The heat of Arizona was starting to get to her. Dakota shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the turtleneck she'd insisted on wearing. The coroner sat across from them, on the small terrace with garden furniture beneath a large umbrella.
The man was sipping a martini, wearing a lab coat.
Dakota sat in a metal chair across from him, frowning. Agent Clement kept glancing towards the metal door which led to the basement where the coroner's office resided.
But according to the man, he was on lunch break.
“Do you think we could take this inside?” Dakota said carefully, fanning at her face.
The old man lowered his martini with a smack of his lips, letting out a long sigh. He had a strange set of metal pliers jutting out of a white lapel pocket. A rusty hue stained the white cloth beneath the implement.
Dakota wrinkled her nose, trying not to stare at the thing. “Dr. Salenger,” Marcus tried, “it's a bit warm out—what if we—”
But the old man waved a liver-spotted hand. “No, no. I'm on my break,” he said for the second time in as many minutes. “Are you sure you don't want anything? My nephew runs the place.” He gestured towards the small cocktail bar located above the coroner's office. The place was closed for the afternoon and wouldn't open until late in the evening according to signs on the door.
But the man sipping his martini had been given an exception by the other, dark-browed fellow behind the cash-register in the air-conditioned lounge.
The patio seating now served as the breakroom for the geriatric doctor.
Dakota sighed in resignation. She kept fanning at her face, adjusting her long turtleneck. Eventually, she wondered if she'd have to shed her long sleeves for something a bit more climate appropriate.
Now, her eyes darted from the rusty stain on the coroner's lapel to the tufts of gray chest hair jutting out past his collar. The man had spilled a bit of his beverage which had dripped down his chin and into his chest hair.
Dakota glanced up, wincing at the red and white umbrella above her, and more specifically at the glaring sun attempting to pierce through the fabric.
The dry air was also irritating Dakota.
One month sober—the longest she'd gone in a while.
But now... she swallowed in the heat, trying her best not to stare towards the many options lingering on the cocktail counter.
Sitting in the heat with the coroner wasn't the only irritation.
Her father still hadn't called back.
Agent Carter still hadn't approved the information request. She hadn't denied it, either. But Dakota was beginning to worry that nothing she did would earn the good graces of her new supervisor. Then again... solving this case couldn't hurt.
“So,” Salenger said slowly, smacking his lips and leaning back in his metal chair. His white coat pressed through gaps in the back of the chair. “We have one victim who has died from some concoction similar to mustard gas. And another who's perished to carbon monoxide poisoning. That right?”
“Umm... Is it?” Clement asked.
“Oh... oh... Well, let me see.” The man took another long sip, then placed his flat glass on the table and quickly fished out his phone. He frowned, muttering darkly as he tried to navigate his passcode. It took him a few tries, and each time, he'd glare deeper and scowl. Finally, he waved a hand over his shoulder.
“Romy, come here!”
The man behind the register lowered a towel and moved out onto the patio. “Yeah?”
“Phone—phone... please.” The coroner waited impatiently as his nephew helped him enter his passcode. Then, the cocktail bar owner went back inside and Salenger turned to the two agents.
“Ah, yes—here we are. Right here.” He grinned, his wizened cheeks curling up, his mouth twisting in a smile. “Beautiful. Absolutely stunning,” he murmured. He turned the phone to show a picture of one of the victims that Dakota had seen on the plane.
She felt certain she would never unsee it.
“The megapixels,” the old man was saying. “Three times as good as my last phone. My nephew recommended it. What do you think?”
“Very... very clear image,” Marcus said nodding politely.
Dakota just pursed her lips, waiting impatiently in the sweltering heat.
“Right... well... Hmm... So yes, carbon monoxide and some unknown gas—close to mustard gas. Not my area, but the lab seemed certain. So...” he lowered the phone. “What was it you wanted to know?”
“About the tranquilizer,” Dakota interjected. “The one used in both victims.”
