“Yes, we do,” Doyle insisted. “CSU’s taken Niederman’s computer into evidence and they’re going to pore through it. Don’t forget that he had a business card for St. Jude’s Mission in his pocket and Reynold claimed Dicky was a frequent guest of the church’s meal program. We’ve also got the MTA staff who—what? What’s wrong?”

Larkin had his head on the steering wheel. “I need a Xanax.”

“You had one a few hours ago.”

Larkin gripped the wheel.

Doyle put a hand between Larkin’s shoulder blades and gently rubbed up and down. “I know you’re upset. I am too. I’m trying really, really hard to not be happy this guy’s dead.”

“It’s not that. Not only that,” Larkin whispered. “I want to be high so badly, I feel like all my seams are unraveling and I’m splitting in two and I’m going to fucking die. What the fuck is the point in taking antianxiety medication if all it does is give me crippling anxiety when I’m not high as a goddamn kite.” Larkin sniffed and wiped his face. “I can’t think, I can’t function, without medication. But it’s—like—” He took a strangled breath, forehead still pressed to the steering wheel. “I have to pick between feeling too much or feeling nothing at all and I hate it.”

Doyle’s hand moved to Larkin’s shoulder and forced him to sit back. “Take a deep breath. Another one. Evie, I can’t and won’t ever know what living with your level of HSAM is like. Honestly, I can barely fathom it. But the fact that you’re trying to find ways to make it work says an awful lot about your unwillingness to give up. Xanax is the wrong course of treatment for you. Okay? It’s that simple. And coming down from an addiction is really hard. That much I do know.” He curled his hand around Larkin’s nape and gave a gentle squeeze. “But I’m going to help you, and we’re going to get you on the right meds so you stop feeling like this.”

“Like what.”

Doyle considered for a moment and then suggested, “Hollow.”

Larkin swallowed that dose of bitter reality and it hurt like hell. He reached for the center console, opened it, lifted the false bottom, and retrieved the 2x3 envelope. He put it in Doyle’s hand, closed the console, and stared out the front windshield again. He listened to Doyle open the envelope.

“Okay” was all Doyle said.

Larkin glanced sideways when he heard the distinct shake and slide of a pill falling free. “What’re you doing.”