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Sam opened the passenger door for her and she clumped forward in her boot. Cooper closed the garage door behind her. A slight crunch caused her to stop. Cici lifted her boot and crouched down, poking at the item on the ground. 

Sam squatted next to her. “Looks like a lens,” he said. 

“For what?” 

“Maybe the backup camera for his vehicle,” Sam said. 

“It’s awfully small,” Cici said. “Mine is larger than a pen cap and this one is about half that size.”

“Yeah, it is. I wouldn’t have recognized it for a camera if it weren’t for the cracked casing.” He pointed to the small interior pieces of a tiny camera lens visible through the zigzag opening on the side. He produced a baggie from his pocket—Sam always managed to have his notebook and other investigative-y equipment on him. Must be taught in good detective school. He scooped up the small camera, studying it. 

“Might as well have it examined, too,” he said.

“You think it’s related?” Cici asked.

Sam turned back to study the Urlichs’ house. “I think people don’t accidentally drown in rain barrels.”

Senseless. Patti’s death was the responsibility of some shadowy man only Cici currently knew about, but, already, the pain from her demise rippled out to Patti’s son and husband and into the community. Sam wiggled his fingers, a long-standing trick to keep from balling his hands into fists. 

If the last year taught him anything, Cici would continue to have visions and dreams until the culprit was found. And Sam planned to find him—fast. So Cici wouldn’t have to suffer more. 

That was damn cold comfort.

Benson began his report, snapping Sam out of his reverie. “We’ve run blood and I have a preliminary toxicology report I wanted to mention.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked. 

“Mmm. She had epinephrine in her system. I’ll show you the mark on her thigh when we get there.”

“She’s allergic to cats,” Sam said. “And we think one might have been involved with her drowning.”

Benson pulled off a glove and picked up a small stack of papers. He handed them to Sam, who handed them to Raynor. 

“It’s his case,” Sam said.

Benson nodded, looking chagrined. “Sorry. Right, well. The epinephrine use makes sense if she was allergic to cats. What doesn’t make sense is the volume of diphenhydramine in her system.” 

He pointed to a number on the printout. 

“What name would I know the drug by?” Sam asked.

“Benadryl,” Benson said.

Raynor frowned. “That’s high?”

“Yes.”

Sam grunted in agreement. “The volume is strange. Unless she took it because the EPI pen didn’t work?”

Benson shook his head. “Because she wasn’t in the water long, her cells didn’t undergo lysis. Some of the tissues swelled in her nasal and sinus cavities, or were already swollen from exposure or a histamine reaction. I’d expect tissue damage with a submersion. But the deceased’s mouth, lips and tongue didn’t swell much, which leads me to believe the epinephrine worked as it was supposed to. And that’s part of why I had this tox report ready for you. I had a hunch about the epinephrine.”

Sam mulled over Benson’s words. He brought out the baggie with the crushed camera. He asked, “Can your team run this? It’s taken from the victim’s home. And also the water sample from the rain barrel that Raynor collected.”

“Sure,” Benson said. “You need the results now?”

“Sooner than,” Sam concurred. 

Excerpt One

“Mind if I take a look?” Sam asked. 

Cooper shrugged. “Ladder’s in the corner.”

Sam walked toward the ladder but Raynor was the one who gathered it. He set it up and gestured to Sam. 

“You want to go?” Sam asked. 

Raynor nodded, eager, and started up the rungs. He peered over the edge. A low, sibilant hiss caused Raynor to yelp. A second, angrier one caused Raynor to fall back. Sam caught most of his weight as Raynor tumbled off the ladder. 

“Whoa!” 

Cooper lunged forward and broke Sam’s fall as he buckled under the weight of the other man. They stood slowly, untangling limbs as they went. 

Sam winced; thankful nothing was broken. Raynor’s hand bore a large scrape but he seemed otherwise intact, just shaken.

“Jeff? You okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Some bruises and a nasty scratch. Definitely a cat,” Raynor gasped, clutching his hand. Beads of blood dripped between his fingers. 

“Your wife’s hands and arms were scratched,” Raynor said. 

“You think the cat scratched her?” Cooper asked.

“It’s possible the cat reacted negatively when she reached in to get it out,” Sam said. 

Cooper shook his head, turning dubious. “No. She wouldn’t have messed with a cat.”

“Even to save it?” Raynor asked, shock bouncing through his voice. “I mean, it’s a feisty one, but—”

“She’s…she was allergic. Anaphylactic shock allergic. She couldn’t touch cats.”