Читать книгу Cavanaugh Standoff - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Although it made him uncomfortable, Ronan had no choice but to take a seat beside the victim’s mother on the sofa.

Sierra, he noted, sat on the woman’s other side. Looking at her, he saw nothing but compassion in the detective’s eyes.

Maybe he should have dispatched her to do the notification on her own, but there’d been no way of knowing who Walker lived with ahead of time and he couldn’t just cavalierly put her life in danger because he was uncomfortable notifying a thug’s mother of her son’s demise.

Taking a breath, Ronan told the victim’s mother, “I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell, Mrs. Walker. Your son was found in the alley behind the Shamrock Inn. A single gunshot delivered to the back of his head was the cause of death.”

The woman jolted as if she’d been touched by a live wire but, struggling, she managed to regain some of her composure.

“He didn’t suffer, did he?” she asked, obviously trying to rein in her emotions.

“Well, it looked—” Ronan began.

Oh, Lord, he is going to be truthful, Sierra realized. Didn’t he know that there was a time when the truth wasn’t welcome?

“No, it was quick,” she assured the older woman, talking quickly and deliberately avoiding eye contact with O’Bannon.

Her goal right now was to make sure Mrs. Walker didn’t fall apart. As long as the woman held it together, there was a good chance she would remain coherent and maybe even answer a few more questions for them.

“Was your son having trouble with anyone?” Ronan asked. “Any unusual arguments? Had anyone threatened him lately?”

“Well, this wasn’t done by a friend now, was it?” Mrs. Walker snapped sarcastically, then immediately appeared to regret her show of temper as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. This is all such a shock. You spend every day worrying something’s going to happen to your kid, but when it does you’re just not ready for it.”

Sierra placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. Mrs. Walker released a shuddering sigh. For a moment she looked as if she was about to dissolve into tears, but then she managed to rally again.

“We’re very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Walker,” she told the woman with genuine feeling. “Is there anyone we could call for you?”

The woman laughed softly, although the sound was completely devoid of any humor. She shook her head. “No one who would come if they saw the police around.”

It wasn’t an accusation but a simple statement of fact. Sniffling, she took out a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and wiped her eyes, then returned the tissue back to her pocket.

“When can I claim his bod—my son?” she asked, choking up.

“The medical examiner has to do an autopsy first, but as soon as your son’s body is released, we’ll let you know,” Sierra assured her. “Until then, here’s my card. If you think of anything to add, please call. Or if you just need someone to talk to—” Sierra gave the woman’s hand a squeeze as she gave her a business card “—call me.”

Mrs. Walker grimly nodded her head. The card went into the same pocket as the tissue. She tried to choke out a thank-you, but the words seemed to stick in her mouth.

“Thank you for your time,” Ronan said, rising. “We’ll let ourselves out.”

* * *

“WELL, THAT WOMAN’S never going to be the same again,” Sierra observed sadly as soon as they walked out of the almost airless little apartment.

“Nobody who loses someone ever really is,” Ronan commented drily.

Something in his voice caught her attention and Sierra looked at the tall man walking next to her. But his face was impassive, so if there had been an expression she could have interpreted, it was gone in an instant.

Ronan remained silent as they walked to his car. She decided it was just as well because he was undoubtedly disappointed that nothing new had been learned.

It wasn’t until they had pulled away from the curb and were driving back to the precinct that Ronan spoke again. To her surprise it wasn’t about the fact that they had learned nothing new about the victim.

“You weren’t half-bad in there.”

Sierra blinked, stunned as well as puzzled. “I’m sorry, I’m confused,” she confessed. “Are you praising the half-full glass or criticizing it because it’s half-empty?”

Ronan upbraided himself for having said anything, but since he had, he knew he needed to clarify it or Carlyle would just go on asking questions. He was beginning to realize she was just built that way.

“What I’m saying is that you handled an awkward situation without making it worse.”

Sierra suppressed a laugh. “That really is a left-handed compliment, you know.”

His eyes on the road, Ronan shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got.”

This time she did laugh. There was a decent human being in there somewhere, he just had to be dug out. She wondered if he was even aware of that fact.

“I really doubt that,” she told him.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Your mother’s a really nice, savvy woman,” Sierra said, hoping that would put what she said into perspective for him.

“So?”

She leaned back in her seat. “Never mind.”

“No, out with it,” Ronan ordered, sparing her one quick glance. “You started to say something, so now finish it.”

“And if I do, you’ll have reason to get rid of me?”

Did she really think he was that petty? What did he care what she thought about him? he asked himself the next second.

But he had pushed this and he wanted it resolved. “We’ll talk consequences later. Now, out with it. What are you trying to say?”

