before deciding that Terri’s remorse was genuine and she had been truly naïve in her dealings with Connor. Zoe needed someone to step out of line for this one. “The outer packaging of a phlebotomy kit was retrieved from a communal dumpster in Lucy’s neighborhood.” She showed Terri a picture of it on her phone. “It doesn’t contain the recipient’s name and address but it does have information on the supplier.”
Terri nodded. “You think someone in the neighborhood is using phlebotomy kits to treat their condition?”
“Possibly. It could be nothing. But it needs to be followed up on. Now privacy laws and HIPAA are a bitch to get around. If I file a court order to get a list of all the people who have been ordering this kit from that pharmacy, the chances of a judge signing that are slim, especially considering phlebotomy kits can be used for other cases than the specific genetic condition we’re looking for.”
“And with Lucy’s life hanging in the balance we don’t have time to test out that theory.”
“Exactly.” Zoe locked eyes with her. “Now it would be great if someone could get into the pharmacy’s records to get the recipient’s name and address. Someone on the outside who is willing to take a risk and doesn’t have much to lose.”
Terri squared her shoulders. “I understand.” Zoe turned to walk away when Terri called out, “Are you going to the funeral?”
Her chest tightened. “Yes. You?”
“No, I think I just found a better way to honor Scott.”
The sky wept as mourners gathered beneath a canopy of dark clouds, the steady drizzle soaking through their black coats. The cemetery was a sea of glistening headstones, the rain drumming softly against the polished granite, merging with the tears of those gathered to say their final goodbyes.
