Ben sat at his desk, fingers laced behind his head, feet on the desk, concentrating on the crime board, staring at the names, the facts, trying to make sense or order, trying to will something to jump out at him.
“First forty-eight are over. I hate to lose and our chances of winning are…” He didn't want to say it.
“We keep looking,” Roger said. He printed NEW DRUG on the board in green ink. “The lab said the sheets did show drug traces, but it's a mix they aren't familiar with. They're talking to people to see what's new out there. If it's new, we have a better chance of seeing who has access.”
“I'm tired.” Ben kneaded the back of his neck and pulled his feet down. “I haven't slept since who-knows-how long and all the pistons aren't firing. I know I'm missing something.” He stared at the board again.
Scott drummed the desktop. “Ben?”
“Scott, stop with the noise. I hate repetitive noises. You know I hate—”
Roger grinned, thinking of Ben's own finger-drumming habit.
“Ben.” Scott still drummed, seeming not to hear Ben's complaint.
“What, Scott?”
“Who has access to new drugs on the market?”
“I dunno, docs, pharmacists? Roger, do you—oh, that's it!”
Scott rose and headed for the board. “Pharmaceutical reps get the new stuff that's out and they peddle it to the docs. Right? That's what they do?”
“And the Kirby kid's father is a rep,” Roger said. “But David died before Cass was snatched.”
Scott drew a red line from Kyle's name to Cass's.
“The brother,” Ben said. “But we checked his shoes. Right size, no tread match, no glass cuts.”
“We didn't check the ones he was wearing,” Scott said.
“And he's been out more than in,” Ben added. “Let's get back to the Kirby house and shake something loose.”