Sierra chose her words carefully, aware he would examine each one. “Your mother’s a really great, outgoing woman—”

“You already covered that part,” Ronan told her impatiently.

She supposed she could sugarcoat this, but she couldn’t get herself to lie. So she didn’t. “And you act as if you’d been raised by a she-wolf in a cave.”

Well, that was certainly straightforward enough, he thought. This woman obviously didn’t have any trouble telling the truth. He supposed that was a valuable asset—to both him and the team. Still, they weren’t going to get anywhere with this investigation if they kept clashing all the time.

“If you have a problem with the way I do things, Carlyle, you can always transfer out,” he told her. There was no emotion in his voice.

That just made her angry. “I don’t quit things,” she informed him.

“Then I’d say you have a problem.”

“I guess I do.”

He had no idea where she stood after saying that. And he certainly couldn’t just leave it. Easing into a stop at an intersection, he looked at her. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you in or are you out?”

She was probably going to regret this, Sierra thought, squaring her shoulders. But she’d told him the truth. She didn’t quit things. That left her only one answer. “I’m in—but don’t expect me to stop trying to get through that stony exterior,” she told him, qualifying her answer.

“What I expect,” Ronan stated deliberately, “is that you do your part to solve the crime to get whoever’s playing vigilante off the streets.”

The word he used caught her attention. “So now you think it’s a vigilante?”

He reminded himself that she was brand-new to the team and as such wasn’t apprised of pertinent details. He reviewed them in a nutshell. “This is the fifth street thug who’s been ‘executed’ this way. Three from one gang—the War Lords—and two from another—the Terminators. If it’s not a vigilante, what’s your take on it?”

“Well, off the top of my head,” she said, working through the problem as she spoke, “maybe it’s the work of a third gang, trying to get rid of the competition.”

“Aurora doesn’t have a gang. We had a few nerdy types a few years ago who tried to flex their muscles by spray-painting a couple of buildings, but the fact that they’d painted slogans using four-and five-syllable words gave them away. They were tracked down pretty quickly and turned over to their parents. That was the end of Aurora’s one and only ‘gang,’” he declared. “Anything else?”

Sierra grinned. “Nope. Not at this time.”

He caught her expression out of the corner of his eye as he continued to the precinct. “Then why do you look like some damn cat that swallowed a canary?”

“Because that’s the most number of words you’ve said to me since I became part of your team. I knew you had it in you.”

Ronan shook his head, exasperated. He didn’t trust himself to say anything in response so the rest of the ride to the precinct was made in silence.

* * *

THE MOMENT HE reached the squad room, Ronan walked straight to Martinez and Choi’s desks. “You guys learn anything?” he demanded.

Choi spoke first. “In between a bout of dry heaves, Billie, the guy who tripped over our victim, swore he’d never seen him before. I tend to believe him,” he said and then explained why before Ronan could ask. “The guy thought he was going to die and most people tend to tell the truth when they think they’re going to die.”

“And the bartender?” Ronan asked. So far, this wasn’t going well, he thought dourly.

“The guy who opened up the tavern wasn’t the guy on duty last night. He had that guy come down, but the evening bartender wasn’t all that helpful. According to Dave, the guy tending bar last night,” Martinez interjected, “it was really crowded and our victim didn’t make much of an impression on him. He said he ‘thought’ he saw our victim downing some tequilas with some sexy little number making eyes at him, but when Dave came back to that side of the bar, our victim and the woman who might or might not have been with him were gone.”

“There was no sign of a woman being in the alley,” Choi reminded the others.

“Maybe she left before anything happened,” Martinez speculated.

“Or maybe she saw what was happening and managed to get away before the killer saw her. That would make her a witness,” Sierra said, looking at Ronan to see whether he liked that idea.

Ronan nodded to himself. “Maybe you’ve got something there, Carlyle. It’s worth exploring.” He turned toward Choi and Martinez. “Go back to the bartender. See if he’ll sit with our sketch artist and describe this ‘sexy little number’ so we can pass it around Walker’s neighborhood, see if anyone recognizes her,” Ronan instructed.

“On our way,” Choi said, leaving the squad room with Martinez right behind him.

He’d gone with her theory, Sierra thought, rather surprised Ronan hadn’t given her an argument first. She turned toward him, a wide smile on her lips, and asked, “Still annoyed that Carver assigned me to the team?”

Ronan was practically stone-faced. “You waiting for a pat on the head?”

“No, but a ‘hey, not a bad idea’ might be in order,” she countered.

The expression on his face was dark. “Okay. Hey, not a bad idea. Happy?” he asked.

“You’re a tough nut to crack, aren’t you?”

“They haven’t made a nutcracker tough enough for that,” he told her as he began to walk to the break room.

