Page 45 of The Librarians

“Fentanyl patches?” Jonathan’s understanding of the substance is largely limited to news of overdoses. “You mean, like nicotine patches?”

“It’s used in long-term pain management for patients who are opioid-tolerant,” answers Ryan.

“But we didn’t find patches on Perry—nor were there any telltale adhesive rims left on his skin.

But as a theory it’s not half bad. The children who pick up grandpa’s fentanyl patches and earn themselves a trip to the ER can do that because those patches are left on for three days and sometimes fall off without the wearer’s knowledge.

A patch on Perry could have similarly quit well before he was found. ”

Hazel taps at the side of her coffee cup—she makes no sound but her motion is agitated and arhythmic. “So either he ate it or it entered his system via skin contact. You sounded pretty sure, though, about how the carfentanil got into Jeannette Obermann.”

“She did have marijuana in her system and a touch of psychedelics—not as clean as Perry. But likewise no hard drugs of any kind. And yes, the jab did it.”

“Where does one even get carfentanil?” wonders Jonathan.

“At the vet’s, I’d imagine,” says Conrad—he’s been looking at Hazel and glances around at the company only after she stops fidgeting.

“My stepdad did a documentary on wildlife vets in various parts of Africa. But even then it’s only for the real heavyweights, like elephants and rhinos, that you’d use carfentanil in your tranquilizer darts. ”

Ryan drains his cappuccino. “I’d answer the same. I imagine Detective Hagerty has already inquired at large-animal vets around town to see if anyone is missing any Wildnil.”

Jonathan is flabbergasted. “Are there elephants and rhinos in Austin?”

The local zoo is hardly of that scale.

Ryan shrugs. “There’s a preserve outside Fredericksburg with a few elephants, last I heard.”

But Fredericksburg is ninety miles away. “What about for horses? Do they use carfentanil for horses?”

“Not that I know of. There are already perfectly good tranquilizers for horses—and of course people shoot it up too. It’s nasty what can happen. If you’ve never seen necrotic ulcers, ignorance is bliss.”

For a moment Jonathan feels relief for Sophie: Sophie has never burgled a large-animal vet’s office. But then again, if Detective Hagerty can’t find any direct evidence in the murder of Jeannette Obermann, he could put even more weight on circumstantial evidence.

“Any other carfentanil deaths at the medical examiner’s office lately?” asks Hazel, frowning.

“No—and of that I’m confident. There have been other fentanyl overdoses in recent weeks, but the deceased were habitual cocaine users and their deaths, while unfortunate, did not appear criminal.”

A longer, even heavier silence descends.

“I don’t know what we can find out on the carfentanil front—for sure I personally shouldn’t commit any more breaking and entering without a great deal of further training,” says Hazel with a self-deprecating pull of her lips.

“But I do know of two people who were in enough contact with Perry on that day to have put a small patch on him. Actually—”

She turns to Ryan. “Ryan, can you pull up Facebook and do a search for Gus Anderson?”

The name sounds familiar to Jonathan. “Do you mean the patron who’s always trying to engage female librarians in a conversation about Fifty Shades ?”

Conrad casts yet another glance at Hazel.

Hazel smiles slightly at Jonathan. “That’s the one. Yesterday, before I went into Peng’s Noodles, I stopped by the Indian grocery place next door. Mr. Anderson was there—he’s a fan of their samosas—and he wanted to show me a recording of the altercation Perry was involved in.”

“Okay. I have a bunch of Gus Andersons,” declares Ryan. “Which is the one we’re looking for?”

It takes a little head tilt from Hazel for Jonathan to remember that he could assist with the effort at least as well as Hazel.

He approaches the island; Ryan slides over his laptop. Jonathan takes care not to stand too near Ryan, but a curious Ryan brings himself closer—and taps Jonathan, indicating that he should hunch down a little so Ryan can look over his shoulder.

Have they ever been so close to each other since that day at the pool party? Ryan braces a hand on the island. Jonathan restrains himself from letting his eyes travel up the flannel sleeve, which smells wonderfully clean, as if it were line dried in a summer breeze under concentrated sunlight.

He finds their quarry on the second page of Gus Andersons—the patron uses a headshot as his avatar. Thankfully his Facebook output isn’t too toxic—mostly he complains about his favorite businesses moving away or becoming too expensive—and Jonathan quickly locates the video of the library brawl.

After an obligatory caption of Libraries used to be nice, quiet places , Gus Anderson lets the video speak for itself.

