TAINTED HEROIN TAKING DEADLY TOLL

Jordan Starling made his way from the middle of the country and
arrived in Chicago on a bus. Michael Virzint came from the south
suburban Burbank area, probably on the Green Line.

Two women who don't want to tell their names had a shorter journey --
from their homes at the Ida B. Wells development.

But all of them made it to the Dearborn Homes on South State Street
right about the same time several months ago, looking for a hit of
heroin. Heroin at Dearborn, a regular drug spot in the city, sells
for about $10 a bag.

What they bought instead was something called fentanyl, a synthetic
drug that is a hundred times stronger than heroin and can kill in an instant.

The women survived. But Starling died inside a nearby Chicago
hospital bathroom, his family said. Virzint was found under a viaduct
at 29th and Dearborn.

At the time, federal investigators suspected that a limited amount of
fentanyl had fallen into the hands of street gangs selling at
Dearborn. But the overdoses continued in April, and this time it was
happening all over the city.

Users told police they had been given free heroin samples -- green
bags of drugs were given away at 64th and Ashland; pink in the 500
block of East Browning. About 55 overdoses from potentially tainted
heroin, including as many as 10 fatalities, have been reported since
last September. A large portion -- around 35 -- were reported just
since February, and authorities were bracing for more victims.

Meanwhile, authorities in New Jersey said late Friday they suspect a
rash of overdoses in Camden, N.J., including 50 hospitalizations
reported on Friday alone and six fatalities in the last two weeks,
were caused by heroin tainted with methyl-fentanyl, a variation of
fentanyl. Health authorities there were in contact with Illinois
officials about the outbreak, as well as one in Maryland, said Steven
Marcus, medical director of the New Jersey Poison Center.

No one has officially linked the Chicago cases to the East Coast. But
Marcus said there is reason to believe there could be a connection
because of the timing of the overdoses, the symptoms of the victims
and what Marcus believes was a small sample of fentanyl recovered in Maryland.

"If you have a pattern in Chicago, a pattern in Maryland and a
pattern in New Jersey, this is a potentially enormous problem,"
Marcus said. "The question is are we seeing the tip of the iceberg?"

Chicago Police officials were monitoring outbreaks in other states.
Meanwhile, federal authorities are focusing on illegal labs outside
Chicago as the source for the fentanyl, which is likely then cut into
the heroin and shipped here. One theory is that the fentanyl is being
manufactured in illegal laboratories in Mexico. Investigators also
were seeking arrests of people dealing it locally -- sellers who
might not even know the drug is tainted. Homicide charges, they said,
are possible if arrests are made.

Lacing heroin with fentanyl is a business strategy to drug dealers.
The stronger the drugs, the more popular the selling spot. The
customers -- from all over Illinois and from all religious, racial
and economic backgrounds -- just keep coming, confident their bodies
can handle the hit.

"It's an American tragedy," said David Starling, a photographer and
publisher, whose son Jordan died in February. "That they are not able
to capture these drug dealers."

'Killer Instinct,' 'Undertaker'

Many of the doorways at the Dearborn Homes, a maze of mid-rise bland
buildings, are wide open. Young men slouch in baggy clothes, hovering
around the entryways. But beyond the opening, it's pitch black. Users
say buying is routine. As the men pat you down -- for weapons, for
example -- on your way in to the building, you tell them what you
want. They send you to an apartment. Some say dealers "hawk" products
- -- "Lethal Injection," "Killer Instinct," "Tsunami" and "Undertaker"
are among the street names.

Investigators and users say something called "Drop Dead" in clear
plastic bags -- marked by a skull and crossbones -- was being sold at
Dearborn around the time of the fatalities. The buyers, including two
women who live in the Ida B. Wells housing complex, thought it was
their regular dose of heroin. The women did not want their names
printed. One is 37 and has skin marred by scars of 10 years of use.
After buying her heroin, she cut the drug as she had every other time
- -- 10 parts water, five parts heroin -- and injected, waiting for the
"instant gratification," a good, mellow feeling. She woke up -- she's
not sure when -- in a tub of cold water. Her family put her there to
revive her.

"I could have went out and not come back," she said weeks later over
lunch at a local fast-food restaurant, where she also talks about
trying to kick her habit. "I could have died."

A 32-year-old woman, who has fierce eyes, sits next to her. She did
not pass out after injecting the fentanyl. But she knew immediately
something was wrong.

"The most scary part about it was I couldn't catch my breath," she
said. "That lasted a long time."

Fentanyl, in an overdose situation, seizes muscles at the rib cage,
causing instant spasms.

These women, hardened by the choices they've made in life, are not
asking for sympathy. They're using illegal drugs and also know
dealers want one thing -- money.

Stronger drugs mean more customers. So cutting your heroin with
fentanyl is good marketing to a dealer. But to users?

"I go down there to get what I call my medicine. . . . Without it,
I'm sick," the 32-year-old said. "And my medicine almost killed me."

Manufactured elsewhere?

Fentanyl is used to kill cancer pain. It's a powerful anesthetic that
comes in several forms, including a patch and even a lollipop. The
drug is common in nursing homes and in hospitals.

It first surfaced for illegal use in the 1980s. The patch, even one
used by its intended patient, can be heated and scraped for residue.
That's one way the drug can be transferred into a form that can be
cut into heroin, federal officials said.

Fentanyl that is stolen or missing must be reported to the U.S. Drug
Enforcement Administration. But officials last week said their
investigation so far leads them to believe someone is manufacturing
the fentanyl in a lab outside Chicago -- and making the drug is
difficult. According to one DEA report, two "clandestine labs" have
been seized since 2000.

