Cavanaugh Standoff

by Marie Ferrarella

  Hearing Sierra’s question, Ronan looked up in her direction. “What did you say?”

  He knew he would regret asking because he was all but giving her an invitation to start running off at the mouth again and it had been really pretty peaceful for the last few hours. But she’d asked a question and since she’d been dead-on about the surveillance video, he couldn’t afford to ignore her just for the sake of his own peace and quiet.

  “Why does the killer just cut off one of his victim’s hands?” she asked.

  Ronan shrugged. “Because it’s the victim’s dominant hand most likely.”

  “Okay. And?” She waited for more of an explanation. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her and she had a feeling that if they had an answer, it would get them one step closer to finding who was behind the killings.

  Ronan frowned. “And what?”

  Taking a breath, Sierra worded her question more succinctly. “Why would the killer want to cut off the victim’s dominant hand?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Ronan asked. Frustrated, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “The guy’s a whack job.”

  “A whack job who knows how to practically surgically remove a hand from its wrist,” she said pointedly.

  Ronan frowned. “Anyone wielding a meat cleaver with a little momentum could do the same thing.”

  “I suppose you’ve got a point,” she was forced to admit.

  “Why are you focusing on the way the killer cuts off his victim’s hands?” Choi asked, finally getting off the phone. “You think the killer’s a Jack the Ripper type? Some people thought he was a doctor, the way he vivisected those prostitutes.”

  “I thought maybe if our killer had some kind of medical background, we might be able to narrow the suspect pool,” she explained.

  “We have a suspect pool?” Martinez asked, glancing from Sierra to Ronan and then Choi. “You mean you think that somebody other than the members of those two gangs still left standing is behind this?”

  She waved away Martinez’s facetious question. “Right now, I’m just thinking out loud,” Sierra said with a shrug. “Spit-balling ideas until something winds up sticking, I guess.”

  Ronan had a thoughtful expression on his face. “And what are your thoughts about why the killer cuts off just one of his victim’s hands? The dominant hand.” His tone underscored the word.

  Sierra was surprised he was asking her for input rather than simply telling her not to think out loud until she had something worthwhile to share.

  “Like you said, it’s the victim’s dominant hand,” Sierra said. She kept coming back to that. It had to mean something. “The hand he uses to shoot his gun with.”

  Ronan’s eyes met hers. “You think these killings are payback for something.” It wasn’t a question so much as an assumption. And it made as much sense right now as any of this did.

  “Maybe,” she answered, leaving herself a little leeway. “But I can’t find a connection between the two gangs, other than they pretty much stayed out of each other’s way.”

  And that was what was frustrating her. There had to be something. But what?

  “At least for the last couple of years,” Choi recalled.

  “Until these killings started,” Martinez spoke up. “Now, according to what I hear from my friends on the Tesla police force, there’ve been a number of revenge killings.” He pulled up a recent story he’d read earlier on the internet. “See?” He turned his monitor so that it was visible to the others.

  Choi scanned the story quickly. “Maybe this is all just gang-related in one way or another,” he suggested, looking at O’Bannon.

  One of the newer lab techs from the CSI unit had just walked into the squad room and crossed to Ronan. He was carrying a large manila envelope.

  “Captain 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 a
sked. 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 ag
ree 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.