“Great.” She heard genuine joy in his voice, widening her smile. “I’m a few miles from your office. I’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll be waiting out front.” She stowed her phone and clamped down on her silly ear-to-ear grin. “I’m meeting Sam to look at surveillance video from the 911 call.”
Nina arched a brow. “Sounds like you’re not the only one smitten.”
“Please. He’s simply being courteous.”
“Uh-huh,” Nina said, a knowing grin sliding across her face.
Kait resisted rolling her eyes. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“You do that, honey.” Nina smiled earnestly. “And know that I plan to grill you about all the other details over that wine tonight.”
UNDER DARK, ominous skies, Sam did a U-turn, pointing his car toward the morgue. Shortly after picking up Kait, Marcie had called and asked to see him ASAP—for a reason she said was best discussed in person. Other than an autopsy, she rarely asked for his presence at the morgue.
The fact that she had not only asked, but requested they drop everything and get down there, put him on edge. Kait, too. He’d let go of the pleasure he’d found in seeing her again—the little hum in his veins that told him he was alive—and they’d made the trip in silence to arrive without even a hint of speculation over the call’s implications.
Inside the building, they signed in with the receptionist, then headed straight for Marcie’s office where she sat behind her desk. Usually organized, the top was littered with papers and open books.
At their approach, she looked up and offered a tight smile. “Good. You both came. I’m sorry to drag you down here, but I thought you might have questions that would require explanations difficult to cover on the phone.” She gestured at the metal chair sitting next to the desk. “Sorry. I only have one chair.”
Sam held out his hand. “Go ahead, Kait.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Actually.” Marcie’s eyes narrowed. “You may want to take a seat.”
“Gruesome pictures?” Sam asked.
“No . . . no . . . nothing like that. It’s the second tox screen.”
Sam pulled out his notepad and perched on the edge of her desk. “You have the results already? Even with a rush order, that’s unbelievably fast.”
Marcie grinned. “I personally went down to the lab to wait, and they knew better than to mess with me.”
Sam chuckled. “As do we all.”
“So what did you find?” Kait asked, not joining in their humor. She remained standing, her feet firmly planted and her back rigid.
Marcie slid forward. “My suspicion that Congdon had another drug onboard was confirmed. At least partially.” She picked up a report lying in front of her and came around the desk. “The drug we found is called rocuronium, often shortened to roc.”
Sam glanced at Kait, and she shrugged.
“I didn’t expect either of you would recognize it.” Marcie held out the report to Sam, and he jotted the name of the drug on his notepad. “It’s not a street or recreational drug, but a strong muscle relaxant usually administered before surgery, or when a patient needs to be intubated quickly. It relaxes the patient and keeps them from fighting the endotracheal tube.”
Kait stepped closer, her face rapt with interest. “So this roc relaxed Congdon, and he didn’t fight his restraints.”
“Exactly,” Marcie said. “But this is where it gets odd for me. I have to think that our killer handcuffed Congdon because he wanted him to remain alive for a least some period of time, yet not let him escape. If not, he could have roofied Congdon, then killed him without a need for restraints or a lock on the door.”
“Sounds logical,” Sam said.
Kait nodded her agreement. “Seems like you don’t think this drug fits that scenario, though.”
“I don’t. Roc is a potentially deadly drug, plus many people are allergic to it. So administering it can be tricky.”
“A poor choice if our killer wanted to keep Congdon alive, then.” Sam’s mind raced with the implication of this news. “What exactly does roc do to the body?”
“Technically, it relaxes all skeletal muscles, but for our discussion, it means Congdon would have been paralyzed.”
“Completely unable to move?” Kait asked, then swallowed hard.
Marcie nodded. “Plus, with roc onboard, he wouldn’t have been able to breathe without mechanical help. There are plenty of other less risky drugs that would have kept Congdon from fighting his restraints and not stop his breathing.”
Completely baffled at the killer’s drug choice, Sam met Marcie’s gaze. “Knowing you, you have a theory of why the killer chose roc.”
“I do, and that’s what has me so disturbed.” Marcie frowned. “The only reason I can imagine for using this particular drug is because it completely immobilizes a person yet leaves them fully awake and alert.”
Sam sat up, a sick feeling cramping his gut. “You’re saying the killer wanted Congdon to know what was happening to him the whole time?”
Marcie gave a grim nod.
Kait’s eyes widened with horrified understanding. “That’s just sick.” She grabbed the back of the chair, and Sam figured she was imagining Rhodes, a man who’d once been part of their family, doing something so heinous.
Marcie patted Kait’s hand. “I agree, sweetie. I totally agree.”
Sam searched for any anomaly that would disprove Marcie’s hypothesis, but came up with only one. “Your theory doesn’t explain the handcuffs. With Congdon immobilized, why would he need handcuffs?”
Marcie looked at Sam, her expression grim. “I think it was a failsafe. Roc wears off in about fifty minutes. The discovery of the IV site makes me suspect that the killer used an infusion pump to regularly dose Congdon. But like any mechanical device, a pump can fail. If it did, Congdon would regain use of his muscles and escape. Hence the cuffs. “
“Makes sense,” Sam said, not liking the added sick dimension to this case.
