And folded into that same paper towel was something the man had plainly meant to destroy and had run out of time to: half of a torn pharmacy label.

Chapter 11 — The Torn Label

Cordell matched the numbers on the torn half against the transaction record already sitting on his desk.

They lined up.

He did not need to read the clinical particulars on that label, and I am not going to set them down here, because they were the private mechanism of a crime and not one word of them belonged to the two children in that room or to anyone else.

What mattered — the only thing that mattered — was whose name was printed on it.