The footage starts when the guy looking for trouble was pushing Perry into the public terminals.

Perry unsuccessfully tried to get away, his expression one of complete bewilderment just before he was punched in the face.

Whoever took the video murmured, “Holy shit.” The attacker pivots and runs out of the library.

The camera follows his progress until the sliding doors shut behind him and then swings back toward the interior of the library.

Here the cinematographer rounds the bank of public terminals to get a better look at Perry on the carpet, and the army medic with two fingers on his neck, taking his pulse.

Ryan plays the video again, a scowl of concentration on his face. With regret Jonathan yields his place so Conrad can get a look. And then Ryan plays the video one more time.

Conrad casts him a sidelong look. “Caught something interesting?”

Ryan looks up from the screen. Jonathan cranes his neck and sees that he has paused the full-screened video on a shot of the attacker, who happens to be marching toward the camera on his way out of the library.

“Is this dude known at the library?” Ryan asks tightly.

More choreography takes place. Now it’s Hazel and Jonathan standing before the laptop.

“I’ve only ever seen this man on the occasion this video was taken,” Hazel states.

Jonathan looks the man over for a full minute. “I have seen this man before, but not recently. Hazel wouldn’t have been here for it, but do you guys remember a few years ago, when tent cities popped up everywhere?”

“That was right around the time I moved here,” says Conrad. “I’d get on the trail downtown and it would be lined with tents.”

“The phenomenon wasn’t limited to downtown.

The library is almost fifteen miles north of downtown and there was a tent city under every overpass in the area, including the one nearest to the library.

I’m pretty sure around that time I saw this man a few times in the library.

I didn’t have any occasion to interact with him, but some of my colleagues did and they said that he always brought back library books on time. ”

Ryan’s expression turns grim. A feeling of foreboding creeps over Jonathan. “My God, Ryan, I hope you haven’t seen him at work recently?”

A silent Ryan pulls the laptop in front of himself and types in several spurts. He then turns the screen toward them. The blue-lipped face that fills the screen stares out blankly, a dead man’s unseeing gaze.

The homeless patron. Jonathan swears.

“I not only saw him at work, he was one of my most recent postmortems. Manny Vasquez—I could be wrong, but I think he was on one of the junior varsity basketball teams we played against way back when. Showed signs of being long-term unhoused. Died of a single shot to the back of the head.”

“I hope this is a coincidence,” murmurs Hazel.

“I hope so too—life on the street is dangerous,” replies Ryan. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“How is he possibly related to Perry and what Perry was looking for?” Jonathan mutters, as much to himself as to anyone else.

“What about the other guy?” Hazel and Conrad ask in near unison.

It takes Jonathan a moment to remember the army medic who examined Perry while Perry was unconscious.

“Haven’t seen him at work,” answers Ryan with obvious relief.

“Not at the library either, except for on that day,” says Jonathan. “But he did show me his military ID. Can’t remember his name anymore but I wrote it down that afternoon and gave it to our administrator for her incident report. Let me see if she has it.”

Sophie answers his text straightaway. Let me log in to my laptop. I always keep a copy of incident reports.

Barely two minutes later, she texts, His name is Tarik Ozbilgin. And what’s this for?

Talking over the case with Hazel. I’ll tell you more later.

“Tarik Ozbilgin,” Jonathan reads the name aloud, hoping he’s not butchering it.

Conrad types into his own phone, a frown on his face. “I can’t get a good hit on his name—most of what’s pulled up is in Turkish. He looks about thirty-five in the video. How old would you say he was in person, Jonathan?”

“Thirty-five would be my estimate too. Why?”

“I want to give that information, as well as the link to the video, to a private investigator I’ve worked with in the past. I think we can use a little professional help at this point—other than Ryan’s outstanding contribution, that is.”

Conrad looks at everyone in turn. “Are we okay with farming this bit out?”

Jonathan and Ryan nod.

“Tell your PI to be careful,” says Hazel.

Conrad gazes at her a full second. “I will.”

Conrad is gone for nearly half an hour, during which time Ryan, Hazel, and Jonathan polish off all the food, clean up the coffee machine, and load the dishwasher.

Mostly in silence.

“Hey,” Ryan calls out when Conrad returns, “you were on the phone with your PI for that long?”

“No, I talked to her for all of five minutes. But this whole thing about fentanyl and carfentanil made me uneasy so I did a little online search to make sure I’m not misremembering things.”