Chapter 12

When Sara and Brass finished at the diner, they checked in with the hospital. Mankiller was wrapping up the after-surgery protocols and wouldn't be coming in for at least another hour. Sara had the detective drop her off at the lab, hoping to check on the status of the evidence being tested.

She'd made it as far as the break room to put away her leftovers when Greg ran into her. He immediately sank into a chair, giving her an evil look.

"You look awake," he groused before resting his head on the table. "I so hate you right now."

"Make up your mind! You were upset when I was sleepy," she said, noting he appeared to be in a good mood despite his complaining. "Want some coffee?"

"Ugh. I may be tired, but I'm not suicidal," he said gravely.

"Did you go home at all?"

"No. I thought you were going home to sleep."

"I did."

"When?" It was Nick who asked as he and Catherine came into the break room. "Your car was here when I left, and it's in the same spot."

"Brass gave me a lift," she answered.

"Oh, you'll listen to your huggy bear, but not to me," Greg muttered into the tabletop.

"Huggy bear? Did he say? Say what?" Nick asked, turning to give Sara an incredulous look.

"Don't. Just don't," Catherine said firmly. "It wasn't funny the first time around."

"Man, don't scare me like that. Brass and Sara? That's just wrong," Nick said, giving his head a shake.

"Did you find anything?" Sara asked Greg. She trusted him not to reveal her secret, but she was also feeling grateful to Brass at the moment and didn't like the teasing at his expense. Besides, it wasn't as fun when he wasn't there to join in.

He lifted his head from the table and stretched. "It turns out Stinky wasn't completely stinko. The partial shoe print we found at the scene? It's from a woman's sneaker, size nine."

"So he was right about the killer being female," Catherine said, bobbing her head from side to side in thought. "I guess it makes sense. Women are more likely to use poison to kill. Any luck tracking the shoe?"

"It's a cheap brand carried by the discount stores. We'll never be able to trace who bought it," Greg said.

"And ol' Stan was right about Rocky, the latest dead junkie," Nick said. "Maybe."

"That's what I like about you, Nicky. You're so definite," Sara teased.

He grabbed a cup of coffee with a laugh. "I wasn't getting anywhere trying to find a runaway from somewhere that began with an em and was cold. I was rechecking his clothes for clues, and Greggo here recognized the faded logo on his t-shirt."

"Promises Like Putrid Poutine."

"It's a Canadian grunge band. I did not ask how he knew that. The boy scares me at times," he said, giving Greg a friendly grin. "So I contacted the Mounties about runaways."

"Was our guy from Montreal?" Sara asked. It was unlikely to help in their case, but it was always troubling when a victim went unidentified. As much as the family hated to get the news, it was worse to spend years wondering what had happened.

"Manitoba. Specifically, a town called Churchill that claims to be the polar bear capital of the world," Nick said.

"Oh, I think that counts as cold," Catherine said.

"Well, his description matches Rocco Spinelli, age twenty-one. He ran away from home about five years ago, but he had drug problems going back long before that," Nick said. "He was never arrested, so the Mounties don't have his prints, but they're sending us his dental records."

"He's only twenty-one," Sara said quietly, recalling the latest dead addict. He had seemed so much older, but he had led a rough, albeit short, life. "Are his parents flying in?"

"No," Nick said. "Seems they came to terms with the fact he was halfway in the grave when he ran away."

Greg frowned. "That's cold."

"Runaways don't usually have a happy ending, even the ones who aren't addicts already," Catherine pointed out.

"That's not always the case," Greg said hotly, straightening in his chair. He gave Sara a quick, embarrassed look. "I mean, a friend's brother ran away from home. Until I hear otherwise, I'm going to believe he's on a beach in South America, a fruity drink with an umbrella in one hand, and a local, Latin hottie in the other."

"That's a sweet sentiment, but probably not realistic," Sara told him kindly. "Did Hodges get around to our evidence?"

"Swing shift did a good job in the initial examination after Van Buren's death," Catherine said. "Nothing new on the stuff you double-checked."

"Well, I took apart his medical bag to examine the hinge that had the latex in it. There was blood, but it was too degraded to get DNA. I was able to type it. B-negative, and the doc was A-positive," Greg said.

