by Lyle, Dixie
[What have you found?] Tiny stood next to me, then shrank down to Maltese size. [Pick me up so I can get a better look.]
I did. He felt a lot more solid than he had the last time I’d lifted him. [Interesting. What are those?]
“I’m not sure. I know I’ve seen them before, though…”
And then it hit me.
Total lightbulb moment. I knew what the marks were, and how they were made, and who the killer had to be. “Oh,” I said. “Wow.”
[What is it?]
“Hang on a second.” I pulled out my phone, called ZZ, and asked her a single question. Then I thanked her and hung up. “We need to talk to Brower. Now.”
* * *
Sheriff Brower wasn’t happy about being disturbed. He was in the midst of questioning Consuela in the study, which he’d appropriated as his interrogation room. The bright light streaming through the windows and the rows of bookshelves didn’t do much for the setting as far as making it intimidating, so Brower was trying to compensate by peppering her with questions.
“—and what was the last thing you ate for lunch that day?”
Poor Consuela was almost in tears. Brower’s scattershot approach seemed to be to assume everyone was guilty and all he had to do was bully each suspect until the right one confessed. Or maybe just until he got something he could arrest someone for.
“Sheriff,” I announced, striding into the room. Brower shot me an irritated look, while Consuela’s was one of relief. “There’s something you have to see.”
“Not now,” he snapped. “Now get out of here before I cite you for obstruction of justice.”
“Now,” I said. “If, you know, you actually want to learn who killed Maria.”
Consuela gasped. “Someone killed Maria?”
“That’s confidential,” Brower said, trying to regain control of the situation. “And you have no business disclosing information in an ongoing police investigation—”
It took an act of will not to tell him to just shut up. “Sheriff. I have vital information. I want to share it with you. It may not be as important as the sandwich Consuela ate yesterday, but it will let you solve a homicide.” I locked eyes with him. Sometimes, the only way to get an alpha male’s attention is to challenge him—it kick-starts the intelligent part of his brain as he’s forced to evaluate the threat instead of just reacting.
After a second, Brower snapped off a hostile glance at Consuela, said, “I’m not done with you,” then got to his feet. “All right, let’s get this over with.”
“You can go,” I told Consuela. “If he needs to talk to you again, he’ll let you know.” That earned me another disapproving glower from the sheriff, but he didn’t contradict me.
I led him out of the study and upstairs to ZZ’s bedroom. He stopped me outside the door with a hand on my arm. “Whoa, there, Miss Lancaster. That’s now an official crime scene. I can’t let you in there.”
“You can and you will,” I said. “Because I’ve already been in there, and found a key piece of evidence.”
He eyed me skeptically. “And how do I know you didn’t just plant said evidence?”
That stopped me. I’d been in such a rush to get what I’d found into the right hands—well, into the hands of a representative of law enforcement, anyway—that I hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know. Why don’t you take a look and decide for yourself?”
He nodded slowly. “All right. You just stop at the doorway and point out whatever it is that’s so important—don’t cross the threshold.”
“Yes, yes, fine.”
He took down the tape, then had to have me unlock the door. When he was inside and I was in the doorway, I told him about the marks on the window and how I’d found them. He repeated the process, then studied the patterns on the glass. “What am I supposed to be looking at, Miss Lancaster? You don’t think someone’s hands made these, do you?”
“Not hands. Feet. And not someone, something. I think you’ll find those prints are an exact match to the landing gear of a remote-controlled quadracopter belonging to one of our guests—Juan Estevez.”
“A what?”
And then I had to explain what the GEQ was, and how it could use those feet to cling to surfaces, and the fact that it was rigged with a blowgun-like device that could hypothetically be used to fire a dart. Brower took all this in with a long-suffering expression, then let out a wheezy sigh when I was done. “That sounds pretty far-fetched to me, Miss Lancaster. But I’ll humor you—we’ll take a look at this flying robot-thing and see if you’re right. Even if you are, though, it doesn’t prove murder.”
