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