“The good news is—”
“Thank goodness, there’s good news,” Kait interrupted.
“Yes.” Marcie sighed. “Thank goodness.”
“And that news is?” Sam pressed on.
“This should narrow down the killer’s profile. Using roc and a vent to keep Congdon alive without blowing out his lung or causing heart failure would require a doctor or a very skilled medic or nurse. Plus, as I said, roc isn’t a street drug, so access to it would be limited as well. We’re definitely looking at someone in the medical community.”
Kait gripped the chair harder, her fingers going white. “I mentioned yesterday that Fenton was a medic in the Navy.”
“Did he see any combat duty?” Marcie asked, her eyes going to the chair as if she still thought Kait should sit.
Kait nodded. “In Iraq.”
“Then if he served at a combat hospital, he would have intubated patients and handled portable vents.”
“Vents?” Sam asked. “You’ve mentioned that twice now.”
Marcie wrinkled her nose and returned to her chair. “Sorry. Ventilator. It’s the machine that the breathing tube is connected to and mechanically breathes for the patient.”
“Can you tell if Congdon has been on a vent?” Kait asked.
Marcie opened a folder and pulled out a photo of some internal body part, but Sam hadn’t a clue which one. She tapped her finger in a reddened section. “As you can see, his trachea was abraded and irritated. A sure sign of an endotracheal tube.”
Kait released the chair and ran her hand over her face. “Okay, say you’re right, Marcie. If Congdon was alive and awake with a machine breathing for him, then how did he die?”
“I’ve classified the cause of death as asphyxia secondary to drug-induced res
piratory depression.”
“Which means what in our language?” Sam asked.
Marcie dropped the photo and carefully folded her hands on the desk as if buying time. “The killer removed the tube while Congdon had roc onboard. While still fully conscious and alert, Congdon would be able to see and hear everything as he struggled for two or three minutes to breathe before his blood became oxygen-depleted. It’d take another few minutes before he’d lose consciousness, eventually become brain dead, and slip away.”
Kait shuddered. “That sounds like a horrible way to die.”
Sam met her horrified gaze. “Does this still sound like Rhodes to you?”
“He liked to be in control, and this would be the ultimate way to control someone else, wouldn’t it?” Kait opened her mouth as if she wanted to add something, then closed her mouth without speaking and looked down.
Sam figured she was thinking about the mental instability that would be needed to kill someone in this heinous way. Rhodes had once been an integral part of her family. If he actually was their killer, she had to be struggling with that realization.
“One other thing,” Marcie said, a hint of caution in her tone. “Because there are no real physical signs on the body from this type of death, it’s possible I’m wrong about the cause of death. Though I’ve found nothing else that could explain his demise, it is possible that I’ve missed something. And the tube and roc could be from a recent hospital procedure that has nothing to do with his murder.”
For everyone’s sake in this investigation, Sam hoped that was true. “Then it’s even more important that I get back with Congdon’s mother.”
“The procedure would have occurred a day or less before he died, or his system would be clear of the roc or the levels too low to cause his death. This wouldn’t be a simple in and out procedure or something done at a dentist’s office.”
Sam nodded his understanding. “If the mother doesn’t know anything about a surgery, I’ll also check with the hospitals and surgery centers.”
“Let’s say you were right the first time, Marcie.” Kait’s eyebrows gathered in a frown. “That Congdon didn’t have surgery, and he was kept on this vent by the killer. Where would the killer get that kind of equipment and the drug?”
“Good question.” Marcie leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “Anyone with the right credentials could likely buy the vent online from a medical equipment dealer or eBay.”
“eBay?” Kait asked.
“Yeah, believe it or not, you can buy all types of medical equipment there. Of course, you can’t vouch for the working condition of said equipment, and the sale is regulated, so not just anyone can bid on it.”
“Could he have stolen the vent?” Sam asked.
“Hmm, maybe. But it’d be difficult.”
“If he did steal one”—Kait lifted her chin, a likely attempt to look confident, but Sam saw the concern lingering in her eyes—“where are the most logical places to find one?”
“Hospitals, of course, or an ambulance.” Marcie kept the pen going as she thought. “Maybe an air ambulance, helicopter . . . or even a medical transport plane. Plus, some ERs store backup equipment for their helicopter and might keep one in a locked storeroom. Vents are pricey, so if it was taken from a hospital or EMS company, they surely would have reported it.”
“If we’re talking Rhodes here, he could have used his military connections to get one,” Sam added as he jotted down her other suggestions.
Marcie nodded. “That’s an excellent possibility as well.”
Sam closed his notepad. “First, we’ll rule out Congdon’s hospitalization before checking for stolen equipment.”
“Let me know if you want me to put feelers out to the local medical community in case anyone’s heard of a vent or any roc that’s gone missing.” Marcie stood. “Sorry to be the bearer of such unfortunate news, but I thought it important you hear about it right away.” She met Sam’s gaze, and he saw the toll this case was taking on her. “I could use some fresh air, so I’ll walk you out.”