“We’ll see.”
Tiny had stayed by my side the entire time. [Foxtrot, are you sure about this?] he asked as we all headed for Estevez’s room.
I am. There’s no reason for those marks to be there—ZZ told me that neither Estevez or his machine had been anywhere near her room. The only thing that makes sense is that Estevez flew the thing inside, landed on the side of the window, then shot Maria with the dart gun.
[But why?]
Because of what ZZ was hinting at earlier—that the GEQ was funded by the military for use as an assassination tool. Estevez must have thought she was going to screw up his funding.
[So he killed her maid?]
Okay, it’s not a perfect explanation. Maybe he just made a mistake—the camera on that thing wasn’t the best. Or maybe he panicked.
Tiny didn’t reply.
We got to Estevez’s room. I knocked. A second later the door opened and a sleepy-looking Estevez said, “What is it? I was napping.”
“You mind if we come in for a second?” I said, smiling brightly.
Estevez glanced at Brower, then gave us a grumpy shrug. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I’m up now.”
The GEQ was sitting on a table, next to an open laptop. “Is that your quaddocopter?” Brower asked.
“Quadracopter,” said Estevez.
“I’d like to examine it, if you don’t mind—” Brower began, but that was as far as he got. Tiny suddenly shoved past me, running over to the bed. He began barking wildly.
“What’s wrong with him?” Estevez said. He took a step backward, looking nervous. “Can you get him out of here? I’m not crazy about dogs—”
[Foxtrot! Between the mattresses!]
“He’s trained to hunt rats,” I said quickly. I ran over to the bed, but instead of restraining Tiny—who was trying to jam his nose between the bedspring and the mattress—I reached down, stuck my fingers in the crack, and lifted. “There’s probably a rodent in here—”
But there wasn’t.
What was lying there was a small glass vial with a plastic cap and a white label. I could make out the letters CARF quite easily.
“Well,” said Brower. “How about that…”
“I don’t know what that is,” Estevez said. “It’s not mine.”
“Sure it isn’t,” said Brower. “Son, you’re under arrest.” He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and took Estevez’s wrist.
“What? What are you talking about? This is the room they gave me! That could have been here before!”
Brower secured Estevez’s hands behind his back. “Looks like you were right,” he told me. “But now I really need you to leave, and lock the door. I’ll come back and collect the evidence once I’ve got Mr. Estevez in my patrol car. You have the right to remain silent—” He took Estevez by the arm and led him outside while reading him his rights. Tiny and I followed, and I closed and locked the door behind me.
[Something’s not right.]
“I know,” I muttered, watching Brower take Estevez away. “We searched that room before, and there wasn’t any carfentanil there then. I guess he stashed it someplace else.”
[Then moved it to such an obvious hiding place instead of getting rid of it?]
Tiny was right. Something smelled, and it wasn’t of animal tranquilizer. We followed Brower and Estevez down the hall and then down the stairs.
“You have to at least tell me what I’m being charged with!”
“You’re being charged with the murder of Maria Wong,” Brower said. “Think you’re pretty smart, huh? You used that flying gadget to stick her with a dart, but you forgot to get rid of the poison afterward. Not so smart after all.”
“That’s—that’s ridiculous! Look, I can prove I didn’t do that. The only way to pilot the GEQ is with the remote controller, and it logs all its flights. The data from the flight log will show the GEQ never went near Maria Wong.”
“That kind of thing can be faked,” said Brower tersely.
“You should at least take a look,” I said. We’d reached the lobby, and I saw Shondra and ZZ hurrying over to intercept us.
“What’s happening?” ZZ demanded. “Why is one of my guests in handcuffs?”
“This is all a misunderstanding,” said Estevez.
“Where’s the flight controller?” I asked.
“Upstairs, in my suitcase. Outside zippered pocket.”
