Chapter 8: What the Bottle Contained
Paul called at half past nine.
Daniel was still in the parking lot of the coffee shop, sitting in his car with Karen's folded paper on the passenger seat.
"The lab result is back," Paul said.
"That fast?"
"I told you I knew someone.
Are you ready?"
"Tell me."
"Chloral hydrate.
High concentration.
It's a sedative — old formula, not commonly prescribed anymore.
In a dose that size, mixed into a hot liquid, it would have caused unconsciousness within twenty minutes.
In a man your age, your weight, depending on your heart—" Paul stopped.
"It could have been worse than unconsciousness, Daniel."
Daniel looked through the windshield at the parking lot.
"The second bottle," Paul continued.
"The smaller one.
Same compound, lower concentration.
Consistent with what you described — the nausea, the dizziness, the long sleep.
That wasn't a virus."
"No," Daniel said.
"It wasn't."
"You need to call the police."
"I know."
"Today.
Not tomorrow.
Today."
"I know, Paul." Daniel picked up the folded paper from the passenger seat.
"I need one more hour.
Can you stay with Lily?"
"I'm not going anywhere.
But Daniel — one hour.
Then you call."
Daniel ended the call.
He unfolded the paper.
Victor Crane.
An address in a part of the city he didn't know well.
He typed the address into his phone.
Thirty-four minutes away.
He drove.
---
The address was a unit above a dry-cleaning shop on a narrow commercial street.
Daniel rang the buzzer.
No answer.
He rang again.
A voice through the intercom: "Who is it?"
"My name is Daniel Marsh.
I think you know my wife."
A long pause.
The door clicked open.
Victor Crane was in his fifties, heavyset, with the careful stillness of someone who had learned not to react visibly to anything.
He let Daniel into a small, cluttered room above the shop and did not offer him a seat.
"I don't know what she told you," Victor said.
"She didn't tell me anything.
Someone else did." Daniel looked around the room.
A folding table.
A laptop.
A shelf of unlabeled bottles that made his stomach tighten.
"I want to know what she bought from you and when."
"I don't sell anything."
"The lab result from last night says otherwise."
Victor's jaw moved slightly.
He was recalculating.
"I want to know if you have records," Daniel said.
"Texts.
Payments.
Anything."
"And if I do?"
"Then I want copies.
And in return, I go to the police with what I have and I tell them I traced the compound to an unknown source.
I don't give them your name or this address."
Victor looked at him for a long time.
"She paid me twice," he finally said.
"First time eight months ago.
Second time six weeks ago.
Bank transfer both times, different accounts, but I kept the records." He crossed to the laptop.
"She told me it was for a dog."
"I don't have a dog."
"No," Victor said.
"I figured that out eventually."
He printed two pages and handed them to Daniel without looking at him.
May you like
Daniel folded them carefully and put them in his inside jacket pocket, next to Karen's paper.
He called the police from the car.
