Cognitive Deviance

48. Slater

Andrade shrugged. "A few, but they're all back in Miami."

"Well I can assure you, he's telling the truth. Got enough evidence here to prove it. And if you're still doubtful of me, Daniela, then...there's not much I can do about that."

And with that, Andrade resumed her old position against the wall.

"So who's this Slater guy?" Margo asked.

"Malcolm Slater," Mason continued. "A forty-seven-year-old drug dealer. White guy. Nice mustache. You could probably mistake him for someone's father or grandfather if you saw him out on the streets. He was particularly friendly with Holloway years ago. Smuggled him far more Apaths than his required dosage. Kept going until he tried asking for harder stuff. Luckily we kept him from overdosing a second time."

Margo gasped. "If you know about all this, why haven't you arrested him yet?" she barked.

"Firstly, because he doesn't have a diagnosis for anything, aside from being a compulsive liar. Secondly, because he actually used to work for Psychwatch for a while. He was a pharmacist developing new medications for the Empath division. But he got himself fired after Holloway's overdose. We found out he dug his own grave a long time ago by hoarding stashes of medications and selling them on the black market, including illegal narcotics. However, as despicable as he was, we were able to expose the ingredients behind Wonderland Mist and many other drugs just like it because of him. And the best part is he still thinks we don't know about his blocker chip and his CamoSynth suit."

"So that's how he keeps himself hidden?"

"Exactly. And originally I was gonna leave him for the Philly PD to catch, but as usual, Psychwatch uncovered far more secrets at a faster pace than they ever could. Now we know where his den is. And we know how many total disguises he has in his CamoSynth suit. And once he's no longer useful to us, I'll alert the FBI of his location."

That sounds like it'll make way for so many legal consequences for us, Margo thought to herself.

"You don't look so good, Sandoval," Andrade said.

"Sorry," Margo croaked. "Just a lot to take in. And I know that Psychwatch already has a strong partnership with the FBI, but...something just doesn't feel right."

"How so?" Mason asked.

"It seems like so many corrupt people are being protected right now. We're protecting Slater and Jack. You're protected by the FBI—"

"Are you calling me a corrupt authority figure?"

That was all it took for Margo's throat to go dry. For the room to grow colder. For sweat to start beading across her forehead. And for her to declare her distrust in the organization she once looked up to and once dreamt of working for.  Now the only dreams she had of them were nightmares, one that she hadn't woken up from since the day someone broke into her home and no one batted an eye.

"Well?" Andrade prompted. "Answer her question."

Margo's palms were sweaty. She wanted to bolt out of the room, but the only thing bolted was her feet to the ground. Her posture grew crooked, and the floor took her attention away from her fearsome colleagues who were far superior over her. That was it. She wanted to quit. Pretend she'd never even set foot in Mason's office.

"Sandoval," Mason continued slowly, "I know how little you trust me. I know how much paranoia must be flowing through you, especially ever since that night of the home invasion. And I apologize if I wasn't as supportive as I should've been. It was a very busy evening."

"I don't care what happens to me anymore," Margo muttered. "Just bring Carl back."

"If you want to be a good Psychwatch officer, you need to look after your own well-being, too, Sandoval. And I already told you before. He'll be returning sometime this week."