Читать книгу Cavanaugh Standoff - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 13

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 speculated. “Special K or a roofie would do the trick.”

Choi asked what everyone was thinking. “You think our serial killer might be a vet—the kind that deals with animals not battlefields?” he clarified.

“Either that, or someone with access to those kinds of drugs,” Sierra suggested.

“The question is,” Ronan said, getting up from his desk and crossing over to the bulletin board, “why would a vet—or someone with access to a vet’s drugs—” he acknowledged, glancing in Sierra’s direction, “be executing gang members?”

When no one answered, Sierra decided to give it a shot.

“Off the top of my head, maybe one or more of these guys ran up a bill with the vet and didn’t pay it and things escalated from there. Or maybe they shot up the vet’s place of business and this is his way of getting even?” Sierra proposed.

“Sounds plausible enough, except for our initial problem,” Ronan pointed out. “These are two different gangs we’re talking about. When did they ever do anything in concert?”

Choi sighed. “You really are a killjoy, you know that?” he asked.

Sierra had an idea. “Have you tried exploring social media?” Sierra asked.

He turned toward her, as did Choi and Martinez. “I know I’m going to hate myself for saying this, but would you add a few more words to that? Exactly what do you want us to do with social media?” Ronan asked.

She had a strong feeling that Ronan spent as little time on the computer as possible and had no social accounts. Even her father kept in touch with some members of the family who lived out of state that way.

She made it simple for Ronan, doing her best not to make him feel that she was talking down to him. “These guys are all under thirty. For the most part, that age group posts everything they do on their media pages. They’d certainly brag on the internet if they felt they had something to brag about. Why don’t we start looking there?” she suggested to Ronan. “Something’s got to give us a clue as to how these deaths are connected because I’m willing to bet my shield that these were not random murders.”

“You volunteering for the job?” Ronan asked her, seizing on her wording.

“Don’t we have techs in the computer lab who do that sort of thing?” she asked him.

Ronan recalled what his brother had said about his last trip to the computer research part of the CSI unit. “Last time I checked, they were backed up until the turn of the century.”

Sierra sighed. “Then I guess I’m volunteering to find out if any of these jokers posted online,” she said with resignation.

* * *

HIS CONSCIENCE GOT the better of him.

He’d done his best to ignore it. After all, it had been Carlyle’s suggestion and everyone in the department pulled their own weight, so there was no reason why she shouldn’t be the one doing the heavy lifting on this internet search she’d brought up.

But he had assumed that she would approach the job like any normal person, taking breaks and time out for meals. But the woman hadn’t budged from her desk since he’d put her on the task.

And that had been hours ago.

Choi and Martinez had left for the night a little while ago, as had a good many of the detectives in the squad room. Even Lieutenant Carver had gone home about half an hour ago.

As for him, he’d walked out as well. But he’d gotten as far as the break room and then forced himself to double back after making an all-important pit stop at the vending machine.

“You know,” Ronan said, setting a can of diet soda on Sierra’s desk, “when I told you to see what you could find on these guys from anything that they might have posted on social media pages, I didn’t mean for you to exhaust all the search engines before you could finally go home.”

Reading, Sierra didn’t immediately look up. “I know,” she answered Ronan. “I just kind of got caught up in it.”

He sat on the edge of her desk but she still didn’t look up. She was busy trying to make sense of something she was reading.

“There’s ‘caught up’ and there’s ‘obsessive,’” Ronan pointed out.

She glanced in his direction for half a minute. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn into one of those people who forgets to shower or change their clothes,” she promised. “It’s just that each thing I check out just feeds into something else.” It astonished her how mindless some people could be, to be proud of hurting people and getting by without doing any work. “These guys were really maniacal, crazy people.” Sierra shook her head.

“Well, at least we agree on something.”

That caught her attention and she looked up. “I’ve got a feeling that we’d probably agree on a lot of things, once you stop thinking of me as the enemy.”

“I don’t think of you as the enemy,” he told her, tamping down his temper.

“No? Try being on my side of this thing,” she told him. “The lieutenant brought me over to your team and you acted like you’d just been given an infestation of body lice.”

“That’s getting a little carried away, don’t you think?”

She raised her eyes to his. “Am I?”

“Go home, Carlyle. Get some sleep. The internet’ll still be here in the morning.”

“I know that,” she answered. “I just wanted to find something to get us a step closer to getting this guy.” She looked up at Ronan as she made her point. “So that you’d see I could be an asset.”

He frowned, debating whether or not to let that go or to say what he knew should be said. It was late, he was tired, and maybe that influenced him into deciding to give her her due.

“You came up with the idea that the victims were given drugs to keep them from fighting back. The rest of us hadn’t thought of that. That puts a gold star under your name. Now go home and get something to eat,” he ordered gruffly.

Arguing was in Sierra’s nature, but she refrained. She paused, then nodded. “I guess I am hungry.” She looked back at her monitor and something occurred to her. “Just five more minutes and I’ll close everything down.”

Ronan watched her for a long moment, knowing that if he left, there was no telling how long she would remain at her desk, going from one site to another. She had to be the most stubborn woman he had ever encountered, and that included his mother and sisters—which was saying a lot.

“Carlyle,” he said sternly, “go home.”

“I will,” she promised, the keys clicking beneath her fingers. “In a minute.”

Ronan got off her desk. Moving behind it, he bent and flipped a switch on the power strip beneath her desk.

“Now,” he ordered, getting up.

Her jaw dropped. “You just shut off my computer,” she complained.

He appeared completely unfazed by the accusation in her voice. “I gave you a direct order and you ignored it.”

