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notebook and pen from his desk and held them out to him, but he waved them away. “With what?” His heart pattered fast and he felt sick to his stomach.
    “With this stuff. Like… God, you’re not going to believe me. She didn’t…”
    “Try me.”
    “With this stuff to make them do things.”
    “Do things?”
    “Yes. Bad things. They want to see whether the drugs make the children kill. I never thought… I never suspected…”
    “What?” Oliver stilled, bile in his throat and a sour feeling in his gut. This kind of shit didn’t happen, did it? Not for real.
    “He’s taken the drugs too. The man who…”
    “Shit. You got a name?”
    “I don’t know his name.”
    “What about the name of the person who wrote the notes.”
    “There wasn’t one.”
    “So how did anyone find out what you knew?”
    “I gave the note to my boss.”
    “And what happened then?”
    “He started an investigation. Got PrivoLabs’ attention with it. He got fired.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Mr Reynolds. Mark Reynolds.”
    “Right, thank you. Anything else you can remember?”
    “He…ah, he came to my house.”
    “Who, Reynolds?”
    “No, the man. The man who…”
    “Right.”
    “He told me I had to go with him, leave my son asleep. And he said if I didn’t, he’d give my son that stuff. The sugar strands.”
    “Oh, Jesus. Okay. Do you want to talk about what he did to you?”
    “Not really.”
    “But can you at least tell me something about him so we can catch this son of a bitch?”
    “He was tall. Very tall. Big hands. He smelt…”
    “What of?”
    “Musty clothing. Like he lived in a dirty place.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “I don’t know. He wore a mask and a wig.”
    So it was that fucker who had tried to run Oliver off the road. If he’d been given shit to make him kill, it explained why he’d been intent on crashing into Oliver’s car. Why he’d killed Louise—although he’d clearly had another reason for getting rid of her. Louise had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, discovering something she shouldn’t have—and look where it had got her. It made Oliver wonder about the virtues of being honest and doing the right thing. Sometimes it was best to just keep your goddamn mouth shut.
    “I wish I had.”
    “Sorry, Louise. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
    “It’s okay.”
    “No, it’s not.”
    “I’m tired. This is hard work.”
    “I know, love. Can you try for one last bit of information for me? Something about him that stands out? Louise? Louise, are you there?” Oliver stood still, straining to hear a response, a whisper, anything. Silence. “Fuck it!”
    “Has she gone?” Langham moved as though to walk towards him then changed his mind.
    “Yes. Damn it, yes!” Oliver flopped back into the chair, rage bubbling inside him over thoughts of the hateful things people did to others. Killing. Hurting. What the hell was wrong with people? Why did they feel the need to do shit like that?
    “So, when you’re ready…” Langham took a folding chair from against the wall and set it up behind his desk. He rested his elbows on his blotter, steepled his long fingers and propped his chin on the tips.
    “Give me a second.” Oliver jammed his fingers in his hair. “I need to remember everything she said. I don’t need another fuck-up on my résumé.”
    Langham failed at stifling a sigh.
    “You got a problem with that?” Oliver snapped.
    “No, but it seems you do.”
    “You’re damn right I do. I don’t do wrong, okay? I don’t do fucking up.”
    “I know, and you don’t usually, so cut yourself a damn break, will you? Concentrate on what she told you, tell me, then we can get the ball rolling.”
    He decided to ignore the ‘usually’ comment. Getting into a fight with Langham wouldn’t solve this case, although it would give Oliver an outlet to vent his frustration. But no, he wasn’t going there.
    Not yet anyway.

Chapter Four
    Langham stared