Free The Beggar's Opera by Peggy Blair Page B

Rohypnol in the child’s blood.”
    “The date-rape drug?”
    “Yes,” Apiro said. “A powerful tranquillizer that stupefies its victims. Banned in most countries these days. It is hard to find in Cuba, or elsewhere, for that matter. Once it was discontinued in 1986, supplies quickly vanished. But there is still some around, used in veterinary clinics to anaesthetize animals for surgery. Because of this, it should be relatively easy to trace. That is good for you, yes?”
    “It certainly helps. I’ll get Sanchez to look into it. When was the boy drugged? Can you tell?”
    “Assuming he ingested the contents of that one capsule only, early evening sometime. Maybe three or four hours before he died. That’s a reasonable assumption, Ricardo. Given his weight, two capsules would have killed him. Rohypnol has a relativelylong half-life. I can calculate back from the quantity in the boy’s system at the time his body stopped metabolizing the drug — that is, when he died — and come up with a range. But I can’t be certain of my results until I sit down with a working calculator. Mine has run out of batteries.”
    Ramirez shook his head. He could still feel frustrated, even after all these years, at the impediments to a proper investigation. “I’ll tell Sanchez to get you some from the exhibit room. So what do you think, Hector? Is he is guilty?”
    “Ah, Ricardo, I am merely a scientist. I can only tell you what I have found. But it would be helpful if you could get a blood sample from your suspect so that I could check his DNA against our samples. Even better if you could somehow obtain semen.” Apiro laughed. “See if you can get him to spend a few minutes alone with a glossy magazine with big-breasted women and a plastic bag. Although that might be difficult; I have not personally seen such a magazine in Cuba in twenty years.”
    “Nor I, my friend,” Ramirez chuckled, then stated more soberly: “But it is not women that interest him. And we should probably not joke about such things.”
    “We must, Ricardo. Or we shall lose our minds.”
    Apiro was right. When they stopped being able to joke about their work, they would no longer be able to do it. They would lack the emotional distance required to conduct an investigation objectively. “Have you determined the exact cause of death?”
    “I would rather wait until the autopsy. Are you are still coming?”Apiro looked at his watch. “It’s eleven-thirty now. Say two-thirty?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “Well, I should get back to the lab. I will see you later.” The doctor peered through the glass. “Interesting scar. I wonder how he got it.”
    Ramirez was pleased with Apiro’s update. Everything was on schedule, ahead of it even. If all went well, he might yet spend some time with his family before Christmas Day was over. Kiss his wife, play with his children, and put the tragic death of this little boy aside for a few hours. And maybe even enjoy some leftover chicken.
    He resumed watching Sanchez question the Canadian through the two-way glass while he decided how best to use Apiro’s findings.
    Ramirez had trained Sanchez himself. He expected that Sanchez would take over his job one day. Likely sooner than Sanchez expected.
    Before he joined the Major Crimes Unit, Sanchez spent several years on Patrol, then five years at the Havana International Airport with the Customs section. Ramirez discovered him there and arranged for his transfer. This was another of Ramirez’s talents: scavenging not just the supplies his unit needed, but the personnel.
    A useful interrogation so far, if not a terribly skilled one. Sanchez needed to learn to be less aggressive, less predictable. Even so, the back and forth of their dialogue was interesting. Not so much for what the suspect said, but how he said it. Watching his body language, Ramirez was sure he was lying. Not that it mattered. Ramirez had enough evidence to arrest him already.
    Still, given the