Shondra studied Estevez coolly, but said nothing. ZZ grabbed Brower by the arm. “Answer me, dammit!”
“This guest of yours,” said Brower, “is being charged with homicide. I am going to put him in the back of my unit, and then I’ll come back and explain things. That all right with you?”
ZZ let go of his arm and turned to me. “Foxtrot? Can you clear this up?”
“I can. Mostly.” I ran through a terse explanation of what was happening. Shondra just listened and nodded; ZZ gasped and looked like she was going to either burst into tears or put her fist through a wall.
“This is my fault,” she whispered. “This is all my fault.”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions just yet,” I said. “Estevez claims the flight controller will clear him.”
“And we’re going to follow up on that.” Sheriff Brower paused in the doorway, then stepped back inside and shut the door. “Now that my prisoner’s secured, we can check out his story. But I wouldn’t put too much faith in one of this guy’s gizmos providing the alibi for another.”
ZZ and Shondra moved toward the staircase, but Brower stopped them with an upraised hand. “Hold it. Chain of evidence is screwed up enough as it is—I don’t want more bodies in that room. I’ll go and see for myself.”
“So will I,” I said. “I’ve already been in there—and if needed, I could corroborate your testimony.”
Brower didn’t like it, but he knew I was right. “Okay, I guess I owe you that much. But don’t touch anything—and leave the dog.”
I nodded. “Tiny, stay here,” I said.
Tiny whined, but sat down. [Stay alert. Brower could easily miss something.]
“Good dog,” I said.
We went back up, Brower wheezing a little—I got the feeling that he and stairs weren’t really best buds. I unlocked the door and stepped aside. “All yours, Sheriff.”
Brower pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves before entering, me right behind him. He found the suitcase on an ottoman at the foot of the bed, and unzippered the outside pocket. “Nothing in here,” he said.
I peered at the luggage. The pocket was empty. “Maybe it’s somewhere else in the suitcase?”
He opened it up and rummaged as I watched. Nothing resembling a flight controller. “It’s not in here, either. Does this thing actually exist?”
“I saw it myself.” I had a sudden thought. “Could he have it on him? He could have forgotten; I do that with my cell phone all the time—”
Brower snorted. “I patted him down before I put him in the car. Took a cell phone and a multitool from him, but nothing else.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and showed me. “See?”
I looked at it, but it was just a cell phone. “Well, it’s got to be here someplace.”
Brower searched the room while I watched and offered helpful advice, which the sheriff seemed oddly unappreciative of. He didn’t find it.
“It’s not here, Foxtrot,” he said finally. “Which probably means he got rid of it, for pretty much the opposite reason he gave us: It would verify he was the killer, not disprove it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to seal up this evidence.” He took several folded plastic bags out of his pocket.
I went back downstairs, where Shondra, ZZ, and Tiny were waiting. I shook my head. “No go. It wasn’t anywhere in the room.”
“’Course not,” said Shondra. “Device like that, you’d either wipe the memory or get rid of it as soon as you could. Disposing of it is the safer option.”
“But not the smarter one,” I pointed out. “Estevez built the thing. If anyone knows how to erase incriminating information from it, he does. Getting rid of it just looks suspicious.”
“Not if you claim it’s your alibi,” Shondra countered. “That seems pretty smart, to me.”
She might have been right—but I knew about the poison showing up out of nowhere, and she didn’t. Not that I could tell her that. “He hasn’t left the grounds since he got here, has he?”
“I’d have to check the footage for the last day—but up until the murder, no.”
ZZ looked lost. “I can’t believe he would—I mean, I knew what he was building that horrid little machine for, I just can’t believe he actually used it…”
“You look like you need a cup of tea,” I said. “Go sit down in the lounge. I’ll make you one.”
Shondra followed me into the kitchen, where I put the kettle on. Ben was nowhere in sight—I briefly wondered where he was, but didn’t have the time or energy to spend on the question.
