Cocaine is difficult to measure accurately and unless blood is preserved properly a sample can deteriorate quickly. In addition, the concentration of cocaine can vary depending on where you take a sample from. To further complicate things, the substance can be used clinically in some surgeries as an effective local anesthetic, so it can be difficult to determine whether the drug was used illicitly or not just from its presence in a sample.
Aside from Dennis Heath and now Jordan Dunwoody, there was only one other case where traces of cocaine were found. Hidden among the cocktail of other street drugs that convinced me I was dealing with a drug overdose. Margaret McClintock, a thirty-eight-year-old prostitute, was found in a seedy motel room she rented by the week on the north side of town. She’d been dead for three days when her body was discovered by the manager, who came to look for his next week’s rent.
From what I can see in the file there is little to connect all three victims, other than their cause of death. Margaret and Dennis both appeared to be disenfranchised, but Jordan wasn’t. He had a family and still lived at home.
Until I can get the samples I took during her autopsy to the CBI lab for confirmation, I can’t be sure the trace cocaine in her system was laced with LSD like with the other two. I’ll get Paul to pull those tomorrow and run them over to Pat.
Studying the autopsy report I wrote just after Christmas last year; I can’t find anything that I might have done differently. I’ve gone over it again and again, comparing it with the autopsy reports for the two men. I’m no closer to finding something to connect them and there still is nothing to indicate foul play. No signs of a struggle, no torn clothes, nothing. The woman was a regular user who, according to witnesses, did not care what it was she shoved in her veins or up her nose, as long as it gave her relief from her reality, which seems to have been pretty bleak.
Feeling a little better, I make a few notes in an email to Paul I copy to myself. Then I send a message to Blackfoot and Jay with Margaret McClintock’s name and an explanation to give them a heads-up. When I shut the laptop and look up, it’s dark outside and my stomach rumbles loudly.
I pad into the kitchen to find something to eat when I notice the clock on the stove. It’s already coming up on ten, no wonder I’m hungry. Not feeling up to actual cooking at this hour, I grab a piece of cheese and a small bowl of trail mix and head back to the living room, flipping the TV on to watch something mindless for half an hour before I go to bed.
I’m halfway through an episode of Virgin River, my guilty Netflix pleasure, when Beau starts whining and scratching at the back door. I carefully move Belle to the couch—she crawled on my lap and has been curled up sleeping for the past half hour—before getting up to open the sliding door for him. I watch him walk to the edge of the deck and stick his nose up, sniffing the air. I start back to the couch when I suddenly hear him barking furiously, and I swing around just in time to see him leaping off the deck and disappearing into the night.
Something big must’ve caught his attention because I can still hear him in the distance.
I run into the kitchen and grab a flashlight and bear spray, from the top of the fridge, before following him outside. There’ve been some bear sightings up here and this is prime mountain lion country too.
“Beau! Get back here!” I yell, jumping off the deck and heading for the tree line.
I’m halfway there when the barking stops abruptly and I hear Beau let out a yowl that has the hair stand up on my neck. I don’t think, I start running in the direction I heard the sound, the beam from the flashlight bouncing wildly in front of me.
“Beau! Where are you, buddy?” A few paces into the trees I stop to get my bearings and listen. “Beau?”
That’s when I hear it, the sound of something moving through the brush. Fast. For a moment it seems the sound is coming this way, but then it starts moving away.
“Beau!” I try again when the light hits my dog, trotting my way, his tongue lolling from his mouth. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” I scold him as I grab him by the collar.
I cast a furtive glance into the dark woods before firmly guiding Beau back to the house. I have no desire to tangle with whatever had my dog so riled up. He must’ve tired himself out because the closer we get the slower he moves. By the time we get to the steps to the deck I almost have to drag him up.
I let out a breath of relief when I can close the sliding door behind us and only then do I crouch down in front of Beau. That’s when I notice his chest looks wet, the fur dark, and when I touch him my hand comes away sticky and covered in blood.
“Oh fuck, buddy, fuck. What happened?”
He sags through his hind leg and whimpers, but he doesn’t move when I immediately start looking for the source of his bleeding. When I brush his fur out of the way I see a deep slice on his chest, right between his front legs, and I can hear his labored breathing.
“It’s okay, Beau. It’ll be okay.”
I dive for my phone on the coffee table and snag the quilt from the couch, pressing it firmly to the wound while trying to dial with shaking fingers. I listen to it ring while trying to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to get my dog into the car by myself.
“Merry?”
He sounds like I just woke him up but I could cry to hear his voice.
“God, Jay…it’s Beau. He went after something outside and…” I fight the panic that bubbles up. “He’s hurt. Bad. Someone cut him.”
Chapter 21
Jay
Meredith jumps up when Dave walks into the waiting room.
“How is he?”
I’d called Dave on my way to her house, knowing he might be able to get there before me, and his vehicle had been in the drive when I got there. I also got in touch with the desk sergeant at the station and relayed to him what Meredith told me and to send a cruiser to her place.
When I arrived, Meredith had been pale but steel-faced as she kept Beau calm while Dave looked him over. It didn’t take him long to decide to take the dog to the clinic and it took the two of us to load him in the back of his vehicle. One of the DPD’s cruisers pulled in just as I helped Meredith climb into Dave’s truck to sit with Beau. I had a quick word with the officers before getting into my vehicle and following Dave to the clinic.
We’ve been waiting here since Dave took the dog into surgery, and the adrenaline boost I got when Meredith woke me up is starting to wear off. I get to my feet a little slower and put a hand on the small of her back in support.
“He’s stable, for now,” is the first thing Dave says. “You’re right, it looks like a knife wound and unfortunately it nicked his heart and he lost quite a bit of blood. I was able to close the hole and stop the bleeding, but he needed a transfusion. The next twenty-four hours will tell how well he bounces back, but he’s strong and otherwise healthy, so the odds are on his side.”
“Thank you so much. Okay…” Her voice is wobbly and she clears her throat before continuing stronger. “So what now?”
Dave smiles at her and despite the situation I feel a pang of jealousy I immediately shove down.
“I’m keeping him sedated for now and tomorrow afternoon we’ll see how he does. But even if he comes through well, you should count on him being hospitalized for a couple of days after that. We’ll take good care of him, I promise.”