“Let’s stop at the lab,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. It did not take long to arrive, and they quickly headed inside. Meeting Jerry, they waited as he pulled up his report.
“Mostly prescription drugs. Benzodiazepines, including diazepam, alprazolam, and clonazepam.”
Carter’s breath whistled between his teeth. “Opioids.”
“Yep. And fentanyl. No identification on the pills.”
Grimacing, he thanked Jerry as Rachel accepted the report. Arriving at headquarters, they walked straight to the evidence storeroom. After signing in, they moved to a table at one end of the room. Opening the bags, they pulled out John Doe’s clothing and spread it out. It had already been processed by the Medical Examiner, but he wanted to look at it, hoping there was something he could discern.
Natalie, of course, had been right. The jeans were worn, but not filthy. There were no socks, but his boots were standard-issue military.
“He could have gotten those anywhere, so the boots don’t mean he was in the military either.”
Rachel nodded. “His pants and shirt appear to fit a man of his size. This coat, though, is an extra-large. Unless he just wanted to purchase a large coat, this might give credence to the possibility that he received it and was given no choice in size.” She shrugged before adding, “Of course, he could’ve just stolen it from someone else.”
Snapping pictures of the clothing, he put them back into the bags and gave them to the evidence officer. Once the bags were logged in and signed for, they walked back up to their desks.
A few hours later, Natalie sent an eCopy of her report. Printing out the information, he added John Doe’s pertinent details to the large board next to his desk.
This John Doe was the third death on his caseload ... unusual for a non-homicide detective. Each with a bag of prescription drugs on their possession. Standing, he moved around to the front of his desk and leaned his hips against the side. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze roved over the board.
Carl Burnley was the first, his body discovered on a park bench three weeks earlier. Autopsy revealed high levels of opioids in his system and he had a plastic sandwich bag in his pocket containing a variety of pills, a combination of opioids, antidepressants, and fentanyl.
Five days later, Jonathan Rothberg was found in an alley, his makeshift home created from cardboard boxes. His autopsy also revealed high levels of opioids in his system and a similar plastic sandwich bag containing prescription pills in his pocket.
Both men had identification on them, making confirmation easy. He and Rachel had divided the list of homeless shelters in Hope City and visited, searching for information about Carl and Jonathan, but they came up blank. Now, armed with a photograph of their John Doe, they would need to visit again.
“Carter…”
He turned and looked over his shoulder as Rachel approached. Her face was scrunched, and she walked with a slight limp, one hand on her back and the other hand resting on her protruding stomach. He pushed off the desk and stalked toward her, concern spearing through him. “Are you okay? Shit, is it time?”
She shook her head, blowing out a breath. “No, it’s not labor. But I’m having some back pain.”
“We need to get you to the doctor.” His hands shot up to offer support, clasping onto her arms.
“Rick’s on his way up—”
“I’m here.”
Carter swung his head around and saw Rachel’s husband, a cyber-investigator for the HCPD, stalking toward them. Relief flooded him as he moved to one side of her as several others crowded around. “Call me,” he directed to Rick, receiving a nod in return.
Their captain stepped out of his office, concern etched onto his face. After speaking with Rachel and Rick, he looked up and held Carter’s gaze. Stalking directly to him, Mike tilted his head toward the whiteboard and asked, “You got this for now?”
He nodded. He didn’t mind working by himself but knew it would take longer to cover the investigation. “Yeah. I’ll let you know if I need help, but for now, I’m going to re-canvas some of the homeless shelters to see if we can get an ID on John Doe.”
His captain remained silent, his gaze still on the board. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Like it goes much deeper than a couple of homeless men hooked on opioids.”
An hour later, Carter parked outside of Ever Hope Homeless Shelter. Rachel had visited this shelter last week, but with her out of commission, it fell to him. He gazed at the large brick building that appeared to take up a full city block. Toward the right corner was another door, the sign overhead indicating it was a clinic.
Climbing the steps at the front of the shelter, he walked into the reception area. The floors were spotless tile, and the pale walls were decorated with various artwork as well as informational posters. A man with a wide smile looked up as he approached. Pulling out his badge, he said, “I’m Detective Fiske, HCPD. I’m looking for any information you can give me about a person we’re trying to identify.”
“I’m Enrico, and I’ll be glad to help, sir.” Enrico cocked his head to the side. “The police have been here several times lately. Did the other detective have her baby?”
Smiling, he shook his head. “You must have talked to my partner. No, she hasn’t yet, but it looks like I’ll be the one investigating now.”
Enrico’s gaze grew wary. “That doesn’t sound too good, Detective Fiske. The police having to come here to keep investigating makes me nervous.”
Kyle started to mention a sister this morning. “I don’t suppose someone named Ms. McBride works at this shelter?”
“Ms. McBride? No sir. We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
Just my fuckin’ luck. Not replying, he reached into his pocket
