Читать книгу Cavanaugh Vanguard - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 16

Chapter 4

“Do you know the name of the person who made this offer?” Jackson asked.

Gloria Aurora scowled. Her frown had the ability to transform an attractive face almost into a mask, one that even her husband had been known to be wary of.

“Winnie, don’t you think you should have a lawyer present before you answer any more of these people’s questions?” Mrs. Aurora’s tone was civil, but it was more of a demand than a question.

It was obvious that the woman was more than a little surprised when her husband held his ground, not against the police detectives, but against her suggestion.

“There’s no need for lawyers, Gloria,” Winston replied amicably. “There’s no wrongdoing here.” Chuckling, the family patriarch turned to address the two detectives. “You’ll have to forgive my wife. I’m afraid she’s not very trusting.”

Gloria’s eyes were as close to blazing as Brianna had ever seen. “And you’re too trusting, Winston,” the woman snapped.

Brianna exchanged glances with her partner. Was there just trouble in paradise, or did the man’s wife know something? Something she wanted hidden?

“Mr. Aurora,” Jackson said a bit more forcefully, “who made you the offer?”

“The city,” Winston replied mildly, appearing unfazed by his wife’s anger.

This felt as if they were tiptoeing through a minefield, Brianna thought. “Anyone in particular from the city?”

“For the answer to that, I’m afraid that you will have to speak to my lawyer,” Winston told them.

“Finally!” his wife cried triumphantly with a toss of her ever so carefully coiffed hair.

It was obvious that Winston Aurora was not about to let his wife have the last word. “I hated the idea of selling the property, so I turned everything over to Thomas Cahill, senior lawyer at Cahill, Adams and Sons. Call the firm, tell him I sent you. He can give you all the details behind the sale. Now,” he said in a tone indicating that he assumed the subject was closed, “is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, sir, but we’ll let you know if there is,” Brianna told the man pleasantly. Her gaze swept over both parties. “Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Aurora.”

“I hope this is the end of your interrogation.” Gloria Aurora’s tone was cold enough to freeze large cuts of beef.

“If not,” Brianna responded politely, not about to be intimidated, “we’ll be in touch.”

“With our lawyer!” Gloria called after them as they left the library.

“Well, that proves it,” Jackson said as they made their way out of the mansion under the head of security’s watchful eye.

“Proves what?” Brianna asked.

They went down the half dozen stairs from the front door to the circular driveway. “That money doesn’t buy happiness.”

Brianna shrugged. “He seemed all right.”

Jackson glanced in her direction. “I was referring to Mrs. Aurora. Every time that woman opened her mouth to talk, I had the impression that she was sucking on a lemon. A really sour lemon,” he underscored. “Almost made me feel sorry for her husband.”

“Almost?” Brianna questioned as she got into the car.

Jackson laughed shortly. “Hard to feel sorry for a man who could buy the whole state before noon if he wanted to.”

Jackson sounded as if he was sinking farther into a mood, so she tried to kid him out of it. In her opinion, he was an excellent detective, but he was really difficult to get close to. Even after being partnered with him three times, she was still trying to find the chink in his armor.

“Ah, but as you just pointed out,” she told him, “money can’t buy happiness.”

“Yeah, but it can buy a lot of other things,” Jackson replied as he started the car.

Was he going anywhere with this, or just complaining in general, Brianna wondered. “What are you getting at? What other things?”

“Like other people’s silence.” He began to drive toward the main road. “What do you want to bet that we’re not going to get any worthwhile information out of Aurora’s lawyer—or anyone else connected with this sale or the demolition, for that matter?”

Jackson sounded as if he believed a major conspiracy was going on. “Hey, the owner of the construction company was the one who called the police,” Brianna reminded him.

That didn’t change his opinion. “That was a spontaneous reaction,” he said. “Besides, some of his crew saw those bodies. And that was then. It doesn’t take all that long to talk to the involved parties and get them to see things differently, change their stories for a price, that sort of thing.”

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away here?” Brianna asked him. “We’re talking about the Aurora family, not a drug cartel or crime syndicate.”

Jackson glanced at her, and she couldn’t quite read his expression. “We’ll see.”

“Why do you insist on seeing the dark side of everything?” Brianna asked.

“Why do you always insist on seeing the bright side?” he countered.

She’d expected him to come back with that and was prepared. “Because I like having faith in my fellow human being.”

His eyes on the road, Jackson made a disparaging sound. “Fastest way to be disappointed, if you ask me, is to have faith in your fellow human being.”

Brianna looked at the man driving beside her for a long moment. She knew very little about Jackson Muldare—other than he was an excellent detective—even though they had worked together before. The little she did know, by way of rumor and innuendo, was rather sad and depressing. She debated saying something to him, trying to make him come around.

But before she could open her mouth, Jackson warned, “Don’t analyze me, O’Bannon.” He never took his eyes off the winding road.

“I didn’t say a word,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“You didn’t have to,” he told her. “I can feel you thinking.”

“That’s quite a talent you have there,” she replied, a touch of mocking in her voice.

“It’s my survival instinct,” he answered in all seriousness.

