Lila unfolded the piece of paper. It was a prescription. “What’s Provigil?”
He put an arm over her shoulder and held her close, wanting to be certain Reed didn’t overhear their conversation. “It’s for sleep apnea.”
“I don’t have that.”
“No, but it’ll keep you awake. I’m not screwing around, Lila. I need you awake, and this town needs you awake.”
She stiffened under his arm. “Okay.”
“Do it fast, before there’s a run.”
“Yes, sir.” His orders, well meant as they might have been, clearly irritated her. “Just figure out my lunatic. If you can.” She managed a smile. “I can always hit the evidence locker. We’ve got mountains of little white pills.”
This hadn’t occurred to him. “That’s something to keep in mind.”
She pulled away. “I was kidding, Clint.”
“I’m not telling you to tamper with anything. I’m just telling you to…” He held up his palms. “… keep it in mind. We don’t know where this is going.”
She looked at him doubtfully, and opened the passenger door of the cruiser. “If you talk to Jared before I do, tell him I’ll try to get home for dinner, but the chances are slim approaching none.”
She got in the car, and before she rolled up the window to take full advantage of the air conditioning, he almost popped the question, in spite of Reed Barrows’s presence and in spite of the sudden, impossible crisis that the news insisted was possible. It was a question he supposed men had been asking for thousands of years: Where were you last night? But instead he said, and momentarily felt clever, “Hey, hon, remember Mountain Rest? It might still be blocked up. Don’t try the shortcut.” Lila didn’t flinch, just said, uh-huh, okay, flapped a hand goodbye, and swung the cruiser toward the double gate between the prison and the highway. Clint, not so clever after all, could only watch her drive away.
He got back inside just in time to see Evie “You Couldn’t Even Pronounce My Real Name” Black get a photo snapped for her inmate ID. Don Peters then filled her arms with bedding.
“You look like a stoner to me, darling. Don’t puke on the sheets.”
Hicks gave him a sharp look but kept his Novocain-numbed mouth shut. Clint, who’d had enough of Officer Peters to last a lifetime, did not. “Cut the shit.”
Peters swiveled his head. “You don’t tell me—”
“I can write up an incident report, if you want,” Clint said. “Inappropriate response. Unprovoked. Your choice.”
Peters glared at him, but only asked, “Since you’re in charge of this one, what’s her assignment?”
“A-10.”
“Come on, inmate,” Peters said. “You’re getting a soft cell. Lucky you.”
Clint watched them go, Evie with her arms full of bedding, Peters close behind. He watched to see if Peters would touch her, but of course he didn’t. He knew Clint had an eye on him.
Lila had surely been this tired before, but she couldn’t remember when. What she could remember—from Health class in high school, for God’s sweet sake—were the adverse consequences of long-term wakefulness: slowed reflexes, impaired judgment, loss of vigilance, irritability. Not to mention short-term memory problems, such as being able to recall facts from Sophomore Health but not what the fuck you were supposed to do next, today, this minute.
She pulled into the parking lot of the Olympia Diner (MY OH MY, TRY OUR EGG PIE, read the easel sign by the door), turned off her engine, got out, and took long slow deep breaths, filling her lungs and bloodstream with fresh oxygen. It helped a little. She leaned in her window, grabbed her dash mic, then thought better of it—this was not a call she wanted going out over the air. She replaced the mic and pulled her phone from its pocket on her utility belt. She punched one of the dozen or so numbers she kept on speed dial.
“Linny, how are you doing?”
“Okay. Got seven hours or so last night, which is a little more than usual. So, all good. I’m worried about you, though.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about—” She was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. It made what she was saying a bit ludicrous, but she persevered. “I’m fine, too.”
“Seriously? How long have you been awake?”
“I don’t know, maybe eighteen, nineteen hours.” To reduce Linny’s concern she added, “I cooped some last night, don’t worry.” Lies kept falling out of her mouth. There was a fairy tale that warned about this, about how one lie led to other lies, and you eventually turned into a parakeet or something, but Lila’s worn-out brain couldn’t come up with it. “Never mind me right now. What’s the deal with Tiffany what’s-her-face, from the trailer? Did the EMTs transport her to the hospital?”
“Yes. Good thing they got her there fairly early.” Linny lowered her voice. “St. Theresa’s is a madhouse.”
“Where are Roger and Terry now?”
Linny’s response to this question was embarrassed. “Well… They waited for the Assistant DA for awhile, but he never showed, and they wanted to check on their wives—”
“So they left the crime scene?” Lila was furious for a moment, but her anger had dissipated by the time her disbelief was expressed. Probably the reason the ADA hadn’t shown was the same reason that Roger and Terry had left—to check on his wife. It wasn’t just St. Theresa’s that was a madhouse. It was everywhere.
“I know, Lila, I know, but Roger’s got that baby girl, you know—” If it’s his, Lila thought. Jessica Elway liked to bed-hop, that was the word around town. “—and Terry was panicking, too, and neither of them could get an answer when they called home. I told them you’d be pissed.”
“All right, get them back. I want them to go to all three drugstores in town and tell the pharmacists…”
Pinocchio. That was the fairy tale about lying, and he didn’t turn into a parakeet, his nose grew until it was as long as Wonder Woman’s dildo.
“Lila? Are you still there?”
Pull it together, woman.
“Tell the pharmacists to use discretion on all the speedy stuff they’ve got. Adderall, Dexedrine… and I know there’s at least one prescription methamphetamine, although I can’t remember the name.”
“Prescription meth? Shut up!”
“Yes. The pharmacists will know. Tell them to use discretion. Prescriptions are going to be pouring in. The fewest number of pills they can give people until we understand what in the hell is going on here. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“One other thing, Linny, and this is just between us. Look in Evidence. See what we’ve got in there for speed-up stuff, and that includes the coke and Black Beauties from the Griner brothers bust.”
“Jeepers, are you sure? There’s almost half a pound of Bolivian marching powder! Lowell and Maynard, they’re due to go on trial. Don’t want to mess that up, we’ve been after them like forever!”
“I’m not sure at all, but Clint put the idea in my head and now I can’t get it out. Just inventory the stuff, okay? No one’s going to start rolling up dollar bills and snorting.” Not this afternoon, anyway.
“Okay.” Linny sounded awed.
“Who’s out at that trailer where the meth lab exploded?”
“Just a minute, let me check Gertrude.” Linny called her office computer Gertrude for reasons Lila did not care to understand. “Forensics and the FD units have departed. I’m surprised they left the scene so soon.”
Lila wasn’t. Those guys probably had wives and daughters, too.
“Um… looks like a couple of AAH dudes might still be around, putting out the last of the hot spots. Can’t say for sure which ones, all I’ve got is a note saying they rolled out of Maylock at eleven thirty-three. Willy Burke’s probably one of them, though. You know Willy, he never misses.”