Page 105 of Power of the Mind

“She’s a beast.”

If I was supposed to be amused by their banter, I wasn’t, and Doyle soon noticed. “Look. It’s not personal, Krause. I’m not putting my ass on the line. That’s all. If you want to view the files, you’ll do it with an audience. You know the rules.”

“Fine.” Doyle might claim he was adhering to certain regulations, butwhatregulations was unclear. Was he concerned about the security of the files? Technically, Tallus and I had no legitimate reason to gain access to the autopsies, but if we did, a civilian was not permitted to view those types of documents alone unless they were family, and even then, there were hoops to jump through.

Or was he worried because I wasn’t supposed to be unsupervised in this part of the building? I hadn’t left the department on good terms. In fact, I was a wrecking ball theday I quit my job, leaving a literal path of destruction in my wake. The department probably could have slapped me with a fine for the amount of property damage I’d left behind, but they hadn’t. The papers I’d been made to sign indicated that apart from the public areas of headquarters, I was not to go anywhere unsupervised.

Or maybe Doyle didn’t care about those rules, and his curiosity got the better of him. Maybe the only reason he planned to sit in was because he wanted to know what we were up to.

Either way, we followed him down the hall to Interview Room Three. I don’t know why I expected a long row of file folders on display or that we’d have to pick through a mountain of legal forms, but I was wrong. The pathology department had gone paperless a few years ago, which was why it was easier for Kelly to gain access to reports when I needed them. It also meant everything was digital.

On the long white table in the middle of the austere room sat a laptop. In front of it, two plastic chairs had been arranged. The one-way mirror was an affront, and I had the distinct feeling Valor and Ruiz were on the other side.

Doyle woke up the computer, logged into his account, and motioned for us to have a seat. “All yours.”

He hovered nearby, leaning against the wall and taking out his phone as a feigned distraction.

I had a hunch Doyle and his posse had gone through the reports before we’d arrived, wondering, no doubt, what it was about them that interested us so much. I wish I fucking knew.

Tallus had brought a yellow legal pad to take notes. He let me have the chair in front of the machine so I could go through the reports. We’d agreed before leaving the office that since I had more knowledge of how to read these types of documents, I would be the one to evaluate them and pick out the important information. If I came across anything I didn’t understand,Tallus was in charge of performing searches on his phone or writing it down so we could look it up later.

I got situated and familiarized myself with what was on the screen, knowing Doyle’s attention was on me the whole time, ensuring I didn’t take advantage of his department access to do something I shouldn’t.

Eleven virtual folders filled the screen. Eleven names. I started with the familiar ones and clicked Ezra Berlusconi first. According to Ezra’s mother, he’d died of diphenhydramine poisoning. Since I wasn’t a doctor and struggled to speak the language, I read through his chart slowly from beginning to end, looking for keywords and focusing on the summaries in each section. The toxicology screen interested me the most, but the rest wasn’t dismissible.

Technically, according to the report, Ezra had died of cardiac arrest, and the tox screen was…toxic. Not only did Ezra have high levels of diphenhydramine in his system, but the lab results had found increased levels of alcohol and codeine along with moderate to high levels of heroin, marijuana, opioids, and phencyclidine, also known as PCP or angel dust, a drug commonly known to cause hallucinations. The kid had been a long way from recovery. If he’d been clean any length of time, they wouldn’t have shown up except maybe in a hair follicle analysis, but these results were from a blood test.

The doctor’s summary at the end of the report indicated that Ezra’s heart showed a narrowing of the blood vessels commonly seen in heavy opioid users. It was believed the cause of death was due in part to Ezra’s long-term dependency on illegal drugs. Although his opioid levels were not in the danger zone at the time of his death, with the compromised presentation of the heart and elevated levels of diphenhydramine, the doctor hypothesized that Ezra went into cardiac arrest due to a weakened system.

With heavy drug users, sometimes, you were nothing more than a ticking time bomb. Ezra’s file proved nothing.

Regardless, I had Tallus note down all the excess drugs found in Ezra’s system and make notes about his heart condition.

Next, I looked at Peggy Andrews, the type one diabetic who supposedly died from complications of her uncontrolled disease. Peggy’s toxicology report showed a veritable array of prescription drugs, a list that put Ezra’s to shame. Peggy took medication for her heart, kidneys, blood pressure, neuropathy pain, insomnia, bowel irritability, and more. I had to have Tallus look up more than a few drug names since I didn’t recognize them.

“No illegal substances?” Tallus asked, leaning in to read the screen.

He was close enough that I smelled his cologne and the underlying hints of his natural essence—a scent I was becoming intimately familiar with. It stirred my blood and made me squirm.

“No,” I said, shifting away a few inches so I could think straight, “and nothing in a high or toxic range. All her levels were considered to be normal.”

“Shit. Do they list herbal stuff on these things?”

It didn’t look like it, but it didn’t mean Peggy didn’t take them. In the end, Peggy’s official cause of death also had to do with her heart giving up. Again, not a red flag, according to the pathologist. Nothing more than the unfortunate result of poorly managed diabetes.

What if this was all a joke? What if there was no connection between these people? What if seeing Madame Rowena was nothing more than a coincidence? Fuck knows mind control didn’t kill them. Life killed them like it would each and every one of us in time.

“D, next one.”

We moved on.

Amber’s file was exactly as Kelly had reported. A few prescription drugs were found in her system, those used for migraine control and an elevated level of antihistamine or diphenhydramine as it was written. Like Ezra, it was not in a toxic range, and the pathologist didn’t so much as mention it in her summary. It was not what killed her. Amber had jumped off a balcony, and the pathologist concluded nothing more than severe head trauma as the cause of death.

“We’re wasting our time.”

“We’re not. Keep going.”

Allan was next. He, too, had moderate levels of prescription drugs in his system, all for managing arthritis. Anti-inflammatories and analgesics. But there was more, including elevated levels of marijuana, alcohol, and… fentanyl?

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