Page 4 of Rescuing Sara

“You’re kidding?” Patrick doubted. When Mac continued to read, he probed, “Right?”

“Nope.” Mac looked up. “This is the preliminary toxicology report from the police coroner. A mixture of cyanide and some kind of venom was found in Anderson’s system. High enough concentration to kill anyone almost instantly.”

Patrick frowned in thought. “Didn’t you tell me on the way from the airport this morning that Ms. Blake and Anderson had just left a coffee shop when he died? How could the poison be administered? Certainly not in the coffee.”

Mac handed Patrick the report. “And here I was thinking Danni’s imagination must be getting the best of her. She could very well be right.”

“Are you saying Ms. Blake has an over-active imagination?” Apprehension crept up Patrick’s back. Too much imagination could be a dangerous thing.

“Well, she likes mystery and crime novels,” Mac chuckled. “She had this crazy idea about how the poison got into Anderson. Crazy, but it might work.”

“Are you going to tell me?” Patrick asked. “Or we going to play the Scottish version of twenty questions you learned from your ancestors?”

“Och, now, we Scots do like to be spinnin’ a yarn,” Mac agreed, adopting a Scottish accent again. “Danni thinks a dart orneedle was released or fired at Anderson through some kind of a projectile, one that wouldn’t need to travel very far, especially if the shooter was close by.”

“Do you mean like a blowgun?” Patrick tried to wrap his mind around the idea. “Something an indigenous people would use to take down an enemy. And in broad daylight in the middle of downtown Knoxville? You’re right. That’s crazy. Someone would have noticed a person with a blowgun.”

“Not if it were fired from a recorder.” Mac swiveled in his chair to turn on the large computer screen in front of them.

“You mean the musical instrument?” Patrick frowned. “Hang on a minute. I think I’m going to need more caffeine to hear this.” He went to refill his mug with Blue Mountain coffee from the always full pot at the coffee station in the corner and return. Most of his friends and co-workers knew that it was unwise to approach him before his first cup in the morning. But since he got up before everyone else at five, no one had ever tested that belief.

“I don’t know much about musical instruments,” Mac admitted, pointing at the images on the screen. “But Danni said she and Anderson passed a small group of street musicians after they left the café, and one was playing a recorder. The group started following them and shortly after they passed, Anderson collapsed.”

Patrick stared at the screen, his engineer’s brain considering the possibility of how to turn a recorder into a weapon. “Lots of different sizes,” he said slowly. “Depending on the size and what it was made of–or if it was specially made for the job–it might be able to deliver a tiny dart or needle. But the shooter would have to be awfully close to his target.”

“Danni said the musicians were following them before they passed them,” Mac repeated. “But so were a lot of other people. Lots of holiday shoppers are out these days, looking for gifts.Maybe the shooter fired just as they passed them. Sounds probable to me.”

Patrick’s grip on his mug’s handle tightened. “Did Anderson leave any family?”

“Danni told me that he has brothers somewhere that she’s going to try to find,” Mac related. “And his wife and child died a long time ago, and he never re-married. No current or even past romantic relationships that Danni could name. The man was basically married to his job.”

For some reason, Mac’s description of Anderson’s solitary life saddened Patrick. “And you’re sure Ms. Blake hasn’t uncovered anything and written about it, that might have led to the attack?” he asked.

“Even if she had, as a cop’s daughter, she’d know better than to write about an ongoing Special Crimes Investigation,” Mac said. “Danni may have a wild imagination at times, but she’s got tons of common sense.”

Mac’s reply included things Patrick was not expecting to hear. “Dannielle Blake’s father was a police officer?” he asked.

“He was,” Mac said. “He died seven years ago after working for KPD for over thirty years. Leo Anderson helped him raise Danni after her mother took off when she was just a kid.”

Patrick frowned at his colleague. “I didn’t know that either.”

“Well, her dossier might say she was raised by her father, but probably nothing else. Did you get a chance to read it?”

“No,” Patrick admitted. “I mostly slept on the plane this morning.” His left shoulder was “nicked” by a bullet from a crazed woman’s gun last month while he was trying to stop Elaine Prescott from being kidnapped. The injury had healed, but Hank Patterson had insisted on flying him up yesterday to be checked out by Brotherhood Protector’s medical staff. “How much of her personal history is in the dossier?”

Mac shrugged. “The usual stuff I would expect. Just something I thought you might need to know. Like you should know Danni is one determined, stubborn woman and Leo being murdered has really got her going.”

“As stubborn as Anne?” Patrick had only met Anne twice, but her steely strength was amazing and at times, a bit overwhelming.

Mac rolled his eyes. “Worse,” he pronounced. “Heaven help you, since you’re now Danni Blake’s protector.”

“Is Ms. Blake going to be staying here?” Patrick asked. No one would guess this five-story building where they now met was furnished like a luxury hotel. The bedrooms alone rivaled the best the city had to offer, and the entire building had a security, Patrick would guess, equal to that of the White House.

“She’s already moved in,” Mac said. “She moved in yesterday and Anne and I stayed with her. Under the circumstances, we thought it was probably for the best. BP has a detail watching her house around the clock. Right now, she’s talking to Miller who wanted to get more details about Anderson’s killing. He sent a car for her and Anne several hours ago and will have someone bring her back.”

“So, my BP job is to keep Dannielle Blake safe until the police can find who’s trying to kill her and maybe help find her goddaughter?”

“That’s the general idea,” Mac said. His phone beeped and he looked towards the hallway. “And the girls are here.”

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