Открыть фик целиком в отдельном окне
“Good.”
“According to one of the girls at the party they were drinking from a hip flask provided by a local boy. We are still trying to track him down.” She flicked the screen on and showed a young man in his late teens, dark complexion and long dark hair. “He doesn’t go to any of the schools and is dating a friend of a friend.”
“What’s that on his clothes?” Peter edged forward.
“Where?” Rollins leaned on the table.
“There above the pocket. Was this taken on the night of the party?”
Lindsey flipped open her folder. “Yes right before the problems began.”
“Problems?”
“Two boys began a fight over a girl, punch bowl went over and it escalated, one of the boys, a senior at his school with excellent academic records, produced a knife and attacked Sam Jackson. He was transported to St. Mary’s hospital but died in the ambulance from loss of blood. His attacker Richard Green also died on the way to hospital after having a seizure of some kind, the etiology of which remains unknown.”
Peter stood up and peered at the screen. A small bright red sticker was on his shirt, and at first he thought it was an entry token of some description for the party but as he got closer he frowned. “Kiddy bait.”
“Excuse me?” Rollins looked up.
“The dot on his shirt is Kiddy Bait.” Peter said with certainty.
“Which is?” Rollins asked.
“During the late eighties trips such as LSD or Speed were sold to kids in school grounds in the form of bright padded stickers, the adhesive on the back was laced and the kids would lick them getting an instant hit. That sticker.” Peter pointed, “Is one of the forms the bait used to take.”
“So we could be looking at a new street drug?”
Peter nodded. “Enviromentals on the house have come up clear, HAZMAT and toxs are base line, and it’s clean. I’ve asked for Paul Moncreiff's clothes from the night of the party and sent them to the lab. Unfortunately the mother had already washed them, but since there was evidence of excessive sweating it could turn up something in the samples.”
“Good. Have you checked the club yet?”
“No, we’re going over there to do a walk through. There’s another dance party tomorrow night so if there are drugs involved we’ll turn up more evidence the following morning.”
“Excellent. Keep me appraised. In the meantime I’ll have a talk to the local authorities and see if this is an isolated occurrence.”
The team dispersed slowly and Peter took another look at the boy’s face on the screen, unaware that he was alone in the room with Rollins.
“Surely he’s too young for you Axon.” Rollins deep voice rumbled through him and Peter knew it was about to start.
“Perhaps,” Peter answered, meeting the challenge head on. “But then they are always trainable when they are young.” Folding his arms across his chest and planting his feet apart, defiance oozed from him as he smiled at Rollins.
“I don’t want to hear any stories Axon, no touching, it’s an under eighteen’s venue and that is still statutory rape here.” Rollins stood up.
“Fuck off Curtis.” Peter walked towards the door.
“I should have known.” Curtis sat back his dark skin glistening in the pale light, his eyes forbidding.
“Really? Since I’m incapable of telepathy, perhaps,” Peter invaded his space and leaned closer. Rollins recoiled. Peter continued, snarling, “Tell me what you should have known.” By now Peter’s lips were close to the man’s ear and he smiled, feeling sinister delight in unsettling his case manager.
“That Conner had other uses for you.”
“You never did like him did you? Even before you knew he was gay?” Peter smiled and stepped back. “You may be watching me Curtis, but remember I’m watching you as well.”
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