"I'm not sure what that gives us," Catherine said. "Who knows how many other people at the clinic or his office might have come in contact with his bag. When are you going to talk to Dr. Mankiller?"

"She coming in shortly," Sara answered.

"No way it's her," Nick said with a chuckle. "Come on. We already have a stiff named John Dough. No way the man's killer is a Mankiller!"


"Sara!"

At the yell, she stopped and turned around. She'd been on her way to join Brass. Her eyebrow raised as Henry came dashing through the hallway after her, bouncing off the wall as he tried to avoid colliding with the cleaning lady. While he could be outgoing, it was unlike the Toxicology tech to get so excited that he'd go barreling through the lab.

"What's up?" she asked when he reached her.

"Your dead addicts," he panted out as he tried to catch his breath. "The standard tests … didn't turn up anything … on the heroin … so I've been doing … some more tests."

"I take it you found something, or are you just glad to see me?"

"Oh, I found something. On your John Doe," he said, sputtering for a moment. "But, I mean, it's good to see you, too, but ..."

She gave him a friendly smile. "Relax. I'm joking. What did you find?"

He held up a report and paused for a moment as he caught his breath. "It was cut with something odd. I never heard of this one before. I had to look it up. Enrofloxacin. It's ..."

"An antibacterial drug used to treat infections in dogs," she injected, taking the printout from him.

"I didn't know you had a dog," Henry said.

She paused momentarily. "I don't. A friend does. I watch him sometimes. He needed this when he had an abscess."

"Oh, well, I always figured you more as a cat lady."

She didn't respond to that beyond a confused look. Giving her head a shake, she read over the report. The amount of the antibacterial present was significant; it wasn't an accidental contamination. "I've never heard of heroin being cut with enrofloxacin before."

"Neither has Narcotics. I called and asked," Henry said.

"What about the other addicts?"

"I tested the syringe found on John Dough – the guy named Dough, not the unknown guy. It was cut with the same drug, same percentage. "

"That's not a coincidence."

"Now that I know what to look for, it'll be easy to test for enrofloxacin, but ..." he said, giving her an apologetic shrug.

"Yeah, the other deaths were ruled an overdose," she said. Evidence was only saved in criminal cases, and even then only for as long as the case was open or there was a chance of an appeal. It was unlikely any physical evidence had been saved from what had been ruled accidental overdoses.

"Well, I pulled samples from some of the other heroin we have in evidence. None of it was cut with this stuff," Henry said. "I'm going to check the rest, too, but it looks like this was a special mix."

"Thanks," she said, pulling out her phone as it chirped. "Gotta run. Good work!"


Brass was just getting ready to enter the interrogation room when she jogged up to him. "Ready?" was all he asked before opening the door. As they crossed the room to the desk, he made introductions to Mankiller, but she only held up a hand.

The doctor was standing by the mirror, checking something on her phone. Sara observed her quietly: Mankiller was slightly taller than she was, with a curvier figure; scrubs could obscure that observation, though. Her black hair was pulled back into a bun. She was dressed casually, but the clothes appeared to be high-quality; her watch and jewelry were definitely expensive. Her complexion could be called tan.

Mankiller made no move to acknowledge their presence, instead finishing whatever task she was doing on her phone. After a moment, she put it away and turned to appraise them.

"What do you want?" she asked without preamble.

"Have a seat," Brass said in overly-friendly tone. "We're just talking about murder."

"I don't know anything about Henry's death," she stated, eyeing the chair with distaste before sitting down.

"You know, we like to be the ones to determine that," he said. "What makes you so sure that's what we want to talk about?"

"You asked who knew him at the hospital," she said.

Brass raised an eyebrow to concede the point. "You never talked to the police during the initial investigation."

"You never contacted me," she pointed out calmly, her tone reminding Sara of an adult talking down to a slow child.

"Oh, believe me, if it had been my case from the start, I would have," Brass said. "And you didn't come forward."

Mankiller scoffed openly. "Why would I?"

"Oh, I don't know. People usually like to help when a colleague dies," he said.

"He was killed by an addict, supposedly for his medical bag. What could I possibly tell you that would help? I didn't volunteer at the clinic."

