Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(55)

“It’s the mix,” Strong began. “The peyote, the mushrooms. They’re natural substances and easy to come by. And they’re old school so not a lot of dealers bother with them. In the mix, it’s the LSD and the Zeus that have the better potential to track. I’m tugging some lines, poked at a couple of my weasels. A significant buy of LSD would pop. It’s not a popular illegal. None of my sources know anything about a major buy. I think he’s cooking it.”

“If so,” Teasdale commented, “he’d need equipment; a safe, private area, preferably a lab, and a strong knowledge of chemistry. It’s a dangerous recipe.”

“If he got his hands on the formula, he doesn’t have to know much chemistry,” Strong argued. “No more than your average chem cook. But the ingredients mean he needs funding and contacts. He’d need ergotamine tartrate—according to my research. That would flag, too—unless he sourced it outside the U.S. Belize is a popular source, and one of the lines I’m tugging.”

“He’d require reagents, solvents, hydrazine—”

“Tugging those lines,” Strong repeated. “Maybe he’s a chemist, or works in a lab. But if the recipe for the substance was passed on, the recipe for LSD could have been passed on, too.”

“Could you make it?” Eve asked Teasdale.

“Yes, but I have an advanced degree in organic chemistry.”

“Degree or not, he’s got motivation. We’ll cross-check our names with chemistry degrees, or education. Doctor Mira, do you have anything to add to the profile?”

“I find it interesting that in both cases the killer chose a woman as delivery vessel. If, as seems most probable, neither woman knew his intentions, he used women as both dupe and weapon. She’s the means, and as first exposed, the first infected. It would follow she’d be the first to attack.”

“Probability would be high,” Eve added, “she’d be one of the first to die.”

“Logically, yes. He enjoys using women. If he’s in a relationship she would be subservient to him, the one assigned to do the menial chores. It’s unlikely he’s abusive physically. His violence is internal, even intellectual. In his work, he would resent women who are in positions of authority. He connives rather than confronts.”

“And treats females under him as tools?” Eve suggested. “Hey, honey, would you mind getting me some coffee? I didn’t get to the dry cleaner. Take an extra ten for lunch and pick up my suits.”

“Yes. Jeni Curve smiled at him—a genuine, easy smile. He coats his demands with charm. He may reward with little gifts, large tips. I’d look for someone whose mother or mother figure was quiescent, a professional mother with no outside career, or a low-level job. Whose father or father figure was dominant, ambitious, very likely ruthless in his career. There’s no political, social, or religious agenda here, or he—or the group he represents—would have issued a statement. This is a personal mission.”

She spread her hands. “His connection to Red Horse may be through family. A parent or grandparent in the military, or who belonged to the cult at one time.”

“All right. Factor in the family background on your runs and searches. Look for wits and coworkers with the female guardian as professional mother. Let’s make use of Trueheart’s method,” Eve decided. “Highlight this element in—what color do we have left—orange.

“The subject is most likely male. He works in that sector, lives in that sector. He eats and shops in that sector. He’s known in both target locations. Re-interview. Look for someone who’s cooperative, concerned. He’ll ask questions as well as answer them. Somewhere in his background is a connection to Red Horse. Find it, find him. Keep digging on the drugs. He’s got a dealer or a source. Find it. If he sticks to pattern, he’ll hit again within twenty-four hours. Callendar, make a place for Agent Teasdale in the EDD lab. McNab, get me that chart thing asap. Peabody, make sure Agent Teasdale has a copy of all files. I’m on twenty-four/seven until he’s down. Anything pops, I hear about it. Let’s go.”

11

When the room cleared she went to the board, removed the photos of Snyder and Curve, repositioned them together.

“These two,” she murmured.

“You’re convinced neither was part of it?” Roarke handed her a fresh cup of coffee.

“CiCi Way, Snyder’s friend, coworker, described how it played out. Having drinks with the boyfriend and his coworker, talk about stretching it out to dinner. Women head down to the bathroom. On the way, passing the bar, Snyder bumps into someone. Gets bitchy to her good pal when they’re done in the john. Says she’s got a headache. Head back, and Snyder shoves some guy out of her way …

“At the bar,” Eve remembered. “In her way. Could it be the same guy she bumped into? Could he have waited that long, wanted to see if it worked?”

“Risky,” Roarke commented.

“Calculated. He’d know he had about four minutes. If she isn’t back, he leaves. But it would be so chill to see her, see the change in her face. Happy going down, pissed coming back. Maybe.”

She set it into a file in her mind. “Snyder’s just the tool, doesn’t know a thing except she’s got a headache and she’s pissed off. About the time Way feels a headache coming on, Snyder picks up her fork and stabs her boyfriend in the eye. Hell ensues.