Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(75)

She threw the ball to the opposite end of the fenced yard. Kiko took off in a flash. D.D. stared at her phone, wondered who she could call this early.

Ben Whitely. Given four bodies connected to a high-profile Amber Alert, the hardworking ME probably hadn’t even gone home last night. He was known to take catnaps on the morgue tables. Not something D.D. liked to think about.

Kiko returned. Dropped the ball. D.D. picked up and threw the ball, then hit speed dial on her phone. So far, this dog thing wasn’t that bad.

Ben picked up on the third ring. “What?” Ben could be a hard-ass. It was one of the many reasons D.D. liked him.

“I have a dog,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Her name is Kiko and I’m told she’s the best spotted dog in all the land.”

“I’m guessing Jack won that war.”

“Yeah, with a little help from Alex. Yesterday, they visited the animal shelter. And now we have a Dalmatian-pointer mix who goes roo, roo, roo every time we put her in her crate. She is also partial to chewing toilet paper.”

“Shoes,” Ben warned sagely.

“I’m thinking of moving all mine to the office.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Have you slept?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither. So, what should I know?”

“Umm . . .” Across the airwaves, D.D. could hear Ben scrub his face. No doubt collecting his thoughts after too many hours of too-sad work. “The adults are about what you’d expect. Cause of death multiple GSWs from a nine millimeter—”

“Nine millimeter? The handgun I recovered from the backyard was a twenty-two.”

“Then I can reasonably say that was not the murder weapon.”

“Crap.” D.D.’s turn to rub her face.

Roo?

D.D. glanced down to discover Kiko staring at her. The dog nudged the ball pointedly. D.D. picked it up and worked on her toss.

“Casings from Hector Alvalos’s shooting,” she muttered. “Also nine millimeter.” Meaning the gun from that incident could be the same one used to kill the Boyd-Baez family, and a female matching Roxy’s description was spotted fleeing from that scene. Double crap.

“I’ve sent the recovered slugs to ballistics for testing,” Ben was saying. “Lab should have some answers for you soon enough.”

D.D. nodded. Might as well wait and see. Already assuming she’d recovered the murder weapon had gotten her in enough trouble. Patience had never been her virtue.

“Juanita Baez had some scarring on her liver consistent with a history of alcohol abuse,” Ben continued now. “However, there were also signs of healing, which would indicate recent sobriety. I’ve ordered a tox screen, but it’ll be a few days before I have it.”

“Charlie Boyd?” D.D. asked.

“No sign of drugs, smoking, or alcohol abuse,” Ben rattled off. “Again, cause of death three GSWs to the chest, the second shot severing his aorta. Death would’ve been nearly instantaneous as he bled out inside his chest cavity.”

“Hence he never made it off the sofa.”

“Exactly.”

“The kids?” D.D. asked softly.

“Manny Baez, age nine. Shot three times, to the side and back. Fatal wound being the one beneath his armpit, straight into his heart.”

D.D. could picture it all too well. Manny twisting away from the killer in the doorway, pressing against his older sister for protection. “How close?” she asked.

“Judging by the powder burns on his clothing, I’d say a distance of five feet. The shooter walked into the bedroom, then pulled the trigger.”

D.D. nodded. Kiko was back, wagging her tail, looking pointedly at the ball. To give her a chance to collect herself, D.D. picked it up, threw it again.

“The girl, Lola Baez, is where things get interesting,” Ben was saying. “For starters, cause of death, single GSW.”

“Single?” D.D. questioned immediately.

“The killer placed the gun against her temple, pulled the trigger.”

D.D. had to absorb that. “She was the target,” she murmured.

“Generally, in mass slayings, the victim who suffers the most damage is the primary target. So if the family received three shots apiece, then the primary target might have, say, an entire clip unloaded in his or her chest. But in this case, the up-close-and-personal nature of the kill shot suggests that Lola Baez was the object of the killer’s rage. Nothing was left to chance. The killer entered the bedroom, fired three shots at Manny Baez. Then closed the space to place the barrel of the gun directly against Lola Baez’s head.”

“Okay,” D.D. heard herself say. The dog was back. D.D. obediently picked up the ball, tossed.

“There’s more.”

“Okay.”

“Lola Baez also showed signs of recent sexual activity.”

“Rape?”

“No obvious bruising or lacerations, so it might have been consensual, ignoring for a moment that a thirteen-year-old is below the age of consent. I also found traces of spermicide, meaning her partner most likely wore a condom. No traces of semen, though I recovered a hair for DNA testing.”

D.D. nodded.

Dog. Ball. Throw.