Faz arched his eyebrows. “Did you get Allie’s cell phone?”
Del nodded. “And her computer. But no one knew her passwords. I dropped them off with TESU this morning,” he said, referring to the Technical and Electronic Support Unit. “I signed in everything under your name, so we’re good. They’re breaking them down and will send everything over to Mike when they’re finished,” he said, meaning Mike Melton of the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab.
“Why?”
“I trust him.”
“You want to go through the records yourself, don’t you?”
“My niece.”
Faz grimaced. “Which is why you shouldn’t. Let me go through the records.”
Del checked his watch but didn’t answer.
Faz sighed. “You get a subpoena for her cell phone records?”
“Working on it.”
“Anything else in the room?”
Del thought again of that moment when his sister had unlocked Allie’s bedroom door. His sister wouldn’t go in, wouldn’t even open the door. She just unlocked it and walked back to her room. Del went in feeling like he was walking into a time capsule, like he did each time he walked into a room with a dead body. Everything was as Allie had left it—the syringe and spoon she’d used to melt the heroin that killed her, the BIC lighter, the plastic bag. He’d gathered it all and sent them off to the toxicology lab at the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab to be processed. The Latent Print Unit at SPD would examine the bag for fingerprints. But there were other things too, personal things in the room—Allie’s underwear and shirts scattered on the floor, stuffed animals, and posters. He sat on the end of her bed and wept.
Del shook his head. “Broke my heart going into that room, knowing she was gone and never coming back. I held that kid in the palm of my hand when she was born. All the birthdays and holidays.” He shook his head to shake back his emotions. “She had so much going for her. She could have done anything.”
Faz spoke softly. “She was addicted, Del. It don’t discriminate.”
“No, it doesn’t. That shit was right there on her dresser beneath her posters of Shania Twain and Justin Bieber.” He bit his lower lip. Then he got angry. “I don’t get it, Faz. How does a little girl go from being so innocent to shooting that crap into her veins? It’s hell on earth. That’s what her counselor said. Literally, hell on earth.”
“I don’t know, Del. I just don’t know.”
Stuart Funk entered the waiting room like a man searching for his lost child, frazzled and in a hurry. That was typical for Funk. So was his attire. The King County Medical Examiner always wore a long-sleeve, button-down shirt, khaki pants, and thick-soled rocker shoes that Faz had dubbed Frankenstein boots.
“Sorry for the delay,” Funk said. “We had two overdoses last night.”
“Together?” Del asked. “Same crime scene?”
Funk nodded. “Same scene.”
Finding two overdoses at the same crime scene was indicative of a highly potent drug or a drug cut with something toxic, making it lethal.
“Heroin?” Del asked, his tired brain kicking into gear.
“Yes,” Funk said, shaking his head. “That’s ten overdoses already this week. Only one made it out of the ER alive.”
“Where? Where were the two bodies you found last night?”
“North Seattle.”
Del glanced at Faz, then asked Funk, “How old were the victims?”
“Midtwenties,” Funk said. He checked his watch. “Come on back.”
Funk led them down the hall into his cluttered office. Papers lay scattered across the desk along with a half-full cup of coffee and a brown bag lunch. The office was a lot like Funk; his appearance always seemed a little scattered—his hair not completely combed, the lenses of his oversized glasses smudged, shirttail not completely tucked into the waistband of his pants, but there was no mistaking that Funk was very good at what he did. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk without hesitation, despite the clutter, and handed a copy to Del.
“These are the results of the toxicology tests.”
“Thanks for pushing it,” Del said. Toxicology tests came from the Washington State Toxicology Lab inside the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab. They performed the tests for the entire state, which explained why it ordinarily took six to eight weeks. Given the rash of recent deaths, the time would likely have been even longer, but Funk had pulled some strings to get it done out of respect for Del.
Funk started to speak. Then, perhaps realizing this was not just another body, he stopped. “Do you want to hear this?”
“Yeah,” Del said, noticing Faz watching him. “I’m good. I’m all right.”
Funk took a deep breath. “The tests are of the blood, liver, and urine,” he said. “Tell me if I’m repeating something you already know.”
“We’re good,” Del said, but his stomach burned as if housing a fire.
Funk adjusted his glasses. “Okay. Injected heroin is quickly converted to 06-monoacetylmorphine, also known as 6-MAM, and its original compound, morphine. The 6-MAM is significantly more potent than morphine and, because it’s injected, the brain is immediately impacted. The problem is, 6-MAM is not easy to detect. In blood, it’s only detectable for about two minutes after injection. After ten to fifteen minutes, only trace amounts remain, below ten nanograms per milliliter.”
“This says twenty-two nanograms,” Faz said, reading from Funk’s report.
“Which means one of two things.” Funk looked to Del. “Either the dose your niece took was extremely potent and, as such, the 6-MAM was also potent and increased the latent levels, or your niece died very quickly after injection, which would slow and ultimately halt the metabolic processes that decompose 6-MAM.”
“I don’t know how quickly she died,” Del said. “My sister found her in the morning. That’s all I know. I talked to a prosecutor the other day who said she could have died because she injected a dose equivalent to what she’d been taking before she went into detox.”
“She very likely could have,” Funk said.
“But you’re saying it’s also possible she could have taken heroin that was extremely potent?”
“Given the very recent number of overdoses we’ve had, including the two last night, I’d say that likelihood is very high.”
“Where in North Seattle were the latest victims?” Del asked.
“Green Lake,” Funk said.
Del looked to Faz. “Close to Loyal Heights.”
“Within minutes,” Faz said.
“And the others?” Del asked Funk.
“I’d have to look. I know one was on Capitol Hill and one was in the Central District. Both victims were older. Late twenties.”
“Did you autopsy them?”
“We did,” Funk said. “But it will be a while before the toxicology reports are back.”
“What about the two last night?” Del asked.
“Same. I’d say ninety percent chance it was heroin, given the foam cones detected.”