Page 117 of The Fourth Option
“Prelaxo,” she read.
“Fentanyl brought to you by the biggest pharma company in the world, right out of Minneapolis.”
“Hang on,” Belle said. “Let me check the web.”
She thumbed her smartphone and read through a Wikipedia article.
“This says that fentanyl is a legit treatment, been around for fifty years. It’s an opium derivative used for stage four cancer patients in hospice. Look at this image,” she said, turning her phone so he could see the screen. “Some of what you picked up are dermal patches. Peel and stick.”
“That trap house had quite the selection,” Walker said.
He flipped through his typewritten pages, selecting one and placing it on top of the pile. “Connor referenced a ‘corporate-sponsored hospital’ in his journal. Did he ever mention that?”
Her eyes softened the way they always did when they discussed Connor. “He asked his mother questions about hospital procedures as background research.”
“What did she tell him?”
Belle pressed her lips together tightly, shaking her head. “I got the idea that Connor didn’t speak to Leigh Ann much.” She paused for a few seconds. Walker waited. “To be honest,” she continued, “Connor avoided talking about Leigh Ann with me. We both knew she didn’t approve of us. His mom was kind of a forbidden subject.”
“Well, what we know for sure is that Connor wanted to expose opioid abuse. Maybe he was starting with fentanyl origins in New Orleans? Like, who’s really behind the trafficking.”
Belle typed on her phone, studying. “Connor might have been trying to protect me, but he didn’t mention fentanyl often. And, according to this, fentanyl-related OD deaths are down over the past year. Connor would have known that.”
After reading her phone for a few more seconds, she went on. “I got the sense he was tracking an emerging epidemic. That was more his style. That would be Snowball, which isn’t fentanyl.”
“Drugs get laced with fentanyl. Maybe Snowball did too,” Walker said.
They looked at the fentanyl packet on the desk, a narrow strip of foil wrapper separating them from the contents.
“Quite the selection,” she said.
“Yeah, I’d guess the white pill packets are ‘Snowball.’?”
Belle frowned at her phone screen, still reading. “Most of the media coverage on fentanyl is about precursor chemicals from overseas and how those chemicals are laced into street drugs. Fentanyl is a synthetic opioid. The variability is what makes it so deadly. Just a little too much and it deadens the respiratory system, stops your heart.”
“Raw, hospital-grade fentanyl in the kitchen. Maybe it was a pill factory, going about the work of lacing pills. Makes economic sense for them to do something like that.”
“Remind me, it was dark and I was a little traumatized at that point. Did the kitchen look like a lab?”
“No. It was filthy. Garbage everywhere. I only saw it through night vision and we were in a hurry. I took what I could. Standard SSE.”
She lowered her phone. “Jargon, Chris.”
“Sorry. Sensitive site exploitation. That’s where we grab everything after a raid: phones, computers, thumb drives, notes, whatever.” He nodded at the pills. “I’ve documented everything I could about the cop identities and the drug haul.”
Belle leaned in, reading Walker’s typewritten pages carefully. “You put a ton of work into this. Are you trying to get into journalism school too?”
“I want to assemble everything into a logical package. We used to call them target packages. Connor’s dad knew a guy in the DEA back in Afghanistan. After we build this out and make a few more connections, I’m going to take this to him. I’m not sure how to get in touch with him yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Why not now?”
“Because it will end up back here with the local cops for further investigation, which means no justice for Leigh Ann or Connor.”
Belle looked at the tops of her Doc Martens, her hair falling forward. “When Gloria said that her husband owned a bakery, she didn’t tell you everything.”
“No?”
“Back then, the Mafia moved in, forcing him to pay protection. He did it for as long as he could. Eventually, he lost the shop, turned it overto them in exchange for his life. He spent the rest of it out at the bayou cabin.”