“ZZ told me a little about Estevez’s project,” Shondra said. “Took me all morning to pry it out of her. Turns out a whistle-blower got in contact with her via the Internet and leaked some of the classified details of the project. According to ZZ, it’s not designed for surveillance at all—it’s an assassination drone, plain and simple. She was going to denounce him at one of the salon dinners, make a big deal out of it. You know how she loves drama.”
“I guess that’s motive,” I said, leaning up against the counter. “He tries to kill her to shut her up, and kills Maria instead. I wonder why we didn’t find the dart?”
“Probably had a string attached to it so it could be retrieved. You come right down to it, the weapon itself isn’t that high-tech—just the delivery platform.”
“I suppose.” I fell silent, thinking. Tiny had stayed behind with ZZ; he wasn’t any more convinced than I was, and wasn’t taking any chances.
We didn’t know it then—but we were already too late.
I was jarred out of my reverie by a twin blast of frenzied barking and an urgent mental message: [Foxtrot! Come quickly—something’s wrong with ZZ!]
I ran. ZZ was slumped on the couch, her head lolling to one side. She was barely breathing. “Oh, God,” I said. Shondra was already on the phone to 911. I tried to get ZZ to wake up, but she was completely out of it.
[She just passed out—I don’t know why.]
I thought hard about the reading I’d done on carfentanil, then pulled out my own phone and hit the speed-dial number for Caroline. She got it on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Caroline! You have naloxone on hand, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Bring it and a syringe to the main house, fast! We’re in the lounge!”
ZZ wasn’t breathing.
I started mouth-to-mouth. Carfentanil worked by paralyzing muscles, including the ones that made you breathe. All I had to do was keep ZZ breathing until Caroline got here. Sure, no problem.
I blocked out everything but the rhythm of inhaling and then expelling air, making ZZ’s chest rise and fall. Just like blowing up a balloon, only I was saving a life instead of decorating for a birthday party.
I wondered if I’d see her ghost, too.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It seemed to take Caroline forever to get there. When she finally did arrive, I was so deep into what I was doing I didn’t even hear her—she had to physic
ally pull me away.
“What happened?” Caroline snapped. ZZ’s eyes were wide open, making her look like she was already dead.
“Carfentanil,” I said. “I think she was poisoned, but I don’t know how—”
“You sure?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Caroline had a hypodermic and glass vial in one hand, and now she used one to fill the other. “We’ll know in a minute,” she said grimly, and jabbed the needle into ZZ’s thigh.
We watched anxiously as Caroline pumped the drug into ZZ’s system. Naloxone is fast-acting and powerful, often countering the effects of an opiate overdose in less than a minute.
ZZ still wasn’t breathing.
Caroline immediately started giving her mouth-to-mouth.
“Ambulance is on its way,” Shondra said. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Caroline didn’t answer verbally—she was busy. But she waved the offer away.
In an emergency—as opposed to a crisis, which I rank as less urgent and more common—I’ve found that focusing on the known facts helps calm people down. And by people, I meant me. “It’s okay. This is normal. Naloxone hydrochloride can take up to five minutes to work, though it usually kicks in within sixty seconds. Caroline’s just making sure ZZ keeps breathing while the drug takes effect.”
Shondra gave me a flat, evaluating glance. “How’d you know?”
I looked down at Caroline, then took a few steps away and motioned for Shondra to join me. “I don’t know, not for sure,” I said under my breath. “But I thought there was a good chance that our killer would try again, so I did a little preemptive research on the ’Net. Naloxone is the antidote for overdoses of powerful animal tranquilizers.”
“All of them?” She sounded skeptical.
“Just the ones that are opiate-based. But those are also the ones most likely to kill a human being.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Naloxone isn’t dangerous itself. But if it doesn’t work—I don’t know.” I glanced at the door helplessly. “When is that damn ambulance going to get here?”