Reincarnated Mercenary on Duty Chapter 22

Forensic Lab

The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzed in the background as the dical examiner, a seasoned professional in his mid-50s, scribbled notes on a clipboard.

"She's Judy Ellison," he began, gesturing toward the lifeless body on the autopsy table. "The computer flagged her na. Apparently, the DPD's been looking for her."

"Thanks for the call," Zoey said, her tone asured.

"You got a cause of death?" Frank asked.

"Single gunshot wound," the examiner replied, flipping through his notes. "And that's about the only straightforward thing here." He set the clipboard aside and added, "Hang on. Let grab sothing." He walked off toward a filing cabinet.

Frank glanced at Zoey. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing good," Zoey muttered. "Judy Ellison had blonde hair and blue eyes. She dies, and a day or two later, Lucy Pattison gets taken?"

Frank nodded grimly. "It's the sa type. Maybe the agency needed a replacent?"

The dical examiner returned, carrying a thicker folder. "Alright, let's break this down. Judy Ellison—abducted at 20, dead at 23. So, where's she been for the last three years?"

Zoey crossed her arms. "What do you think?"

He opened the folder and skimd the pages. "Nowhere," he said flatly.

Frank raised an eyebrow. "aning?"

The examiner led them to the autopsy table, pulling back the sheet to expose Judy's emaciated fra.

"Let's start with her muscle tone," he explained. "Severe muscular atrophy. Her arms, her legs—every major muscle group has deteriorated significantly."

"What causes that?" Zoey asked.

"Inactivity," the examiner replied, gesturing toward the body. "I don't think this woman has stood upright for any significant period of ti in years."

Frank frowned. "She was bedridden?"

"More like in an induced coma," the examiner clarified. "The needle marks on her arms suggest she was sustained through IV feeding. She wasn't moving on her own—ever."

He paused, flipping to another page in his report. "Now, here's where it goes from unusual to downright insane."

Zoey tilted her head. "What?"

"She's given birth," he said, his voice heavy. "Multiple tis."

Frank blinked. "How's that possible in her condition?"

The examiner gestured toward Judy's frail fra. "She's been heavily sedated, sure, and there's severe muscle atrophy. But here's the disturbing part: her overall physical health—at least in terms of carrying a pregnancy—was surprisingly well-maintained."

Zoey frowned. "What do you an?"

He pointed to the lab report. "Her folic acid, calcium, and iron levels were all kept incredibly high. Whoever was holding her made sure she had top-notch prenatal care. They were keeping her in pri condition to deliver."

Zoey frowned, processing the information. "If she was shot, could it have been during an escape attempt?"

The examiner shook his head. "Highly unlikely. She was under heavy sedation—Serenitol, a benzodiazepine specifically designed for long-term use. There's no way she had the physical or ntal capacity to try and escape."

Frank clenched his fists. "They kept her drugged and used her like so... factory."

The examiner nodded grimly. "That's exactly what it looks like."

Frank took a deep breath, trying to keep his anger in check. "Thank you for all the information. We'll take it from here."

DPD Precinct

Layla stood at the head of the table, her voice firm. "We finally have sothing. That drug—what was it called again?"

"Serenitol," Zoey answered.

Layla nodded, her excitent growing. "A drug potent enough to keep soone in a coma-like state isn't common. If we can trace its distribution, we can link it to the agency."

Zoey frowned. "But we don't have any leads on it. Where do we even start?"

"Contact the National Drug Enforcent Unit (NDEU). They should know about it," Layla instructed.

Frank sighed. "I already did. They're drawing blanks too. There's no federal prescription database that tracks it. And even if we subpoenaed every pharmacy in the state, it'd take too long."

"Who says we can't?" Layla countered. "If that's what it takes, we'll do it."

Zoey shook her head. "Chief, by the ti we get anything, it would already be too late."

The room fell silent until Jas, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. "There's a faster way."

All eyes turned to him. "What is it?" Layla asked.

"Russel Gregory," Jas replied.

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

Layla folded her arms. "A criminal. He's the biggest narcotics dealer on the East Coast."

Jas continued, "Drug dealers like him have their own underground information networks. If anyone knows about Serenitol's supply chain, it's Gregory."

Zoey looked skeptical. "And you think he'll just help us? Why would a criminal cooperate?"

