Cavanaugh Encounter
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Marie Ferrarella
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Prologue
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here. I didn’t know who else to call.”
Twenty-five-year-old Amanda Culpepper was shaking as she threw open the front door of the apartment she shared with her roommate. The same roommate who was facedown and sprawled out on the living room floor. The young woman appeared to be unconscious and was totally unresponsive.
Detective Francesca DeMarco hardly spared the tall blonde by the door more than a quick glance. Her attention was entirely focused on Kristin Andrews, the young woman on the floor with the syringe in her arm.
Her cousin.
Years ago, she would have anticipated this call. But not now. Not when Kristin had been clean for so long. This didn’t make any sense to her.
“How long has she been like this?” Frankie asked her cousin’s roommate. Amanda was hovering nervously behind her.
“I don’t know,” Amanda cried breathlessly, wringing her hands. “I was away for three days with my boyfriend. I just walked in the door and found her like this.” Amanda was struggling not to break down in tears. “I tried to rouse her, but when Kris wouldn’t wake up, I called you immediately.” Amanda was shifting from foot to foot, as if unable to put any weight down. “Kris is going to be all right, right?” she asked, growing more and more distraught and agitated.
Frankie hardly heard the other woman. She was looking for Kris’s pulse. She pressed her fingers against the side of her cousin’s neck, then on her wrist. Unable to find a pulse, she put her head against Kristin’s chest, praying she would detect at least a faint heartbeat.
There was none.
Adrenaline surging through her body, Frankie began applying CPR. “Call 911,” she ordered Amanda.
Amanda looked confused. “But you are 911,” the young woman protested.
“But I can’t pull a damn ambulance out of my pocket,” Frankie snapped. She was silently counting off numbers in her head as she applied compressions to Kristin’s chest. Despite her efforts, her cousin still wasn’t coming around. “Call 911 and tell them to send an ambulance to this address!” she ordered. “Now!”
Snapping to attention, Amanda hurried to make the call.
“C’mon, Kris, open your eyes!” Frankie begged as she continued pushing against her cousin’s chest. “Do it for me. Please!”
All sorts of thoughts charged in and out of her head. The last words she and Kris had exchanged. The time she had bullied her cousin into rehab. Teaching her cousin how to ride a bike. All that and more whisked through her brain with the speed of a bullet, all while she worked over her cousin’s prone body.
She was still pushing down on Kristin’s chest when the high-pitched whining sound of an approaching siren registered.
The ambulance was here!
Frankie realized that there were tears in her eyes. Maybe the paramedic would be able to save Kris.
Would be able to bring her around.
Drained and wired at the same time, Frankie moved out of the way as the paramedics took over for her. The taller of the two attendants did compressions.
After several moments, he turned to look at her.
Frankie knew why he had stopped the compressions and why her cousin wasn’t being placed on the gurney in order to be taken to the ambulance.
Frankie could feel her heart constricting. There wasn’t going to be an ambulance ride to the hospital. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” Frankie asked in a low, hoarse voice.
“Yes.” The attendant was kind. “You’re going to need to get the coroner out here,” he told her. Taking out his cellphone, the attendant offered, “I can call him for you.”
Frankie put up her hand to stop the man from placing the call. “That’s all right. I’m a detective with the Aurora Police Department. I’ll call the coroner and tell him it’s a homicide,” she told him.
“Homicide?” the second attendant echoed. “This looks like a drug overdose to me,” the man said. He pointed over to the side. The syringe had come out and was lying near the body.
This just wasn’t right, Frankie thought. Yes, Kristin had had a drug problem, but that was years ago. She’d sustained an injury, dislocating her shoulder while playing soccer in high school. Prescription drugs had helped her put up with the shooting pain. Gradually that had led to her becoming dependent on other ways to numb the misery, but all that had been years ago. Kristin had dealt with her demons and finally vanquished them.
It hadn’t been easy for her, but she did it.
Frankie refused to believe that after fighting her way back to the point where she could finally enjoy a normal lifestyle, Kristin would have just thrown it all away for a weekend binge.
“No,” Frankie said fiercely, addressing the attendant. “This was not a drug overdose, accidental or otherwise. It was staged to look that way. This is a homicide,” she declared in no uncertain terms, her sweeping gaze taking in the attendants and her cousin’s sobbing roommate. The way the syringe was positioned would have indicated that Kristin had used her right hand. Kristin was left-handed. “And I intend to prove it.”
Even to her own ears, it sounded more like a vow than a statement.
And maybe it was, but she still intended to do it.
