Page 150 of Random in Death
And that real work held a space larger than the hangout area. It had two command centers on either side, each with an electronic board very like what Central had in their conference rooms.
The lab itself made her think Dickhead would rub his hands together in envious delight.
The two long counters formed an aisle. She could visualize Francis sliding along in his wheeled work chair, making murderous use of the vials, the beakers, the petri dishes, the scopes and screens.
A glass-walled cabinet, locked, of course, held more, a glass-door cold box yet more.
“He has to be pilfering some of this from the pharmaceutical company. His father’s lab. It’s all labeled,” Eve pointed out. “And I may not be up on all the scientific terms for this crap, but I got enough to know he has controlled substances in here.”
“He’s making more. Over here, Dallas. It’s like a personal refinery.”
Eve walked to another workstation, frowned at the machines, the burners.
“See, he’s got pods here, he’s milking them. And then he’s got these wrapped balls.”
“Opium cakes,” Roarke confirmed. “I’ve seen these. And no,” he said at the unspoken question. “Absolutely never.”
“I read up more on it,” Peabody said. “You make the morphine from the cakes, boil them with lime, and you get the morphine on the surface, then you heat it up again—I think with ammonia, and he’s got that right under the counter. And the molds. See the molds? That brown pasty stuff in them’s morphine, and you make heroin from that.”
“A great many steps, I think. But he appears to have all the necessary. And skill,” Roarke added. “Foundational issues or not, he’s wasted his brain, that skill, his obvious privilege to make the very thing that killed his mother. To use that to kill the innocent.
“No pity. None.”
“We know what he does, and we know he’s out preparing to do it again. Get me into the comps. He’s meticulous. He’ll have a timetable, an agenda. Put out a BOLO, Peabody. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a sharp-eyed cop will spot him.”
She checked her wrist unit.
“It’ll be dark in a couple hours. He needs the dark. Peabody, get McNab or Feeney or Callendar up here. A lot of comps to sift through, asap.”
“On it.”
“Roarke, once you get me in, could you go up to the roof, deal with the locked greenhouse? We’ve got enough here, but let’s do the full sweep. Damn it, Peabody, see who’s in the bullpen, or off and not on a hot. We need more bodies to go through this house. Not enough time with just us to fully search it.”
While Roarke and her partner worked, she pulled out her ’link.
“Commander Whitney, I need to update you. We’ve identified the subject, Francis Bryce, age sixteen, and are currently in his home lab. Among other things, we’ve found what appear to be opium cakes and the equipment needed to make heroin. The suspect isn’t on the premises, and I believe he’s on his way to another location and another target.”
“What do you need?”
“I’m calling in assistance from EDD for his comp systems, and detectives to assist with the search of the residence. We’ve issued a BOLO.”
“If you need more hands and eyes, you’ve got them.”
“I’ll let you know, sir.” When Roarke signaled, gestured to the first comp, she nodded. “That’s all the relevant information at this time.”
“When you have more, give me more.”
“Yes, sir. Dallas out. Peabody?”
“We’ve got McNab and Feeney, and a full complement of detectives. Jenkinson’s rounding them up.”
“Good. Damn it, he’s even locked the drawers and cabinets in here. Roarke, before you check the greenhouse?” She sat at a command center. “Peabody, once they’re open, check the drawers.”
She searched documents. It didn’t take her long to skip over some of them, as they contained formulas and equations she couldn’t possibly decipher.
The lab could and would.
Moving on, she answered her ’link.