“They breathed it in. It’s airborne.”
“They breathed it in,” Morris agreed. “You have that cocktail—a bastardization of Zeus, LSD in a heightened form, one I’ve never come across. Add in Rush, peyote, synthetic adrenaline and testosterone, and an element or two I can’t identify, not clearly.”
“That’s not a cocktail. It’s a freaking stew.”
“Yes, you’re right. Stew’s more accurate. Measured, mixed, and cooked,” he murmured, “into a quick-acting virus. In my opinion this strange recipe could cause someone to hallucinate with strong and violent reactions.”
Eve turned to Victim One: Joseph Cattery, she remembered. What was left of him. “You think?”
He smiled a little. “The D&D of it? Exposure to such a combination of substances would make a subject bat-shit crazy. I have to assume the elements I’ve been unable to pin down are responsible, at least partially so, for how quickly it infects.”
“It doesn’t last long. The time line’s giving it about twelve minutes running time.”
“Time enough. How it was released, how whoever released it escaped the results—if indeed he did—and why the symptoms reversed in a relatively short amount of time? Those are beyond my scope, at least at this point.”
“Released into the air?” Inside, she thought. People in and out, a couple arguing as they left.
Infected?
“No one’s reported seeing a cloud of bat-shit crazy descending,” she told him. “Into the air, carried on it, infecting by inhalation and touch? On two levels, into closed areas like the kitchen, the restrooms. But not outside, as far as we know. Who thinks of this shit?”
“That would be your area, or Mira’s. I can tell you these three people were reasonably healthy when they woke up this morning. All three had consumed alcohol and eaten within twenty minutes of death. None shows previous signs of illegals abuse. All have offensive and defensive wounds.”
“What about the brains.” She jutted her chin toward the one still patiently waiting. “When we dealt with those suicides through mind control, the vics had a kind of burn on the brain.”
“Nothing here.” He moved to the comp, brought up the completed analyses. “Not on these three or any DBs I’ve gotten reports on. We’ll run more tests, but at this point it appears the substance left no permanent damage other than violent death.”
“That’s pretty fucking permanent.” She stuck her hands in her pockets, scanned the bodies again. “I need everything and anything you get as soon as you get it.”
“You think this is the first, but not the last?”
“Unless this was some twisted form of self-termination and whoever did it is on one of your slabs, yeah. It worked so well, why stop now?”
“Then we’ll hope he’s here. Otherwise, anyone, anywhere, anytime.”
Murder could happen, she thought as she drove to Cop Central, to anyone, anywhere, anytime. She’d seen the worst of what people did to people over love, money, for power, for revenge. Or just because. But mass murder painted a darker canvas, and using victims as weapons made for a particularly twisted mind.
Morris was right. That was Mira’s territory, and she needed to bring in the department’s top shrink in a hurry. She checked the time, shook her head, and contacted Dr. Charlotte Mira at home.
“Eve.” Mira’s calm, pretty face filled the screen. “What can I do for you?”
“There’s been an incident,” Eve began.
“We’ve seen several bulletins. Multiple deaths in a bar downtown.”
“That’s the incident. I’m sorry to disturb your evening, but I need you at Central. There’s a briefing scheduled. This is Code Blue. We’re not going to be able to hold that very long, but for now. I need you on this, and fast.”
“I’ll come right in.”
“Okay.” Eve thought of Dennis Mira, with his mismatched socks and kind, kind eyes. “Ah, is Mr. Mira home?”
“Yes. He’s right here.”
“Maybe you could make sure he stays home. Stays in. Just a precaution.”
“Eve, how bad is this?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s the problem. I’ll fill you in at the briefing.”