Free She Felt No Pain by Lou Allin Page B

prefer classical music? A bit of Mozart?”
    Holly shook her head. “It’s a long story which involves his job. I’ll explain later if he doesn’t.”
    Marilyn folded back the flannel sheets on the treatment table and adjusted the headrest. “My repertoire is somewhat limited. Sounds of the sea all right? Gentle lapping waves?”
    “Uhhhhhh” was his non-committal response.
    Marilyn set the music, chose a few oils like a chemist and turned to Holly with a confident smile. “We’ll be finished in an hour.”
    “All yours.” She felt as if she’d dropped off a whiny child at a very reliable daycare. Men were such sissies. Nature knew best where strength was needed. Back at the detachment minutes later, before she could get into her office, Ann pointed to the phone. “For you. It’s Boone. Test results no doubt. That unfortunate homeless man. Word’s already out in the community.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I had coffee at Nan’s and heard the craziest rumours about drugs and gangs. People were comparing it with Vancouver. Next we’ll get suggestions about pulling up the drawbridge or signing up vigilantes.”
    Holly huffed out a breath. “Our crime stats are still minimal. It’s not like we have a serial killer on our hands. Or a mass murderer.”
    When she answered, Boone got quickly to the point. “I called in a few markers to get the tests run fast. It’s an overdose, like we thought. On city streets, common enough. Guess it’s more unusual out here.”
    “So what’s the product? High-grade heroin? Too much of a good thing?” Addicts were always chasing a greater rush. That was the insidious part of the drug scene. Holly had enjoyed the odd clandestine beer as a teenager and drunk wine, even her father’s wretched homemade efforts, but she had never tried marijuana. Now that she was a law officer, even that popular herb was no longer an option. On the other hand, if any place in North America was going to legalize pot, B.C. was in the forefront.
    “It’s a mixture we see now and then, but rather puzzling. Seems that the heroin was mixed with Fentanyl, a synthetic morphine used to treat extreme pain. It’s eight hundred times stronger.”
    “Wow. Hard to imagine. The wonders of modern medicine.” Holly rubbed the back of her neck. “That cocktail must cost. I thought dealers used sugar, flour, quinine, starch, other cheap fillers.”
    “True. But a kilo of heroin is cut a bunch of times as it makes its way to the streets. Not enough to dilute it too much, though, or bye-bye sales. Junkies are very discriminating. Word gets around.”
    “So choose something more expensive for street people? That makes no sense.” Her brow furrowed in question.
    “Could be a marketing strategy.”
    “What? Are you serious?” She didn’t think of the common drug trade as Madison Avenue thinkers, but if competition was tough...
    “Basic economics. Law of supply and demand. When too much junk hits the streets, and prices drop, the competition gets hot, and dealers wise up. A batch of super-strong stuff might tip the balance. Problem is, having people die from your product isn’t very good advertising.”
    She couldn’t stifle an ironic laugh. “Damn straight. Should we be worried?”
    “I called an ME buddy in New York City for the big picture and the trends. A few years ago, across the States, addicts were dropping like proverbial flies. Hot spots were Camden, Harrisburg, Philly. Officers even tried giving out leaflets in Chicago to warn addicts.”
    “How did that work out?” Would they have to do the same? Conservative Canada lagged behind the cutting edge of bad things.
    “More people than ever turned out to try the big bang. If it doesn’t kill you, you get a monster high.”
    She slapped at her forehead. “That’s crazy. And in the province?”
    He paused for a moment. “Big, bad Vancouver had a few deaths last year. Nothing on a large scale.”
    “It’s possible this guy brought it