'It was the risk she took'

The confirmed Chicago fentanyl victims include a 38-year-old mother
of three from the West Side. A 30-year-old Mexican immigrant from the
Northwest Side who worked in a warehouse manufacturing job. A
38-year-old Harvey man who was a laborer. A 48-year-old Southeast
Side man who worked as a dietary assistant at a hospital. A
23-year-old South Side man, also a laborer.

Autopsy results show victims from the Dearborn Homes ingested pure
fentanyl, a drug that is nearly indistinguishable from heroin, a
source familiar with the investigation said. The more recent
overdoses could have been caused by heroin that was cut with fentanyl.

The family of Brenda Johnson, the mother of three, said the Austin
High School graduate struggled for nearly 15 years with her
addiction. She also had been arrested many times, although she
managed off and on to quit, said Melvin Johnson, her brother. But
ultimately she continued to put herself in danger, he said. "I figure
it was the risk she took."

Jordan Starling, 22, was a college student from Missouri, a very
smart kid who got sidetracked from school into the world of drugs.
David Starling, Jordan's father, who lives in Independence, Mo., said
his son was a good student at Shawnee Mission High School in Kansas,
where he earned A's and B's without much effort. He liked history and
speech class, planned to be an attorney and went to San Francisco
State for a year after graduating high school in 2001.

Then he decided to take a year off, his father said.

Jordan started getting into trouble with the law in the late 1990s in
the Kansas City area, where he had a record that ranged from
consumption of liquor as a minor to theft.

"He was trying to feed his addiction," his father said. "He wasn't
that kind of kid who would just go steal."

During the last year of his life, he confessed to his family that he
was using drugs pretty heavily. Jordan first came to the Chicago area
in 2004, when he attended a Phish concert in Alpine Valley in
Wisconsin. He was arrested for felony drug possession, records show.
Over the next two years, he struggled to meet the court requirements
of his probation and got into more trouble in Chicago. Cook County
records show that he was booked into Cook County Jail five times in
2004 and 2005 on charges that include retail theft and possession of
a controlled substance. In January, he entered a drug rehabilitation
program in Lake Villa, according to Wisconsin records.

But Feb. 1, he called his father from a Greyhound bus headed to
Chicago. He had walked out of the program after getting into a fight
with another resident. David Starling sent his son $50, in hopes he
would turn around and go back to Lake Villa. But Feb. 3, Jordan was
found dead in a bathroom of Michael Reese Hospital, where he was
believed to have been using. An autopsy revealed traces of cocaine
and fentanyl, according to the Cook County medical examiner's office.

Jordan's death has forced David Starling to think hard about his
son's choices. He wonders if Jordan had an "addictive trait" that
left him more vulnerable. And he thinks he and his ex-wife were
"caught off guard" by their son's behavior.

Starling has formed the Jordan Starling Memorial Fund and has already
begun collecting money to raise awareness among parents and kids
about child substance abuse. "He knew he was playing with fire when
he took the drug," Starling said. "Sadly, he was getting something
much stronger than he had any idea. We need to reiterate . . . not to
do these kinds of drugs. Because you don't know what you're taking."

More than 20 arrests

Michael Virzint, 24, grew up in Burbank and played football --
defensive tackle -- at Reavis High School, his family said. He was a
funny kid who got along with everyone. Local law enforcement officers
remember a polite guy who was never violent.

But Michael also suffered loss at an early age, watching his father
slowly succumb to alcohol-related diseases.

His family says his heroin abuse started when he was about 18.

His criminal history in Cook County shows more than 20 arrests,
beginning with minor offenses such as public intoxication and
possession of pot, all around the late 1990s. For these charges, he
racked up fines -- $100 here, $200 there -- and court supervision. In
2003, his record took a more serious turn with a felony retail theft
and misdemeanor possession of a hypodermic needle.

All told, Michael was booked into Cook County Jail nine times since
2000. His last release was Jan. 18, two days before he died. His
autopsy showed fentanyl and cocaine intoxication.

Burbank Police Detective Sgt. James Twohill, a 24-year cop who had
known Michael since he was a child, watched him drift into the life.
And he couldn't stop it.

"That's what got me mad -- you make it through all these years and
make it through high school, and now you're starting on the heroin?"
Twohill said. "I constantly kept grabbing him to the side. ... Many
times I gave him money to get some food."

During one of her last conversations with her son, Debbie Pasciak,
44, of Romeoville, also was trying to help her son. She urged Michael
to find a program that would finally help him deal with the "empty
spot" inside him.

"I was telling Mike, 'I could get you in,' " she said. " 'They'll
take you in.' Next day in the afternoon . . . I got the call that
they found him. . . . He took my heart right with him. I lost myself
through him. . . . They know they are killing these people. They're
not stupid. They just want to make a fast buck."

Many from suburbs

Inside a storefront on Madison near Cicero, drug users trickle in to
exchange needles before buying heroin on the West Side streets. Many
have come from the west suburbs.

And about one-third of customers arrested in sting operations by
Chicago Police are from the suburbs.

Chicago investigators conceded last week that there probably are
fentanyl victims all over the Chicago area who are unaccounted for
because they bought their drugs in the city but used them somewhere else.

One such victim is Jeffrey Burke -- a 35-year-old carpenter from
Palos Park who died Jan. 27 on a picnic table in Wilmette. Burke's
family said Burke, who was a heroin user whose autopsy showed he had
ingested fentanyl, had been staying on South State Street recently.
They are not sure why he was on the North Shore.

"This isn't just harming poor people from the inner city," said
Burke's former wife, Heather Burke, 32. "It's middle-class people in
the suburbs with children. This drug can kill anybody at any time."