Free Everyone Dies by Michael McGarrity

defense you’ve got is to provide conclusive proof above and beyond the officers’ statements that they were forced to stop the action when they came under fire. You’d better hope and pray the evidence is there. I want the reports on my desk by morning.”
    “What are you going to tell the media?” Kerney asked.
    “For now, nothing,” Larranaga said. “I’ll announce my decision tomorrow after I’ve read your reports.”
    Larranaga flipped up the collar of his suit jacket and left, running through the rain to his car. Through the open trailer door Kerney saw Otero and Molina sitting in a nearby unit. He gestured for them to join him and spent a few minutes discussing Pino’s report, Larranaga’s reaction, and laying out exactly what he wanted to see on his desk no later than six o’clock in the morning.
    Molina opened his mouth to speak, and Larry Otero cut him off.
    “I’ll take responsibility for authorizing SWAT,” he said grimly.
    “You’ll do no such thing,” Kerney answered sharply, as he moved toward the door. “This is my kitchen, and I’ll take the heat.”

Chapter 4
    I t took Kerney a minute to realize that the new vehicle parked next to his truck outside the guesthouse belonged to Sara. Stirred by the uneasy realization that he’d spaced out their appointment to take delivery of the car, he hurried inside to apologize. He shucked off his wet windbreaker, hung it on the hall closet doorknob, and called her name as he walked into the living room.
    Sara answered from the kitchen. She sat at the table eating her dinner, a bowl of pasta with asparagus in a cream sauce. Kerney’s. 38 sat next to the place mat by her right hand.
    He lowered himself into a chair, eying the handgun. “Sorry I couldn’t get back in time to take you to pick up your car.”
    “I managed.” Sara stood, moved to the stove, and spooned out a bowl of pasta. She seemed calm, not at all upset with him.
    “You didn’t have to make my dinner.”
    “Yes, I did. I need to practice cooking for two, at least for a little while. Besides, I was hungry.”
    He took the bowl from Sara’s hand and reached for a fork. “What’s up with the pistola?”
    “We had a dead rat delivered to our front door this afternoon,” Sara replied, returning to her chair, “by person or persons unknown.”
    Kerney set aside the fork. “And?”
    Sara laid the story out, including the call from Tug Cheney confirming that the rat, according to Byron Stoll’s toxicology test, had been poisoned with strychnine.
    “It’s commonly used in rodenticides sold over the counter,” Sara added calmly.
    “Rodenticides?”
    “That what Tug Cheney calls them,” Sara answered, stabbing the last asparagus spear. She chewed it slowly. “Anyway, the pistola is a precaution until we find out who is playing this unpleasant little game.”
    “I’ll deal with it,” Kerney said.
    Sara shook her head, and pushed aside her empty bowl. “Don’t go getting all macho on me, Kerney. I’ve already started the ball rolling. I spoke to both the city and the county animal control supervisors this afternoon and asked about any recent calls regarding dead rats.”
    She got up and fetched a notepad next to the kitchen telephone. “Two days ago, a rat was removed from in front of a house off Hyde Park Road, just outside the city limits. The woman who requested the service was afraid of contracting Hantavirus. She didn’t realize that the disease was spread to humans only by deer mice droppings, not from rats. An animal control officer removed the rat and disposed of it. In his report he noted the animal appeared to have been poisoned. The woman found it in the driveway next to her car.”
    “Was it a kangaroo rat?” Kerney asked between forkfuls of pasta.
    “The officer thought so, but wasn’t sure,” Sara replied, returning to the table. “Requests to remove dead rats aren’t all that common.”
    “Who was the woman?”
    “Dora Manning.”
    “That name