Cavanaugh Standoff. Marie Ferrarella

had already hit Pause and then Rewind. When he played the tape forward, he did it in slow motion, allowing them to study the scene.

      “She wasn’t with anyone when she came in,” Sierra observed.

      Annoyed, Ronan looked at her over his shoulder. “I’ve got eyes, Carlyle. I can see.”

      “Sorry.” The apology was automatic. “Just getting excited, that’s all.”

      “Save your energy. It’s going to be a long haul,” he told her.

      He hit Pause again, then got up from the desk he’d been using. He went to find his uncle.

      Bringing him back, he indicated the surveillance tape they had been reviewing. “I’m going to need a hard copy of that woman,” he told Sean.

      “You mean other than the one you already have?” Sean asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

      “What are you talking about?” Ronan asked, puzzled.

      Rather than answer his nephew, Sean pointed to the colored print of the woman entering the tavern that Sierra was holding in her hand.

      Ronan stared at the print. “Where did you—”

      “I got it off the printer,” Sierra told him innocently, anticipating his question. And then she smiled, adding, “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

      Sean nodded his approval. “Nice to have good help,” Sean told his nephew. “Well, if you don’t need anything else...” He looked at Ronan pointedly. It was obvious he had more than his share of work to get back to.

      “Not from you at this time,” Ronan acknowledged. “Thanks for letting us look through the video.”

      “We all want the same thing,” Sean answered. “To get whoever’s doing this off the streets and behind bars.” He started to leave. “I’ll have the ME send the autopsy report up to you when it’s done, but I don’t expect that there’ll be any surprises.”

      “Will that include a tox screen?” Sierra asked, suddenly turning around just before entering the hallway behind Ronan.

      Homicide’s lead detective stopped in his tracks, reluctantly turning around.

      “Of course,” Sean answered. “Tox screens can include a wide range of tests. Are you looking for something specific?”

      She answered his question with a question of her own. “Does that include checking for date-rape drugs?”

      That pulled both men up short.

      “Not in this case. Why?” Sean asked, crossing back to her. “What are you thinking?”

      “Well, it’s just an idea...” Sierra began. “But whoever lured Walker away and executed him would have wanted Walker to come along peacefully and not try to fight him off, right?”

      Ronan exchanged looks with his uncle. “Makes sense to me,” Sean agreed. “I’ll get a more specified tox screen done on Walker and let you know what it comes up with,” he promised.

      They left the lab and she turned to Ronan as they waited for the elevator. “Now aren’t you glad I came along?”

      “The jury’s still out on that,” Ronan said wryly.

      “Are you reverting back to the strong, silent type again?” she asked. “I’ve seen you smile, O’Bannon. You can’t fool me.”

      The elevator arrived and they got on. Ronan pushed the button for their floor rather forcefully. “I’ve got a question for you, Carlyle. Do you ever stop talking?”

      “On occasion,” she replied.

      “Do you think that this could be one of those occasions?” he asked. “I think better when there’s silence.”

      She laughed softly. “Considering the squad room we work in, you’re pretty much out of luck.”

      Ronan looked at her pointedly. “I know.”

      “But, if it helps, I’ll stop talking—for now,” she said gamely. “I’ve got some reading to catch up on anyway.”

      Ronan made no comment, afraid that if he uttered a single word, it would set her off again and she’d launch into yet another long, winding topic. He really did want to savor a few moments of peace before something else came up.

      * * *

      SIERRA SPENT THE rest of the day, as well as the next, reading and rereading the files that had been compiled on the five victims. All of them had belonged to neighborhood gangs and all the killings had been identical: one bullet to the back of the head, then removal of one of the hands. In the first four cases, it was the right one that had been severed.

      But the last victim had had his left hand removed, not his right.

      “Why just one?” Sierra asked, looking up from the file.

      All three men on the team were at their desks, working. Martinez and Choi were currently on phone duty, fielding calls from people who swore they had either just seen the serial killer or had just barely escaped being another one of his victims. Each call had to be taken no matter how baseless it turned out to be, but doing so was tedious, not to mention wearing on the detectives’ nerves, as well.

      Hearing Sierra’s question, Ronan looked up in her direction. “What did you say?”

      He knew he would regret asking because he was all but giving her an invitation to start running off at the mouth again and it had been really pretty peaceful for the last few hours. But she’d asked a question and since she’d been dead-on about the surveillance video, he couldn’t afford to ignore her just for the sake of his own peace and quiet.

      “Why does the killer just cut off one of his victim’s hands?” she asked.

      Ronan shrugged. “Because it’s the victim’s dominant hand most likely.”

      “Okay. And?” She waited for more of an explanation. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her and she had a feeling that if they had an answer, it would get them one step closer to finding who was behind the killings.

      Ronan frowned. “And what?”

      Taking a breath, Sierra worded her question more succinctly. “Why would the killer want to cut off the victim’s dominant hand?”

      “How the hell should I know?” Ronan asked. Frustrated, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “The guy’s a whack job.”

      “A whack job who knows how to practically surgically remove a hand from its wrist,” she said pointedly.

      Ronan frowned. “Anyone wielding a meat cleaver with a little momentum could do the same thing.”

      “I suppose you’ve got a point,” she was forced to admit.

      “Why are you focusing on the way the killer cuts off his victim’s hands?” Choi asked, finally getting off the phone. “You think the killer’s a Jack the Ripper type? Some people thought he was a doctor, the way he vivisected those prostitutes.”

      “I thought maybe if our killer had some kind of medical background, we might be able to narrow the suspect pool,” she explained.

      “We have a suspect pool?” Martinez asked, glancing from Sierra to Ronan and then Choi. “You mean you think that somebody other than the members of those two gangs still left standing is behind this?”

      She waved away Martinez’s facetious question. “Right now, I’m just thinking out loud,” Sierra said with a shrug. “Spit-balling ideas until something winds up sticking, I guess.”

      Ronan had a thoughtful expression on his face. “And what are your thoughts about why the killer cuts off just one of his victim’s hands? The dominant hand.” His tone underscored the word.

      Sierra was surprised he was asking her