“Right... hmm... Again—yes, again, this had to come back from the lab. Let me see.” This time, thankfully, he managed to unlock his phone himself. He cycled through the images and then nodded, tapping a long finger against the glass of his phone. “Here we are,” he declared. “Wonderful. Yes. Perfect. So... looks like...”
He paused, then nodded, every movement, every word seeming even slower than the one before to Dakota.
“Yes. It is a type of compound found among big game hunters... Or zoos.”
“Zoos?” Dakota said.
“Yes. Where they keep animals so the public can—”
“I know what a zoo is, er, sir.” She added this last part at a sharp glance from Clement. He sometimes served as her social conscience. She cleared her throat, trying her best not to clench a fist in frustration. “Is there anything we can do to locate the origin of it?”
“Well... this particular brew,” he said slowly, wrinkling his nose as he studied his phone, “is even stronger than most... Tampered with.”
“So this guy is making his own cocktails,” Dakota said, realizing that alcohol was on her mind. She winced, shaking her head. “I mean... he's making his own recipes.”
“Possibly. Very possibly.”
Dakota sighed, leaning back, shrugging towards Marcus. “Did either of our victims work for a zoo, maybe?”
Marcus shook his head. “No... The first victim had a slew of jobs, including a fry-cook, an associate writing professor, a dishwasher, and something with dogs.”
Dakota perked. “Dogs? Like a vet? They have tranqs too, don't they?”
“No—no,” Marcus said. “She was a dog walker.”
Dakota sighed, slumping back in her seat, wishing more than anything she could figure out a way to choke-out the sunshine. She'd made a career of kicking ass... Often she felt bad about it afterwards.
But now, in the heat, facing chemical vapors that could be carried on something as intangible as a breeze, she was beginning to feel out of her depth.
But the last two cases had gone well...
She had to remember this. To focus on it.
The last two cases had gone marvelously well.
So... she just had to solve this one also.
The coroner had finished his drink and was signaling his nephew for another one. Marcus shot Dakota a look, raising an eyebrow. She began to say something, but suddenly, her phone began to ring.
She glanced down, frowning.
An unknown number. But she recognized it.
Her father was calling back.
She felt her heart skip. She swallowed and held up a finger. “Umm, sorry. I gotta take this.”
She quickly pushed out of her seat, the metal chair legs scraping against the patio floor. She hastened towards the entrance of the basement unit. She didn't enter, but once she was far enough away from the men on the patio, she ducked in the shadow of the unit, sheltering from the sun.
Sweaty, frustrated, and starting to feel her temper spark, she answered.
“Hey,” she said. She hadn't meant to sound so unfriendly.
Her father's rasping voice replied. She still couldn't believe just how old he sounded. “Dakota?” he said. “Hey—sorry Tastee. I got in a bit of a fender-bender.”
She froze, feeling some of her frustration deflating now to be replaced by guilt. The thoughts she'd been having towards her father had not been very kind ones. Then again, in the last couple of decades, these had been mostly par for the course.
“Shit. Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, fine,” he said. It sounded like it almost pained him to speak. “Got it sorted out. Had to get the car towed though. Anyway, I wouldn't have hit him if not for your call. But oh well.”
She paused now, frowning. Was he blaming her for his accident?
She felt the thought niggling at her. She wanted to say something, but instead forced back a retort. She said, “Hey... I... Sorry to call out of the blue like that.”
“Yeah,” he said simply.
“But... I was wondering if you have a second.”
“Okay.”
He wasn't exactly giving her much to work with. She tried to keep her frustration in check, though. “I was hoping maybe you and I could chat about something... I... I don't know if you know but...”
“You're back in Rapid City. Little told me.”
“Oh... Umm. No, actually. I was. But I'm in Virginia now. I actually... I work for the FBI.” It was painful, like dragging nails across a chalkboard. But her father was the path forward. The only way to piece together what had happened to her sister after all these years.
She'd made up her mind a few days ago...
