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“Trained reporter.”
“At least you’re not resting on your laurels after finding that weasel my sister used to date.”
“I told you, boss,” Dowd said. “We’re just getting started.”
Jack took a long look at him.
“You’ve got something. I know that look.”
“Now who’s acting like a trained reporter?” Dowd said.
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and came out with a folded piece of paper.
“What’s this?” Jack said.
“This,”Dowd said, “is the toxicology report on DeLavarious Harmon.”
“Isn’t it too soon for that to be released?”
He sometimes felt the urge to smack Dowd, just to wipe the smug look off his face, one that was there a lot. But Dowd was far too useful, especially now, and he was the most widely read writer on the paper.
“Ithasn’tbeen released.”
“Where did you get it?”
There was the look again.
“Does it really matter?”
Jack took the report out of his hand, leaning back against the driver’s-side door of the Porsche. The heading read “Postmortem Toxicology.”
Jack’s eyes scanned it.
“What does this all mean?”
“What itmeans,” Dowd said, “is that the kid was suffering from cardiomyopathy, a heart thing that can legit kill young athletes. But his heart only gave out because he was juiced to the gills the day he collapsed.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not gonna give you the tutorial that the doc gave me,” Dowd said. “But he had this new designer testosterone that still doesn’t show up on league drug tests in his system, along with a legal pain pill called tramadol.”
“And that combo can kill you?”
“When you mix in fentanyl, it can.”
“Fentanyl?”
Dowd nodded.
“Even I know it’s an opiate,” Jack Wolf said. “We’ve written enough about kids OD’ing.”
“Guys in the league know when their next drug test is coming, even though they’re not supposed to. All they need is a heads-up,” Dowd said. “So if they’re in a lot of pain, they get a little boost from fentanyl the day of, to get them through the game.”
Jack was thinking about calling Megan for old times’ sake. He could use the toxicology report as a way of getting her over to the apartment, since it was looking like a slow night.
“I understand why this is a good story,” Jack said, “but how does it help Danny and me with my sister?”
“It doesn’t.”
