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Slate took it from me scanning it, his brow furrowed in confusion. I knew that it would.
“What the fuck is all of this?”
I recognized what it was from interning at Banion and dealing with the R & D chemists while there.
“It’s some sort of a chemical equation or formula,” I replied, looking at the various symbols and lettering.
“I need to find out specifically what type of formula this is. I’m going to scan this and send this to Quantico for interpretation.”
I let Slate do his thing with the scanning of the paper and electronically sending it to Quantico with a STAT request for the results.
I was slightly amused that it hadn’t dawned on him that the lab in Quantico wasn’t going to be able to tell him everything he needed to know.
When he returned to the kitchen I asked to see the paper again. I looked at the bottom right-hand corner to see the ID stamp on it. There it was.
“You know, Slate,” I said, “You may get more information from the chemist who wrote this. There’s his identification stamp down there in the corner.”
“It is stamped with a ‘31’,” he observed.
“Yep. That’s John Davey’s I.D. stamp,” I replied.
“The chemist we busted at Banion?”
“One and the same,” I answered.
“You’re very astute, Lindsey. Thanks.”
I finished getting dinner ready and took a tray into Mom.
Slate had been on the phone with prison officials at Deep Meadow Correctional Center where John Davey was currently incarcerated for his participation manufacturing the unstamped narcotics. He was apparently going to drive there tomorrow to meet with Davey.
Mom was awake when I carried her tray in, watching television. She looked up when I set her tray down, I smiled at her. My smile was not returned.
Okay. This is not going well.
“Can I get you anything else, Mom?”
“Is Bryce awake?” she asked. “I think I’d like to spend some time with my son.”
That kinda hurt.
“Let me check,” I said, trying not to let the sting of her statement affect me.
I went through the bathroom that adjoined both rooms and peeked into the nursery. He was sitting up in bed, playing with the stuffed turtle I had bought him. I went in and changed his diaper, taking him back into the master suite.
“There’s my boy,” she cooed to him sweetly. “Lindsey, will you bring some animal crackers in for him to snack on while I eat my dinner?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Slate was on yet another phone call when I returned to the kitchen to get the animal crackers.
“Are you fucking serious?”
Uh oh.
“Who posted his bond?”
There was a pause as the information was provided.