In the hallway, Kait tipped her head in the opposite direction from the exit. “I need to make a quick trip to the restroom before we go. I’ll meet you out front.” She spun and all but ran down the hallway.
Her posture was sure and true as usual, but he’d seen the look of despair on her face before she fled. He didn’t want to examine too closely how her dejection made him feel, but he did know he wanted to go after her and offer comfort. But he also didn’t want to give Marcie additional ammunition to use in her matchmaking attempts, so he started for the lobby.
Marcie caught up to him. “You ask the fine agent out yet?”
“Marcie,” Sam warned as frustration coiled tightly in his chest. “After what you just told us, I’m in no mood for this.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
He struggled to keep his annoyance in check. “I have no interest in a relationship, and I don’t need your help.”
Instead of backing off as he’d intended, she grabbed his arm and jerked him to a stop. “That’s what has me worried, Sam. You don’t do anything but work. What kind of life is that? Dealing with sickos like this all the time and nothing else to balance it out. Except for your empathy for victims and their families, you’ve shut down. I honestly wonder if you’re even capable of feeling anything but pain anymore.”
Her words, so similar to Hannah’s the night she died, made him pull away and head for the exit alone. A lump formed in his throat, and he had a hard time swallowing it down. He was the person Hannah had accused him of being and more, and as much as he wanted to change and let go of the pain to see where these feelings for Kait might lead, God help him, he didn’t know if he could.
Chapter Eleven
TURNING HIS vehicle into a downtown parking garage, Sam listened to Kait’s phone conversation. Not that he made it a habit to eavesdrop, but he wanted to stop Marcie’s comment from replaying in his brain. And apparently, Kait’s mother was the perfect person to distract him as her shrill voice cut through the phone, and he could hear her every word. Kait had asked her to pick up Lily from daycare again today, but her mother refused. She claimed she wouldn’t enable Kait’s workaholic tendency any longer.
“Mom. Mom.” Kait looked at her phone. “No signal.”
“Sorry.” Sam pulled into a parking space. “I should have warned you that the signal in the garage is iffy.”
“No biggie. It’s not like I haven’t heard that same argument a hundred times before.” Kait shoved her phone into her pocket. “I was hoping she’d give me a bit more time this afternoon, but I can only take a quick look at that video, and then I need to pick up Lily.”
Sam climbed out of his car, and Kait followed him onto the busy Portland street. He led the way down a few blocks to the Central Precinct. Normally, he enjoyed this short walk from the private police department parking to the office, but he was cranky, and it irritated him to have to jostle through people to get there.
Inside, he went straight to the elevator, and they rode to the ninth floor housing the Forensic Science Division’s media room.
Technician Wally Edwards sat behind his computer. His messy dark hair, sticking out at odd angles, was visible above the monitor. He looked up and frowned. “Figures you’d show up before I had a chance to preview the video for you.”
“No worries,” Sam replied. “I didn’t expect you’d have time to look at it. I’m just thankful you were able to retrieve it.”
“Figured I should go out and get it myself before the store owner or a detective botched the job,” he grumbled.
Many detectives would take offense at Wally’s comment, but Sam knew he spoke the truth. Very few owners and equally few detectives—Sam being one of them—possessed skills to locate and correctly transfer video files, not only for viewing but
also for potential use in court.
“I’ll cue it up for you and . . .” Wally’s voice trailed off, and he looked pointedly at Kait.
She stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “Special Agent Kaitlyn Knight. FBI.”
“Wally Edwards.” He shook, then started to pull his hand away, but Kait held on and looked directly in his eyes.
“I can see you’re extremely busy, Wally,” she said warmly. “Thank you for taking the time to retrieve the video.” She released his hand.
He turned away, but not before Sam caught a smile and blush creeping over the techie’s face. Kait’s genuine warmth had easily subdued the old curmudgeon. Just the way she often caught Sam unaware. He’d tell Wally not to be embarrassed at letting her disarm him, but that would only cause Wally to blush more.
He settled behind another computer at the end of the worktable and soon had the video file open. He paused the program and pushed to his feet, keeping his focus on Sam. “Let me know if you want a copy.” He retreated to his own computer.
Kait slipped onto the stool Wally had vacated and started the video playing. The camera angle faced the street, providing a clear view of the payphone mounted to a gas station on the opposite corner. A man climbed from a tan Chrysler Imperial that Sam guessed to be from the early nineties and stepped toward the building. The camera was too far away to identify any facial features, but gave them a clear view of an olive-green pea coat slung over one of the guy’s shoulders and a brown leather bag hanging from the other.
Sam pointed at the jacket. “What’s with the pea coat, do you think? It’s been in the nineties all week, so he didn’t need it.”
“Does seem odd,” Kait responded, but her focus didn’t leave the monitor.
The caller’s back was to the camera, and Sam noted the guy was dark haired, over six feet tall, had a muscular build, and dressed impeccably—if you didn’t count the ratty coat. Sam kept his eyes on the man as he dialed and then engaged in an animated conversation.
Kait shifted on the stool. “It’s like he knows the camera’s there and is purposely avoiding showing his face.”
Web of Deceit Page 10
