Crush - Alan Jacobson [76]
Fuller’s death was the type of devastating loss that would put them back on their heels, keep them on the defensive. He would’ve loved to hang around and see their reactions when Vail awoke and tried to explain what had happened, how Fuller ended up murdered while she . . . slept, taken out by an unseen assailant. He wondered if they believed her.
But he had better things to do with his time than stick around just to see how they handled Karen Vail. More stunning things, things that would have vastly greater impact. Because he was just getting started.
He looked down at the phone and typed out a text message.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Vail’s trip to the Shift Change Room turned into a four-hour nap—still the result of the residual effects of the drugging. When she awoke, Dixon was standing over her with Dr. Brooke Abbott at her side.
A slice of light fell across her face. She squinted against the glare, then held up a hand to shield her eyes.
Vail blinked several times. “Roxxann.” She sat up on the bottom bunk, but a rush of dizziness struck her like a sharp wave on a small dingy. She stuck out an arm to grab onto something. Dixon grabbed Vail’s arm and caught her, held her steady. “Sorry. I guess whatever drug he used is still in my system.”
Abbott chuckled. “That drug is BetaSomnol. Based on the tox screen we did from that blood sample the medic drew from you, and doing a little guesswork—because we don’t know how long you were out before you called for help—it’s likely you were injected with fifteen milligrams. Enough to put down someone your size and weight for about twenty minutes. That’s a pretty hefty dosage. No wonder you’ve had lingering dizziness.”
“I’ve never heard of this. Beta—”
“BetaSomnol. It’s a super quick next-generation sedative, a mixture of a benzodiazepine—a drug like valium—and an antipsychotic.”
“Who would have access to it?”
“Not many people. It was developed for use in ERs and mental institutions, where they need fast-acting preparations to quickly put down a thrashing, violent patient. BetaSomnol is gradually replacing the traditional mixture of Haldol and Ativan, which are just too slow. And when someone’s doing his best to take out your eye, you want him down PDQ.”
“Is the tox screen you ran definitive?” Dixon asked.
“I’ve sent it out to a reference lab for a quantitative analysis. They’ll do a high-sensitivity screen for several hundred licit and illicit drugs, as well as alcohol. Once we get that back, we’ll have a definitive result. But that’ll take days, maybe weeks.”
Vail rubbed at her neck. “Any lasting effects of this BetaSomnol?”
“The drug metabolizes fairly quickly, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll be fine.”
Dixon stifled a yawn, then consulted her watch. “So the obvious question would be, where did the drug come from?”
“BetaSomnol is a pretty new product, so there’s limited distribution.”
“Perfect,” Dixon said. “We should be able to find out fairly easily if any hospitals within a hundred miles reported a theft.”
“Of fifteen milligrams?” Abbott asked. “If you’ve got access to these drugs, you could easily siphon off a few milligrams here and there and no one’d be the wiser.”
Vail slowly swung her feet off the bed. “True—but you’re missing the point. Theoretically, someone who’d have access to the drug would have to work there, as an employee or contractor. More than that, these drugs are locked away. They’d likely have to hold a position that gives them access. Again, theoretically, that narrows our suspect pool.”
Abbott nodded. “I’ll get right on it. I’ll let you know what I find out.” She turned and pushed through the door.
Vail leveraged herself off the bed, squared her shoulders, and faced a small mirror that hung on the adjacent wall. She ran her hands through her hair, turned her face to the side, then shook her head. “I look like shit.”
“You had a car accident, went toe-to-toe with Scott Fuller, then got injected with an antipsychotic cocktail. Not to mention it’s four-thirty in the morning.