She drew herself up, ready to go a few rounds with this annoying man. “You’re lead detective, not my supreme leader,” she informed him hotly.

A hint of a smile played along his lips. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

With that, he turned away and began to walk out of the squad room.

She raised her voice as she called after him. “I know your mother and I’ll tell her what a hard time you’ve been giving me.”

Ronan turned then and slowly crossed back to her desk. “Did you just threaten me with my mother?” he asked in disbelief. “What are we, twelve?”

She braced herself. “I’m not. But I’m not sure about you.”

“You’re tired. I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. Now go home.”

He might be the lead detective and in charge, but she was not about to be intimidated. “Why are you acting like I’m the invading force?”

“Because you’re the invading force,” he retorted. He’d had no choice in the matter when Carver had brought her over. He had to work with her and he didn’t appreciate not being given a choice.

“Hey, you’re a Cavanaugh,” she reminded him. “Nobody invades you,” she pointed out. “You guys practically are the police department. I’m just trying to do my part. I don’t want the credit,” she stressed. “You can have the credit for solving this thing.”

“This isn’t about credit,” he informed her, annoyed she thought that way.

“Then what is it about?” she demanded, confused. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be in the same space with me?”

Denial was on his tongue but he never voiced it. Possibly because she’d stumbled onto something. “Because you remind me of someone,” he finally said, struggling to keep from yelling the words at her.

“Who?”

“Someone,” was all he trusted himself to say and then, before she could attempt to grill him any further, he stalked out.

“That’s not an answer!” she countered.

Grabbing her bag, Sierra quickly headed out of the squad room after him.

But when she got to the hallway, Ronan was nowhere to be seen.

He’d probably caught the elevator. For a second she thought of taking the stairs and ambushing him on the ground floor, but she had a feeling that would just lead to more of the same. He wasn’t about to tell her anything. Most likely, he regretted having said as much as he had just now.

The bottom line was that she needed answers and O’Bannon wasn’t about to give them to her.

But she thought she knew someone who just might be able to.

Taking the elevator to the ground floor, she hurried to the parking lot and made her way to her car. Once she got into her vehicle, she put her key in the ignition but she didn’t start the engine.

Instead she took out her cell phone and placed a call.

Once the call connected, she heard a deep, gravely voice answer. “Carlyle.”

“Hi, Dad,” she said with more cheer than she was feeling. “It’s me. Sierra.”

“Sierra?” her father repeated. “Wait, wait, I know that name, just give me a second. Sierra, Sierra—” he repeated as if doing that would unearth some memories, help him recall who she was.

“Very funny, Dad. Okay, I know I haven’t called or been by lately, but I’ve been a little busy,” she told him.

“I take it that the police department has been working you hard, chaining you to your desk and all that. Okay, so why is the black sheep of the family suddenly calling me?”

He’d called her that the day she had told him she was applying to the police academy instead of signing up for the fire department like the rest of her family. In time, he’d come to terms with it, but he still wasn’t exactly thrilled.

“Dad, I work in the police department, not for some escort service. There’s no reason to call me a black sheep.”

“Sure there is,” the deep voice rumbled in her ear. “You didn’t go into the family business the way you were supposed to.”

Sierra sighed. “This is why I don’t call very often,” she told her father.

“Okay, okay, I’ll make nice,” her father promised. “To what do I owe this unexpected but delightful call?”

“You’re laying it on way too thick, Dad, but I’ll let that ride for now. I need your help,” she said seriously. “I want you to find something out for me.”

“You mean like detective work?” he asked, a touch of surprise in his voice. “Isn’t that your field of expertise?”

“Yes, but this is more up your alley if you’d only stop trying to make me feel like I failed you and just listen?” she asked.

“I guess I’d better,” her father conceded, “or you’ll hang up, right?”

She wasn’t going to get sucked into that. Instead she asked, “Do you still talk to Maeve O’Bannon?”

“She’s a damn fine woman,” her father said with feeling. “Why shouldn’t I still talk to her? She had the good sense to work alongside the fire department, unlike the rest of her family.”

Sierra ignored that, as well, and went straight to the heart of her request. “I want you to ask her something for me.”

“All right,” Chief Craig Carlyle said. “What do you want me to ask?”

She braced herself for her father’s possible reaction. “Could you ask her what her son Ronan’s story is?”

“Come again?”

Sierra decided to give her father as much background as she felt he’d need to understand why she was making the request. “I’m working with Ronan and he let it slip that I remind him of someone. I need you to ask Maeve if he ever had a problem with someone who looked like me.”

“I’ve got a suggestion,” her father said. “Why don’t you ask Ronan?”

“It’s kind of complicated, Dad.”

“Isn’t he treating you right?” her father asked.

She knew all she had to do was say that he wasn’t and her father would be right there, in Ronan’s face. She didn’t need him to champion her. All she needed him to do was what she’d asked.

“Please, Dad, just ask Maeve,” she repeated.

She heard her father sigh deeply. “Look, Sierra, I always told you what cops were like. If Maeve’s son isn’t treating you with the respect you deserve, quit,” he told her. “You know I can always use you on my team. Your brothers’ll show you the ropes and we can make this a whole family affair.”

She closed her eyes, searching for strength and the right words. “Dad.”

“What?”

“Just ask her for me, okay? Thanks. I’ll call again soon.”

With that, she ended the call. She loved her father—and her brothers—more than anything, but there were times when talking to the man could make her feel so drained.

And then she smiled to herself. She supposed that could be viewed as a two-way street. She was fairly certain her father probably felt the same way about her.