also used as a recreational drug.”
“You think the perp gave it to her?” Jeffrey asked. “Or is this the kind of thing she would take on her own?”
Sara seemed to consider this. “Sibyl Adams was a chemist. She certainly wouldn’t take such a volatile drug, then run out for lunch. This is a very strong hallucinogen. It affects the heart, breathing, and circulation.”
“Nightshade grows all over town,” Frank pointed out.
“It’s pretty common,” Sara agreed, looking back at her notes. “The plant isn’t easy to process. Ingestion is going to be the key component here. According to Nick, the easiest and most popular way to take belladonna is to soak the seeds in hot water. Just this morning I found three recipes on the Internet for preparing belladonna as a tea.”
Lena offered, “She liked to drink hot tea.”
“There you go,” Sara said. “The seeds are highly soluble. I imagine within minutes of drinking it she would have started experiencing elevated blood pressure, heart palpitations, dry mouth, and extreme nervousness. I would also guess this led her to the bathroom, where her rapist was waiting for her.”
Frank turned to Jeffrey. “We need to talk to Pete Wayne. He served her lunch. He gave her the tea.”
“No way,” Matt countered. “Pete’s lived in town all his life. This isn’t the kind of thing he’d do.” Then, as if this was the most important thing in Pete’s favor, Matt added, “He’s in the lodge.”
Murmurs came from the other men. Someone, Jeffrey wasn’t sure who, said, “What about Pete’s colored man?”
Jeffrey felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. He could see where this was going already. He held his hands up for silence. “Frank and I will talk to Pete. You guys have your assignment. I want reports back at the end of the day.”
Matt seemed about to say something, but Jeffrey stopped him. “We’re not helping Sibyl Adams by sitting in this room pulling theories out of our asses.” He paused, then indicated the packets Brad had handed out. “Knock on every goddamn door in town if you have to, but I want an accounting for every man on those lists.”
* * *
As Jeffrey and Frank walked to the diner, the words “Pete’s colored man” sat in the back of Jeffrey’s mind like a piece of hot coal. The vernacular was familiar from his childhood, but he had not heard it used in at least thirty years. It amazed Jeffrey to see that such overt racism still existed. It also scared him that he had heard it in his own squad room. Jeffrey had worked in Grant for ten years, but he was still an outsider. Even his southern roots didn’t pay his dues into the good old boy club. Coming from Alabama didn’t help matters. A typical prayer among southern states was “Thank God for Alabama,” meaning, Thank God we’re not as bad off as they are. This was part of the reason he was keeping Frank Wallace close at hand. Frank was a part of these men. He was in the club.
Frank shucked off his coat, folding it across his arm as he walked. He was tall and thin like a reed with a face rendered unreadable from years of being a cop.
Frank said, “This black guy, Will Harris. I got called in a few years back on a domestic dispute. He popped his wife.”
Jeffrey stopped. “Yeah?”
Frank stopped alongside him. “Yeah,” he said. “Beat her pretty bad. Busted her lip. When I got there, she was on the floor. She was wearing this cotton bag–looking kind of dress.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it was torn.”
“You think he raped her?”
Frank shrugged. “She wouldn’t press charges.”
Jeffrey started walking again. “Anybody else know about this?”
“Matt,” Frank said. “He was my partner then.”
Jeffrey felt a sense of dread as he opened the door to the diner.
“We’re closed,” Pete called from the back.
Jeffrey said, “It’s Jeffrey, Pete.”
He came out of the storeroom, wiping his hands on his apron. “Hey, Jeffrey,” he said, nodding. Then, “Frank.”
“We should be finished up in here this afternoon, Pete,” Jeffrey said. “You’ll be able to open tomorrow.”
“Closing for the rest of the week,” Pete said as he retied his apron strings. “Don’t seem right to be open what with Sibyl and all.” He indicated the row of stools in front of the bar. “Get y’all some coffee?”
“That’d be great,” Jeffrey said, taking the first stool. Frank followed suit, sitting down beside him.
Jeffrey watched Pete walk around the counter and take out