"Do you think an addict would kill one of the doctors who was trying to help?" Brass asked.

Mankiller considered this for a moment. "Yes. His advice to them usually went along the lines of 'Just stop taking drugs.' It's technically good advice, but Henry never quite grasped the nature of addiction. If people could just stop, Las Vegas would still be just a pit stop for people traveling across the desert."

He jotted down some notes and looked up. "What can you tell me about Lamar Willis?"

Mankiller frowned. "I don't who he is."

"He was the last person Dr. Van Buren called before disappearing. His number popped up a lot," Brass said.

The doctor shrugged. "He wasn't in our mutual circle of friends. I doubt he had many friends I didn't know about. Try someone in his old office, or Seth Meier. They dealt with some of the same people professionally. And, no, it wouldn't be a drug dealer. Whatever his flaws, Henry was a health nut. He didn't even drink."

"Can you think of anyone who wanted Van Buren dead?" Sara asked. "Did he owe someone money?"

"You heard about his stupid bets. As far as I know, there wasn't anyone angry enough to hurt him over those. I think he was finally starting to understand other people expected him to pay up. You don't think an addict killed him over a bet, do you?"

"Well, we're not sure it was an addict," Brass added.

"Good luck then. Your list of suspects is probably going to be long."

Sara leaned forward. "From what we've been told, Dr. Van Buren was a bit difficult."

"That's a polite way of putting it," Mankiller said sarcastically.

Sara kept her voice level with some effort. "According to what we've heard, you and Dr. Van Buren were engaged."

"No."

"You weren't involved with him?" she pressed.

"We were involved. He proposed. I hadn't accepted," the doctor clarified. "He must have told Seth about the proposal. It would be like Henry to assume I was going to say yes."

"But you were considering marrying him," Brass noted. "You didn't need his money, and he doesn't sound like a catch."

"No, I didn't need his money. If you must know, I have relatives with a similar inability to deal with people. I'm used to that personality type. Henry didn't annoy me as easily as he did others. I thought he was trying to be a better person, but he didn't know how. I was willing to give him a chance," she said.

"But you found out he was cheating, and you called it off, right?" Sara continued.

"Yes."

Brass let out a sigh. "Don't you think that's pertinent?"

"No. Like I said, I don't know anything about his death. I didn't do it. I don't know who did. Why would I come forward and make myself a suspect?"

"So, where were you when Dr. Van Buren was murdered?" the detective asked shortly.

"I have no idea."

Sara shook her head in disbelief. "You don't remember where you were when your ex was killed? Even if you were done, that's not something you forget."

Mankiller regarded her with an impatient look. "I don't know where I was because I don't know when Henry died. From what I remember, he went missing on Tuesday and his body was found a few days later. If you can narrow down the time of death, I can check my records and give you a better answer."

While the doctor appeared to be answering honestly, the lack of empathy she showed was jarring. There had to be some feeling between them if she had considered marriage. Even in bad breakups, there was often lingering emotions.

"Aren't you in the least bit interested in catching his killer?" Sara asked.

"Not especially," Mankiller said coldly. "As you said, I dumped him. What happened to him after that – frankly, I don't give a damn. When I cut someone out of my life, I cut them out completely."

"I don't know. I mean, you're giving this guy a shot when no one else would. You're swapping DNA. Then you catch him with some other woman, maybe someone warmer," Brass said, pausing to flash her a smile. "It would be understandable if you wanted to bash his head in."

To Sara's surprise, Mankiller broke out in a rich laugh. "Detective, I never caught him. I have no idea who she was. His mother called me to let me know. I confronted him. He admitted it. I ended it."

"He told his mother he was having an affair?" Sara asked doubtfully.

"I assume you know his family's wealth is in a trust fund. He paid for the cheap slut's apartment from the trust."

"And you know she's cheap, how?" Brass asked. "Seeing as you don't know who she is."

"The apartment was some dump over by the Alphabets," Mankiller said, referring to the roughest section of the city. "No one would accept a 'love nest' there unless they already lived somewhere worse."

"So, you took all of this in a calm manner," he said, throwing his hands back. "You expect me to believe it didn't bother you that he was slipping the schlong with someone else?"