Frank smirked. "We'll find out soon enough. So where do we find him?"

"He's in prison," Layla answered. "NDEU caught him last year. He's been locked up ever since."

Layla glanced at Frank. "I'll handle the prison authorities and set up a eting with him. You and Jas should be on your way. Ti is not on our side."

Frank nodded. "Understood. Let's hope Gregory's the break we need."

Prison Visitation Room

The large room was mostly empty, with rows of tables and chairs arranged neatly. Only Frank and Jas sat at one of the tables, their expressions serious. The air was heavy with anticipation.

The tal door creaked open, and a man in a prison jumpsuit walked in, flanked by two guards. He carried himself with a mix of arrogance and indifference. It was Russel Gregory.

The guards stopped at the door as Russel made his way to the table. Without hesitation, he slumped into the chair across from Frank and Jas, leaning back with a smirk.

"Who are you guys?" Russel asked, his tone dripping with boredom.

Frank silently placed his badge on the table, letting it speak for itself.

"DPD?" Russel raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "What does the DPD want with ?"

"We need your help," Jas said, cutting to the chase.

Russel let out a laugh. "A detective needing help from a criminal? The irony! This just made my day."

Frank ignored the jab, his expression unchanging. "We need information about Serenitol."

Russel leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "Serenitol, huh? Yeah, I've heard of it. But why should I help you?"

"What do you want?" Frank asked bluntly.

Russel chuckled, clearly amused. "Straight to the point. I like that." He leaned back again, feigning thought. "How about freedom? Let walk out of here."

Jas scoffed. "That's not happening."

Frank frowned. "You know that's impossible."

Russel grinned. "I know. Just testing my luck."

"Stop wasting ti," Jas said, his patience wearing thin. "We're not here to play gas."

Russel held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, no need to get worked up. Let's talk terms."

Frank nodded. "What do you want?"

Russel leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Two things. First, I want a new cell. Mine's too cramped. I can't stretch my legs in there. Second, I want a TV with cable. This place is mind-numbingly boring."

Frank exchanged a glance with Jas before answering. "That can be arranged. By tomorrow, both will be done."

Russel leaned back in his chair, studying Frank and Jas with a skeptical expression. "How do I know you'll keep your word? What's stopping you from screwing over once I talk?"

Frank t his gaze, his tone steady. "You can only trust our word. You don't have any other choice."

Russel sighed, throwing his hands up. "Alright, fine."

"So," Frank said, leaning forward. "What do you know about Serenitol?"

Russel smirked. "That nobody wants it."

Jas furrowed his brow. "What do you an by that?"

Russel shrugged. "Serenitol's supposed to be a sleep aid, but it's insanely powerful. Too powerful. The half-life is ridiculous—like, a hundred hours."

Frank frowned. "And?"

Russel rolled his eyes. "And people need to be able to wake up in the morning, Detective."

"Where can we find it?" Frank pressed.

"I don't know," Russel said, leaning back in his chair. "I've been locked up for the past year, rember?"

Frank pulled out a cheap burner phone and tossed it onto the table. "Then contact soone who does."

Russel chuckled, picking up the phone and turning it over in his hands. "You expect to make a call from a cop's phone? Yeah, no thanks."

"It's a burner," Frank said flatly. "Completely clean. No strings."

Russel raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You ca prepared. Alright, let's see what I can do. But don't get your hopes up. Most pharmacies probably don't even stock this stuff anymore."

He stood and walked to a corner of the room, dialing a number. Frank and Jas watched as Russel spoke quietly, occasionally glancing their way. After a few minutes, he returned, holding the phone out.

"Well, you got lucky," Russel said, sitting back down. "My guy has access to pharmacy inventories. Turns out only three pharmacies in the area still have Serenitol in stock. And here's the kicker—only eight doctors wrote prescriptions for it in the past year."

Frank leaned in. "Go on."

Russel smirked, enjoying the mont. "Seven of them were therapists. Makes sense, right? But one of them? A fertility doctor. Now, why would a fertility doctor need Serenitol?"

Jas and Frank exchanged a look, the significance of the clue dawning on them. Jas nodded, and Frank turned back to Russel.

"This might be the lead we've been waiting for," Frank said.