Cavanaugh Standoff - Marie Ferrarella

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Cavanaugh wanted me to bring this to you, Detective,” the lab tech said, referring to Sean. “He said you were waiting for it.”

      “We all are.” Accepting the envelope, Ronan began opening it. “Tell him thanks. I really didn’t think he’d get it to me so quick.”

      “He had the lab rush it,” the tech said before leaving.

      Eager to know if she was right, Sierra was on her feet and rounding her desk to get to Ronan’s side.

      “You planning on reading this over my shoulder, Carlyle?” Ronan asked, still holding the envelope. The reports were only partially showing.

      She offered him a quick, quirky smile. Without saying yes or no to his question, Sierra told him, “I speed-read.”

      He shook his head. The woman had an answer for everything. “Of course you do.”

      Removing the papers from the envelope, he found that in addition to the autopsy report, it also contained the extended tox screen Sierra had requested.

      He picked up the latter first, knowing it was what really interested Sierra. Now that she had raised the point, so was he.

      Before he could scan down to the portion he was looking for, he heard Sierra exclaim behind him, “I was right. Walker was drugged. The tox screen shows that he had a date-rape drug in him when he died.”

      “Well, that explains why there was no sign of a struggle in the alley,” Martinez said. Looking in Sierra’s direction, he inclined his head in silent tribute.

      Sierra’s mind was going a mile a minute. “Can we get a tox screen panel worked up on the other victims?” she asked Ronan eagerly.

      “Not likely,” he answered. He’d only taken over the case after the third victim had surfaced. “Three of the victims have already been buried. We’d have to get court orders to exhume their bodies.”

      He saw a flash of frustration in Sierra’s eyes. For just a second he was caught up by the way her blue eyes seemed to almost change color, from light to dark, depending on the feelings that were surfacing.

      Upbraiding himself for the momentary lapse, he focused on the business at hand. “It can be done, but not as easily as you might think. We’d need a really compelling reason. For now, I can find out if victim number four is still in the morgue. From what I’ve heard, I don’t think anyone has come forward to claim his body yet.”

      Glancing at Sierra, he saw her face change. He’d expected her to be elated. Instead she seemed really sad. “What’s with you?” he asked. “I’d thought you’d be happy to hear that.”

      “I’m glad we’ve got another body to test,” she said, “but think about how awful that is, to be dead and not have anyone come forward to claim your body.”

      “Don’t waste your pity. That’s the kind of life these thugs signed on for,” Martinez told her, trying to make her feel better in his own way.

      “I’m just glad we’ve got another body to run a tox screen on without having to get any court orders,” Ronan said.

      He expected her to say something cryptic, like “You’re welcome,” but she didn’t.

      He suppressed a sigh. Apparently, Carlyle was more complicated than he’d initially given her credit for. That was all he needed. A complicated woman on his team, stirring things up.

      Stirring him up.

      The thought came and went in a split second. He blocked its return. He didn’t have time for anything but solving the case, he silently insisted.

       Chapter Five

      “Son of a gun, that new team member of yours was right,” Sean told his nephew, calling Ronan once he’d had the opportunity to run the requested tox screen on the serial killer’s fourth victim. “Looks like she’s two for two.”

      “Joggers found that fourth victim in the park,” Ronan recalled. “The last victim probably ingested Special K in his drink. How did this one get it into his system? We didn’t find a flask or anything like that near the body and he wasn’t dumped there. There was blood from his wound on the ground, which meant that he had to be killed there.”

      “Glad you asked. Juan Marley got his the old-fashioned way,” Sean told him. “The ME found a very small hole just behind his ear. He’s ashamed to say that he missed that the first time around.”

      “The drug was injected?” Ronan asked.

      “That would be my guess,” Sean told him. “Your serial killer is very cold-blooded, very methodical. And he’s got surgical skills. Those hands that were cut off from the victims, there were no hesitation cuts. Each amputation was clean, precise. This guy knew what he was doing and he apparently wasn’t squeamish.”

      “Yes, that’s what we’re thinking,” Ronan said, playing back what Sierra had said earlier. “Did the killer use Special K again?”

      “No, this time it was Rohypnol. Maybe he couldn’t get his hands on his drug of choice,” Sean told him. “Tesla’s facing a backup of bodies so they’ve asked to borrow our ME for a couple of days—unless you feel that there’s a reason to keep him here.”

      “As long as you can get him back if this serial killer takes down another victim.”

      “I’ve already made that a provision with their chief medical examiner,” Sean said.

      “Thanks for the info, Uncle Sean.”

      He laughed drily. “I’d say my pleasure, but it really isn’t. Just catch this bastard as soon as you can, Ronan. I know that some people think he’s doing a public service, killing thugs and gang members, but that’s not our call to make. First and foremost, the victims were all people and it’s our job to make sure that everyone’s kept safe.”

      “We’re all doing our best, sir,” Ronan said just before he terminated the call.

      Returning the receiver to its cradle, he saw Sierra watching him. He knew she was waiting for the lab results and was surprised that she didn’t immediately jump on him, demanding to know what his uncle had said. He decided to put her out of her misery and tell her the results.

      “Well, you’re two for two,” he told her.

      “The tox screen for victim number four was positive for a date-rape drug?” she asked, unable to keep the note of hope out of her voice.

      Ronan nodded. “The ME found traces of Rohypnol in the victim’s system.”

      Choi looked up. “Roofies?” he questioned.

      “That’s the popular name for it,” Ronan confirmed. “Maybe he couldn’t get his hands on Special K.”

      “Ketamine is what vets use,” Martinez said, getting into the conversation. “My dog Ralph got attacked by this pit bull that got loose in my neighborhood early one morning. Damn dog tore holes in Ralph. I didn’t think he was going to make it when I drove him to the vet. Dr. Lai had to knock Ralph out with ketamine before she could sew him up.”

      “You named your dog Ralph?” Sierra asked.

      “I didn’t. His last owner did. I got Ralph from a shelter after his owner was reported for abusing him,” Martinez answered. “Poor dog shook for, like, two weeks until he got used to me and the girls,” he said, referring to his wife and daughters. “Anyway, Dr. Lai told me that Special K knocked Ralph out for four hours.”

      “How big is Ralph?” Sierra asked.

      “He’s a ninety-three-pound Labrador,” Martinez said proudly.

      “All the killer would need would be to knock out his target for half an hour or less,” Ronan

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