So why was it so damn hard to speak the words now?
“I see,” he said slowly. “Huh. Alright. Yeah, Little mentioned you were some type of cop.”
“Not a cop,” she said testily. “You know what, that's not important. Just... I was wondering...” This was the hard part. “Is there a chance I could get a look at that red binder you keep?”
A pause. A swallowing sound. She could practically hear the frown in his voice. “Who told you about my binder?”
“Dad, I lived with you until I was a teenager. I saw the damn thing.”
He didn't reply.
“Casper also mentioned you're still filling it.”
“I do what I can,” he said. “Which is more than I can say for some. I'm an old man... I do what I can.”
Now, she couldn't hold back her retort. She shifted in frustration beneath the shelter of the basement entrance. She frowned now, trying to keep her voice low, and occasionally shooting glances back towards the patio. The faint murmur of voices suggested Marcus and Salenger were still in conversation.
“Are you implying I'm not doing what I can?” she said.
“Dunno. I don't even know you. Been what? Ten years?”
“Shit,” she said, muttering now. “I knew I shouldn't have called.” She wanted to yell at him. Wanted to lash out and hang up.
But she still needed those files. The case on her sister's disappearance had been dead for two decades. The only person who'd been keeping an eye on it had been her father.
The path through was with his help.
So she bit back an angry retort. Instead, trying to stay calm, she said, “Maybe I didn't help as much as I could. But I'm helping now. So can I get a look at that stuff, or not?”
“Help?” he said, still rasping. “Damn, kid. You ran away.”
“I ran away? You chased me out! You weren't even there! You were either drinking or talking to your cop buddies or surfing the internet on some damn conspiracy theory!” She hadn't meant to start yelling. But she couldn't help herself. Her voice came loud and furious, summoned from somewhere deep within.
She could feel her skin prickling across the backs of her hands as they so often did before a fight. Before a drink.
“Whatever. Did you call me to yell at me?”
“No! I called you for some help! But I guess that's too much to ask, isn't it. Ha! I should've known better.”
Her father hung up.
She glared at the phone now, seething. Part of her wanted to call him back just to get the last word... But what would be the point?
The voices on the patio had gone quiet now. She glared, jabbing her phone into her pocket. She marched away from the shelter, from the shade, stepping back out into the blistering sun.
“Time's up,” she said to Marcus. “Can we go?”
The big man paused, watching her closely. “Are you alright?”
“Marcus... Please?”
The agent turned to the coroner who was busy with his second drink. “Thank you, Dr. Salenger. If anything else comes up, here's my card.” The coroner nodded politely, but left the business card resting on the table, untouched.
Marcus let out a sigh then turned, moving towards Dakota, watching her closely.
She looked away. She didn't like being scrutinized.
Didn't like being under someone's microscope.
Her father wouldn't help. Of course not. He'd been a bum for a decade, he'd be a bum again...
She wasn't proud of these acidic thoughts, but they were hard to keep back, nearly impossible to keep at bay.
She waited as Agent Clement joined her, taking some respite in the shadow cast by his sheer girth.
“I'll call the taxi, shall I?”
“Hotel?” she said.
“Yes. We can settle in and then set up with internet. I think it’s best...” he paused, glancing as if double-checking she didn't need his emotional support. But when she didn't bat an eye, he continued. “...if we check into zoos or big-game hunting or park rangers. Maybe there will be some connection with the tranquilizer.”
“Perfect,” Dakota said. She didn't like sounding like a sullen child. But it was hard to think of anything positive where her old man was concerned. He didn't know half the damage he caused. Didn't know what it was like to grow up in a home with a dead mother and an absent father.
Dakota tried her best not to feel sorry for herself.
There were worse things, she supposed.
Things that their two victims had experienced.
“Hotel,” she said, in a softer voice. “Maybe... make sure it has air-conditioning. And a pool.”
Marcus chuckled, nodding, lifting his phone and turning politely to allow Dakota her space to seethe.