Page 41 of Ticket Out

They could park wherever they liked.

chapternineteen

James leanedback in the uncomfortable wooden chair in the interview room, eyeing Lenny Foster as if he had all day. “So, when you accused Mr. Fischer of killing Patty, what did you mean by that?”

Lenny sniffed, rubbed his nose, then sipped at the cup of tea Hartridge had brought him, playing for time.

James gave him a slow smile. “And when Mr. Fischer said it was you who was responsible for her murder, what didhemean?”

Lenny sloshed a bit of tea over the rim. “I’mnotresponsible.” He bared his teeth. “I suppose Fischer isn’t, either. It was bloody Devenish. I told him that ignoring the warning Sam got was a mistake, given how badly that had ended for him, but Devenish wouldn’t listen.”

“What warning?” James didn’t ask who Sam was, or his full name. He’d let Lenny talk first.

“Sam’d been warned off of the Chelsea clubs, but he had so many customers lined up, he couldn’t turn the business down. And Devenish gets seventy percent, so Mr. High-and-Mighty wasn’t going to put the brakes on that, was he?” Lenny shook his head in disgust.

“Warned off by who?”

Lenny lifted a shoulder. “Never saw them. Only Sam did. Couple’o thugs selling heroin. Their boss didn’t like us muscling in on his territory, even though we were selling something completely different. Didn’t matter to them, ’cause most people only have enough money for one type of high.”

“And what type of high are you selling?” Hartridge asked, pencil poised over his notebook.

“A perfectly legal one,” Lenny sneered at them. “It’s called LSD. It’s used to treat psychiatric illness in micro doses.”

“And Mr. Fischer is making it in that makeshift lab behind the gallery?” James asked. “And not administering it in micro doses, I’m guessing?”

“Devenish set it up. Fischer used to work for the Swiss company that held the patent, but they let the patent lapse earlier this year. It’s perfectly legal to manufacture it.” Lenny leaned back, suddenly smug.

“We’ll look into that,” James said. “Why did you choose today to attack Fischer? What was behind that?”

Lenny tapped the table with his fingertips, then sighed. “Devenish has stopped taking my calls since after Patty’s body was found. I can’t get hold of him, so I went round to the lab to see if I could find him or Fischer.”

“And?”

“Fischer was there, in a panic, because Devenish was ignoring him, too. And I got into it with him. Though, God knows, he’s right about there being plenty of blame to go ’round.”

That sounded like the first sensible thing he’d said. “And what do you know about Sam? What’s his full name?”

“Sam Nealy. Sam was a bastard. Seriously, he managed to get up the nose of everyone he ever met.” Lenny worried his lip. “He’d come and pick up his supplies in the evening from Fischer, then I’d drive him to the clubs so he didn’t have to find parking.”

“What does LSD look like?” Hartridge asked. “Is it injected?”

“That’s the beauty of LSD,” Lenny said with a smirk. “One dose is about a quarter of the size of a stamp.”

James had noticed the sheets of tiny, serrated squares when he’d gone in to look around the laboratory. Each one had had the image of a rainbow on them. “The rainbow stickers are the product?” He had never heard of such a thing.

Lenny shrugged. “I don’t know the technicalities of how Fischer does it, but yes, the punters are paying a pound for one tiny little square.”

“And they what? Eat it?” Hartridge asked, frowning.

“They put it on their tongue, and then they fly.” Lenny smiled.

“You partaking of your own product, Lenny?” James asked.

He flicked a dismissive hand. “I’ve taken it a time or two. But it’s not like heroin. You don’t get withdrawals. It’s not addictive like that.”

James would have to leave this new drug to the clubs and vice unit to sort out. He was interested in the murders.

“Back to Sam Nealy. Is he the man we found dead in the car?”

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