Chapter 3 - The Shadow of Cedar Ridge
By 6:30 P.M., the Cedar Ridge Sheriff's Substation had become the focal point of a county-wide emergency.
Medic 2 had raced away with Elsie, her tiny chest covered by a pediatric oxygen mask, with Avery sitting in the front passenger seat accompanied by a child protective services worker.
In the station lobby, Dr. Nolan Pierce sat in a steel chair in the interview room, his hands folded neatly over his lap. He had refused to answer any further questions without his personal attorney present, sitting in quiet, dignified silence while his legal representative, a high-powered defense attorney named Arthur Sterling, sped down from Columbus in a Mercedes.
Sheriff Vance stood in his private office, staring through the glass partition at Nolan.
"Ethan," Vance said, rubbing his temples. "Do you have any idea what happens if we're wrong about this? Nolan Pierce is the vice-chairman of the hospital board. He’s personal friends with the State Attorney General. If that note is just a child’s overactive imagination driven by a nasty custody battle, this department will be sued into non-existence."
Ethan laid the evidence envelope containing the oral syringe, the pink backpack, and the yellow notebook page on Vance’s desk.
"The pink backpack was tested by the Hazmat unit five minutes ago, Sheriff," Ethan said, his voice flat and hard. "The fluid leaking from the bottom seam isn't rain. It's a concentrated solution of Chloral Hydrate mixed with Sufentanil—a synthetic opioid five hundred times more potent than morphine. It’s a liquid mixture used strictly in advanced veterinary anesthesia and restricted human clinical trials."
Vance froze, his hand stopping mid-air. "Sufentanil? Where the hell would a sleep doctor get his hands on clinical-grade Sufentanil?"
"From his private research lab," Ethan said, pulling out a printout from his computer screen. "Six months ago, Nolan Pierce received a two-million-dollar federal grant from the National Institute of Health to study 'pharmacological intervention in severe pediatric parasomnia.' He operates an off-site, high-security clinical laboratory in the basement of his downtown plaza."
Ethan leaned over the desk, tapping the yellow notebook paper. "Avery didn't invent that word, Sheriff. She saw her sister being taken down into that basement. She kept a log because her mother told her to document everything before Nolan managed to strip Sarah of her custody rights."
"Where is the mother?" Vance asked, his eyes narrowing. "Where is Sarah Pierce?"
Ethan pulled up Sarah’s state file on his monitor.
"Sarah Pierce was admitted to the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit at Saint Jude’s Hospital three weeks ago," Ethan read from the screen. "Admitted involuntarily after a sudden, acute psychotic break at her home. The admitting physician who signed the emergency psychiatric hold?"
Ethan looked up, his eyes cold as ice. "Dr. Nolan Pierce."
The door to the office opened, and Deputy Miller pushed through, holding a faxed document from the county court.
"Sheriff," Miller said, his face pale. "We just got a call from Saint Jude's Hospital. Sarah Pierce woke up forty minutes ago. Her toxicology screens from her admission three weeks ago were just re-evaluated by an independent lab in Cleveland upon her attorney's request."
"And?" Vance asked, his breath catching in his throat.
"She wasn't having a psychotic break, Sheriff," Miller reported, his hands shaking slightly as he handed over the paper. "Her blood was loaded with heavy doses of Scopolamine—a powerful anticholinergic hallucinogen that induces complete amnesia and extreme psychological disorientation. She was being systematically poisoned in her own home."
Vance looked through the glass window at Nolan Pierce, who sat calmly in the interview chair, checking his gold wrist watch with absolute composure.
"Get the Search Warrants," Vance said, his voice dropping into a deep, furious growl. "I want a team at his house, a team at his medical clinic, and I want every square inch of that downtown plaza turned inside out."
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"I'm leading the team to the plaza," Ethan said, grabbing his heavy winter jacket and pulling his service weapon from his desk drawer.
"Ethan," Vance stopped him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Take two tactical units with you. If this guy was using clinical-grade sedatives on his own family, God knows what we're going to find in that basement."
