Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

“Thoughts?” he asked softly.
    "Either someone got him to drink a huge amount or he was injected,” Zane said with certainty. He read over the report again. “But no tracks found."
    "You think he knew his attacker?” Ty questioned softly.
    Zane's brow furrowed. “No signs of struggle, except the marks from the ropes used to drag him. No scrapings under fingernails. He was already unconscious when he was dragged.” Shaking his head, he let his eyes go out of focus. “I bet he did. I bet he knew him. Even trusted him. A friend or colleague. Someone to celebrate with, to drink more than usual with. Slip him a drug to make him pliable and apt to drink even more."
    Ty was nodding in agreement. “It's the epicenter,” he murmured. “I'll call Burns, tell him to have someone get on it."
    "Tell him about the flagging we want done. Require Baltimore—hometown, school, even family,” Zane said distractedly, still looking through the file.
    "Uh huh,” Ty responded as he unclipped his phone from his belt.
    As Ty talked, Zane got deeper into the file and, squinting, got up to shift stacks of papers for other case files on the desk. Ty relayed what they had uncovered to Burns as soon as he was assured the line was secure. The man seemed dubious about the Baltimore connection at first, but it didn't take long for Ty to convince him, Zane noted. As much of a fuckup as Ty seemed to have been in the Bureau, Burns had always trusted him and treated him almost like a son. Zane couldn't help but wonder why.
    Soon, Ty was off the phone and pacing again. Finally he stopped and glared at Zane. “I'm hungry."
    "Mm hmm,” Zane answered faintly, three case files laid out in front of him. Ty frowned and watched him.
    "You find something?” he asked hopefully.
    "No,” Zane said, drawing it out since he was still reading. “I didn't. No struggle."
    "What?” Ty asked in confusion.
    "No struggle. No signs of struggle. Sometimes the victims were tied or wrapped up, but there were no bruises, no claw marks, no abrasions. No sign that they fought before they were murdered,” Zane said, frown deepening as he grabbed for another file. “That can't be right."
    "How is that possible?” Ty asked softly. “He can't have known all his victims. You think he's using a badge to keep them cooperating?"
    "Why couldn't he have known them?” Zane asked calmly as he looked up.
    "'Cause it'd be sorta obvious to his other acquaintances that they were slowly dwindling in gruesome ways,” Ty snapped. “Unless they're professional contacts,” he corrected slowly.
    "Or a mix. Professional. Personal. Family. Past friends from school or college,” Zane proposed.
    "You know how unlikely that is?” Ty asked dubiously, unconsciously taking on the same tone Burns had with him. “Besides, I don't care how well I know someone, they start trying to chop me up I'm going to fight back,” he declared.
    "It's not probable. But it's possible. New York is a hell of a big city. You could have friends in all kinds of places and they'd never know each other,” Zane said, closing the files and stacking them together.
    "Oh, fuck you and your logic, Garrett,” Ty sulked as he began to pace again.
    "Give me geometry any day,” Zane muttered. “I hate algebra."
    Ty stopped. “We should check the victims for priors,” he stated. “If the killer's a Fed, he might be finding his victims through his job."
    "We need their workups. Priors, work, church, family, school ... any one of those could be a connection. Hell, moonlighting. Boyfriend. Knitting circle,” the other agent mumbled.
    "We should also check witness files,” Ty murmured. “They may not have been perps if he was investigating. Could have been witnesses. But no one's going to convince me that a badge could keep someone from fighting for their life."
    "Chloroform,” Zane said suddenly, pointing to the paper in front of him. “The ME notes traces of chloroform in some of the autopsies."
    "That'll do it,” Ty conceded with a frown.
    "Yeah,” Zane agreed, nodding. He jerked a little when there was a knock at the door.
    "I got it,” Ty muttered as he stood and began to shuffle barefoot to the door. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end, and the feeling that something was amiss assaulted him like it sometimes had back when he was in the service. He slowed as he neared the door, evaluating the gut reaction to the knock and licking his lips as he hesitated. Finally, he stepped up