“Don’t count on it,” she called after him.

She saw him stop for a second then resume walking. She got to him, she thought with a satisfied smile. Step one.

* * *

WHEN RONAN RETURNED to the squad room half an hour later, he was halfway to his desk when he stopped dead. There was a bulletin board mounted on wheels pushed up against the wall nearest their desks.

He walked straight to Sierra. “Where did that come from?” he asked sharply.

Busy tacking up a few last-minute things she’d jotted down, she didn’t turn around as she answered, “The store room.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“I thought we could do with some visual aids,” she told him. Finished, she turned around to face him. “Might stimulate our thinking.”

The woman was taking over, he thought, and he didn’t run things that way. “I think my thinking is stimulated enough right now,” he warned her. There was a definite edge in his voice. “Where did you get those?” he asked, waving a hand at the board.

There were five photographs tacked on the board, each with a name and time of death listed beneath it.

“I pulled up the list of victims and then scanned their photos, the ones off the DMV records,” she explained, adding, “because the others were too gruesome. I put those up along with the date and time of their deaths.” She kept talking even though she could see that, so far, her answers were annoying him. Her hope was that if she bombarded him with enough facts, he’d see things her way. “I thought that having them up there like that might get us to see something we’re missing.”

His eyes met hers, pinning her to the spot. “Who told you to do that?”

“No one. It’s call initiative. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

He felt as if she’d pushed him to the edge. “Frankly, I don’t know why you’re here. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“Here’s a hint. It’s to help with the investigation,” she told him.

He could feel his temper rising. “You can ‘help’ by following orders.”

“Which would be okay if there were any orders to follow,” she countered. “Look, other homicide detectives find having this kind of board up is helpful.” When he continued to glare and said nothing, she blew out a frustrated breath. She wasn’t trying to challenge his authority, she was trying to help, but this was still his team to manage. “You want me to take the photos down and take the board back to the storeroom?”

The look of anger on his face abated somewhat. Ronan glanced at the bulletin board again.

“No, leave it up,” he told her in a resigned voice. “Just next time check with me before you do anything.”

She still couldn’t help feeling as if she was being tethered. But if she wanted to work this case—and she really did—she was going to have to abide by his rules.

Inclining her head, Sierra said, “I’m going to the break room for lunch now, is that okay with you?”

Damn, but she was irritating. “If you’re trying to get under my skin, Carlyle, you’ve already done it,” he told her.

“Lunch?” she repeated innocently, still waiting for him to tell her it was all right.

He waved his hand at her impatiently. “Go. And if you solve the case over your ham-and-cheese sandwich, let me know first before you run off to cuff anyone.”

“It’s roast beef,” Sierra corrected. “And you’ll be the first to know if I solve the case,” she promised, elaborately drawing a cross over her heart. The next second she turned on her heel to leave—all but running into a tall, dark, younger, smiling version of Ronan. “Sorry,” she mumbled, withdrawing.

“What was that about?” Detective Christian O’Bannon asked, coming up to his older brother. He took one last look over his shoulder at the disappearing woman. “Is she telling you she loves you?”

Ronan’s mouth dropped opened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Chris jerked a thumb in the direction of the departing detective. “She just crossed her heart. I thought she was miming ‘I love you.’”

Ronan scowled at him. “Did you come here to make an already bad day worse?”

Chris’s face seemed to almost light up. “No, actually I came to ask you to be best man.”

“I already am the best man. I always have been,” Ronan answered wryly.

“At my wedding, you idiot,” Chris said, giving Ronan a friendly shove. “Suzie Q and I are getting married.”

That caught Ronan’s attention. “For real?”

If possible, the grin on Chris’ face widened. “As real as it can get. Priest, flowers, everything.”

Ronan shook his head. “Damn, I thought she had more sense than that.”

“Show a little respect or you’ll be demoted,” Chris warned. “The position of flower girl hasn’t been filled yet.”

“I have a lot of respect for Suzie,” Ronan said honestly, referring to the absent detective. “It’s you I don’t have all that much respect for,” he added drolly. “Never have.”

“Then that’s a yes?” Chris asked, a touch of anxiousness surfacing in his voice. “I know you don’t care for all that attention.”

Ronan shrugged. “Nobody’s going to be looking at me, they’ll be looking at Suzie—and the lucky stiff who’s marrying her.”

Chris wanted to nail things down and he needed a direct answer. “Again, is that a yes?”

Ronan grinned, genuinely happy for his younger brother. “Try and keep me away. Just tell me where and when.”

Relieved, Chris answered, “I’ll tell you a lot more than that, but this’ll do for now.”

Ronan shook his head and smiled as he watched his younger brother leave. He envied Christian, he really did. He could remember being that happy. Once.