PART TWO

It was a relief to be in uniform. A relief to finally work off the nervous energy that had been building at Donna's. A few long, arcing swings and several blocks later and I was at my third stop for the evening.

I started where you always start a case. At the beginning. I had the purchase order from the hospital. Easy enough to track the address of their supplier. Easy enough to make a late night house call.

Neville Harrison. Pharmacist.

Mr. Harrison was burning the midnight oil. I had a good idea why. Hard to steal drugs during the day when you've got eyewitnesses looking over your shoulder.

I watched as he carefully measured and diluted several bottles by the light of a small desktop lamp. Watched as he hunched over his books and carefully noted the drug amounts.

Then I flipped on the overhead light.

He looked like a faded scarecrow. Ash colored skin. Spidery limbs. Sunken face. Jowls. Wiry tufts of graying hair stuck out from a mostly bald head. Even his eyes were that odd, washed out shade of blue that were just this side of death.

I watched those almost dead eyes flick nervously towards me. Watched as they filled with surprise, then recognition and, finally, fear.

"B-B-Batman?"

Okay, so maybe not recognition. I really needed to work on my p.r.

"Nightwing." I corrected.

I caught my reflection in his glasses. I would've known without looking, though, that my own eyes glittered with a dark, unnatural fury. Little trait I picked up from Bruce. Added a nice touch when I used The Voice. I was in full Bat mode and loving it.

He was quick to talk but I didn't like what I heard. These weren't the answers I wanted. Problem was, he answered truthfully.

Most people think if you don't look them in the eyes, you're lying. I knew better. This guy was painfully shy, not deceptive. Part of it was his body language. Most of it was how he responded to carefully worded questions.

I rechecked his books. They didn't add up. According to his notes, the drugs had been diluted by a quarter. I checked my own notes. Donna's sample had been cut by half.

Only one explanation. The drugs had been diluted twice. Once at the pharmacy. Again at the hospital. I slammed a fist into the wall. Roy could have been taking Kool-aid for all the good his "chemo" had done.