"Of course, it bothered me. I dumped him over it," she repeated, her tone suggesting he was dense. "My surname is just a name, Det. Brass. Henry wasn't worth the effort to kill."

"Oh, I'm sure there's a cute story about how something was lost in translation," he said.

"No, it's a very accurate translation." Mankiller rested her elbows on the table and leaned closer to him. "If, and I do mean if, I had killed Henry, we wouldn't be talking now," she said arrogantly.

"You don't think we could have traced it to you?" Brass asked.

Again, the doctor broke out in laughter. "You'd never have known it was murder! Henry had severe allergies. If I wanted to get rid of him permanently, he would have had an 'accidental' exposure without an epi pen or phone handy."

Sara and Brass exchanged a stunned look at how casually she made the admission. It also reminded her of some evidence.

"We heard that Dr. Van Buren complained about having to supply his own gloves at the clinic," Sara said. "Was he allergic to latex?"

"Yes, along with strawberries and penicillin." The doctor moved to get up. "I assume we're done now."

Brass mimicked her earlier laugh. ""Oh, we haven't even started. You see, I didn't ask you to come in about Van Buren's death."

The doctor regarded him curiously. "To the best of my knowledge, I don't know anyone else who was murdered."

"Being a doctor and all, I'm guessing you're familiar with potassium chloride," he said. "Ever use it?"

"All the time," she said, leaning close to him with her eyes widening. "I use it to stop their hearts."

Sara felt her hand sliding down to her hip toward her pistol, but Mankiller leaned back and chuckled. "Do you know what a vascular surgeon does? I have to operate on blood vessels. It's not uncommon to have to stop the heart briefly so the patient doesn't bleed out. Although, at the hospital it's usually the anesthesiologist who administers the shot."

"Right," Brass drew out slowly. "As a vascular surgeon, you know where the arteries are."

"I'd be paying a fortune in malpractice insurance if I didn't," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's one of the things you learn in medical school."

"Okay, so if you wanted to kill someone, what artery would you go for? Using a scalpel?"

"I wouldn't. And don't ask if I'd use a tomahawk instead," she sneered.

"The thought never crossed my mind," he said innocently, ignoring Sara's raised eyebrow. "What artery kills someone the fastest if it's cut?"

"Again, medical school. They teach us not to cut arteries and kill patients. It's something you need to know before getting into a surgical program. They prefer it when patients survive."

Brass gave her a humorless smile. "Who said anything about patients?"

"What exactly are we talking about?" the doctor asked, eyeing both of them carefully.

"What would you say if I told you you match an eyewitness' description of a serial killer?"

That statement finally seemed to rattle Mankiller, and she sat back down. "I'd say that you need a better witness."

Sara gave Brass a level look. If the doctor was faking, she was doing a good job of it. Her statement also was true; no DA would prosecute the case with only a chronic alcoholic as a witness. "What size shoe do you wear?" Sara asked.

"It depends on the brand. Anything from an eight to a nine."

"What about a dog?" she continued.

"What? No! I'm not an animal person," Mankiller stated, taking a deep breath. "When did these supposed murders happen?"

"They go back about three years," Brass said.

"I'll have my office manager send you a copy of my schedule for the last three years. And if you want to talk to me again, it'll be with my lawyer present. Good day, Det. Brass, Ms. Sidle."

Sara waited until Mankiller left before turning to Brass with her mouth open. "You know, I think I asked the wrong question earlier. We should have asked what Van Buren saw in her."

He gave a mirthless chuckle. "I'm not sure she killed the addicts, but damn! She's at the top of my list for Van Buren's murder."

"Did you find anything about the girlfriend?"

"No. Meier and Mankiller were the only ones who knew about her. I'll check Van Buren's financials for a rental in the Alphabets, see if I can track her down," he said. "You know, I don't think Mommy Dearest kept paying her rent after Van Buren died."

"She could be a suspect."

"Yeah, but in which case?" he asked. "Why did you ask about the dog?"

"Henry – our Henry in Tox – identified the substance used to cut the heroin in the latest deaths. It's enrofloxacin, an antibacterial used for dogs. He hasn't found it used in any other heroin."

"Great. So we can add Lassie to the list of suspects. I always thought Timmy 'fell' into too many wells."

TBC