Torchwood Three; Cardiff, Wales

Dmitri Petrescu listened to Luc explain the DNA results. The fish had been genetically altered. The question was how. Motivation and intent applied whether it was alchemy or not. What was the point of modifying a tropical fish to produce a drug that caused hallucinations? There were fish that didn't need modification. There were hallucinogens that were easier to produce and taint. If it were an alchemy puzzle, the fish would be symbolic. A dream that terrified to the point of death?

Another question, of course, is what did the drug had to do with the death of the two men in Forest Farm? They had been killed by what appeared to be a large reptile. There was no evidence of one in the area. While the dragons associated with CN could render themselves invisible by distorting light, they were only known to be aggressive when trying to free captive dragons. The invisibility wouldn't make it possible for a car-sized reptile to entered and leave a wooded area without a trace. The idea of psychologically-induced injuries had come up. The men believed they were being chased by a dragon. Except their injuries were consistent. Convincing oneself the temperature was below freezing was a lot different than manifesting fatal gashes.

With nothing to add, Dmitri left the science to Luc and returned to the library he'd found in storage. The mounting coincidences, that probably weren't, frustrated him. There had to be a lot more to the situation. He was there and would deal with the increasing alchemy situations. If the psychics could manipulate circumstances to transport him seventy years in the future, he couldn't help but think it would have been easier to prevent the situations he was trying to resolve.

David's Ddraig Goch

The dimly lit bar and grill smelled of fish and chips. John walked up to the bar and claimed a stool near the back wall. Under other circumstances, he would have avoided it. While he was sober again, it was an ongoing battle to stay that way.

The bartender walked over. Few customers occupied stools at lunch time.

"I need to speak with Sal." From the low-level drug dealers and others he spoke to, he got the impression the name was some type of joke.

"Why?"

"I have information to exchange."

After eying him a moment, the thirty-something bartender walked across the room to a woman sitting at the bar. She listened and then walked over. The tight, sexy clothes were probably an attempt to convince people not to take her seriously. The way she moved said she probably had military training.

"You're looking for Sal."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

John repeated what he told the bartender.

"Sal doesn't take walk-ins."

"There is a merchandise problem. It's bad for business."

She sat on the stool next to him. "Bad how?"

"It has a hundred percent chance of preventing repeat customers."

"We have nothing here like that."

John nodded. "It's already being distributed. I can tell you what to look for."

"Right. In exchange for what?"

"Information." John removed an envelope with pictures out of inner coat pocket. "I am looking for some missing locals. I've been told Sal had nothing to do with their disappearance. Thought he might tell me what he knows."

"You are the most incompetent undercover cop."

John laughed. "I'm not a cop. I'm a freelancer associated with Torchwood." He took a moment, letting the humor fade. "I don't care what you're selling or who you're selling it to. Few exceptions." He set the envelope on the bar. "This I care about."

She opened the unsealed envelope. "These are kids."

When he selected the pictures, he made a point of choosing girls that looked no older than thirteen. "Yeah. They're homeless, runaways or missing from foster care. The youngest is five."

She wore. "What's your information?"

"There is a hallucinogenic drug made from dreamfish." He described one. "It's known to cause hallucinations under certain circumstances. The fish being used have been modified or contaminated. The producers are breeding them in tropical aquarium set-ups. Anyone who consumes the fish or any product made from them is going to have a bad reaction and die. The people producing it may not know that."

"Why isn't Torchwood making an announcement?"

"Another public service announcement on the dangers of taking psychotropic drugs? If we add details on tropical aquariums, we'd risk the safety of everyone owning one."

She looked back at the envelope. "What's that have to do with the kids?"

"Nothing that I know. There are a lot of missing girls right now. With that vigilante beating up criminals targeting women, the disappearances could be retaliation."

"How many teenagers?"

"We're not sure. Shelters and charities that help families and teenagers are on alert from here to London. We're asking for information on any kid or teen they have reason to believe is unaccounted for."

She nodded, picking up the pictures. "Are you looking for another fucking cult? The last one was piling bodies before the police cared."

"We're looking for a cult. The cops are looking missing foster kids. Can you see them trying to explain how cute little girls were taken from state custody and further abused?"

"You knew who you were looking for when you came in here."

"Yeah." According to his contacts, she had a reputation for killing violent pimps.

She shook her head. "The cops have been trying to get that information for years."

"Different motivation." John slid off the stool. "I don't arrest people."

Maxwell Evanson's flat

Gwen Cooper stood in the nicely decorated, organized one bedroom Adamsdown flat and wondered what she was missing. She and Jack had both walked through. They'd checked the usual hiding spaces and anything else they could think of. The closest to questionable was a stash of pornographic magazines. There was no computer. A mobile found with his body had been damaged beyond recovery. Nothing stood out in his phone records.

"We're going to have to ask the neighbors." Gwen hated canvassing.

They knocked on two doors without an answer. The third one opened as they approached. An older man with graying hair stepped into the doorway wearing a university sweatshirt and jeans. "Are you here about Max?" He asked sadly.

"Yes." Gwen walked across the hall. "I'm Gwen Cooper. This is Captain Jack Harkness. We're from Torchwood."

"Kamal Boutros." He sighed. "Max was a good kid. He'd not only hold the door for you, he'd offer to help carry your groceries."

"How long did you know him?"

"Five years. Max was in my History 101 course as a freshman."

"How long have you been teaching?" Gwen asked.

"Thirteen years. Eight in Cardiff. Five in London."

"Any problems with Max?" Jack injected.

"No." Kamal shook his head. "I haven't heard a bad thing about him."

Gwen wondered if that was accurate or if the teacher didn't speak ill of the dead. "What kind of student was he?"

"Bored. He was a business major." Kamal stopped to think. "It had to do with his family. I met his mother once." He hesitated. "Wherever he got his manners, it wasn't from her."

"Do you remember his mother's name?"

"Mrs. Gordon. Max said she married into one of the families that owned Gordon-Glen."

The company name sounded familiar to her. "Max's parents are divorced?"

"No. His father died when he was a kid."

"Did he have a lot of visitors?" Jack asked.

"His brother Leith. Dierdre was a friend or girlfriend." Kamal shook his head. "He had a few friends that came by, but I wasn't introduced."

"Any problems with them?"

"His brother had problems. The friends were from the university." Kamal shrugged, but his tone said he didn't care for Max's friends.

Gwen had more questions than they started off with. If the teacher's opinion of Max was accurate, she had no idea why he was killed. While it was possible he willingly took the drug, she doubted it. The autopsy showed no history of drug abuse. They needed to find his car; he had a newer sedan registered to him. Max had to have a computer. They needed to ask Kailen about back-up options. Maybe he had something online.

Jack waited until they were back in the van. "Gordon-Glen is connected to Cattrel Industries. Custom genetics."

"Another CN?"

"Possibly. It's not a torture drug."

"A drug couldn't have killed the young men at Forest Farm."

"No." Jack agreed. "It could have attracted what did."