While he respected the woman as a detective and, yes, maybe even liked her to some extent, he was aware of the reputation she and the rest of her family had. They never met a person they didn’t try to bring into their circle and absorb. Whether or not that person was willing didn’t seem to matter. The Cavanaughs were firmly convinced that everyone was better off as part of a group.

Hell, most of the time he didn’t even really see himself as part of the police force. He certainly didn’t feel the need to buddy up to anyone, no matter what anyone thought to the contrary.

His best bet until this was resolved, Jackson felt, was to keep the woman’s mind on the case—and off anything personal that might have to do with him.

Having finally arrived at the main road, he glanced in her direction. “Where do you want to go?”

She thought of what Winston Aurora had said just before they left his mansion. “We might as well get the family lawyer out of the way, see if he can shed some light on the sale of the decade.”

Jackson laughed shortly, although there was no smile on his face. “I can just see the posting online—‘For sale, one classic hotel. Comes with built-in tenants, no extra charge.’”

“Why, Muldare, I had no idea that you had a sense of humor.”

His expression remained unchanged and almost stoic. “I don’t.”

“That would explain a lot of things,” she responded. It occurred to Brianna that she hadn’t given him the address to the law firm. “Oh, Cahill’s office is located on—”

“I know where it is,” he cut her off. And then, in case she had any doubts about what he’d just said, he told her, “McFadden.”

Brianna just shook her head. “Muldare, you are just an endless source of surprises, you know that?”

For the first time since they’d left the hotel, she noticed just the barest hint of a smile on Jackson’s ruggedly handsome face. “I like keeping you on your toes,” he said.

What Muldare liked, she thought, was keeping her off balance.

She paused for a second, debating her next question. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she forged ahead and asked, “How’s everything?”

The simple question made no sense to him. He never liked things that made no sense. “In reference to what?”

“Your life,” she specified. Met with a stony silence, she tried again. “I’m asking you about your life, Muldare.”

“You writing a book?” he asked her.

“No,” she replied, doing her best not to get exasperated. “I’m trying to make small talk with my partner.”

“Your temporary partner doesn’t like small talk,” Jackson told her. “It serves no purpose. Hence the word small.”

He really was an exasperating man, Brianna thought. But she was far too stubborn to give up.

“Then you’re missing the point of small talk,” she told him.

“Isn’t that the lawyer’s building just up ahead to the right?” he asked, knowing full well that it was. He only asked because he wanted to divert her attention.

Aware of what he was trying to do, Brianna suppressed a sigh. This isn’t over, Muldare.

She turned her attention toward the very modern-looking building Jackson had just pointed out. The edifice was constructed out of what looked to be, at first glance, all reflective glass. At certain times of the day in the spring and fall, the building made driving by it close to impossible because of the glare. But since it was only for a few minutes each time, and the office building housed a number of important companies, no steps were taken to change anything.

“That it is,” Brianna said, confirming what she knew that Muldare already knew. “Small talk is tabled for now,” she said deliberately—and then put him on notice. “But I intend to get back to it.”

“Good luck with that,” Jackson murmured under his breath.

But she heard him. And she smiled because at that moment, she’d made herself a vow. She fully intended to peel away Jackson Muldare’s protective shield if it was the last thing she ever did. Not to satisfy her own curiosity, which she admittedly had in spades, but because she felt that he needed to expose whatever it was he was guarding so zealously to the light of day. She was convinced that he would remain a tortured soul until such time as he cleared out his demons.

* * *

Forewarned, Roman Thomas Cahill was waiting for them when they arrived at the law firm.

Stopping at the reception desk, Brianna and Jackson asked the very efficient-looking young man manning the desk if they could speak with Cahill.

“First door to your right,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Cahill is waiting for you.”

“One hurdle down, four hundred and ninety-nine to go,” Brianna said to her partner.

“Only?” was Jackson’s response.

A moment later, they were walking into R. Thomas Cahill’s cavernous office.

Leaving the shelter of his desk, Cahill met them halfway. “I was told that you’d be stopping by,” he said, shaking both their hands. He gestured toward the two chairs before his desk, his indication clear. “Although I must admit that I’m a little unclear why the Aurora police department would have the slightest interest in the sale of the Old Aurora Hotel.” He chuckled. “I realize that the city doesn’t have much in the way of crime to keep detectives like yourselves busy, but surely there are more pressing things for you to look into than the sale of that fine old building to the city in order to make way for another wave of development.” Finished, he leaned back in his richly padded chair, his hands on either armrest as he waited for the weight of his words to sink in.

“Well, that’s quite a mouthful, Mr. Cahill,” Jackson commented.

Was he deliberately trying to irritate everyone today, Brianna couldn’t help wondering. She instantly went into damage control mode.

“What my partner is trying to say,” she told the lawyer, “is that we’re wondering if you could clarify why the property was sold at this particular time and who on the city council authorized the sale.”

Cahill’s expression remained unchanged. “Again, I have to say that I hardly see why that would concern the police department.”

Jackson grew tired of all this beating around the bush. “It does if the building in question has bodies in it.”

“Bodies?” Cahill echoed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“When the construction crew began demolishing the hotel this morning, they found bodies in the debris,” Jackson answered.

Cahill didn’t look as if the news surprised him. Although there was a flash of color on his florid face, it gave way to a thoughtful expression as he advanced a theory. “That’s easy enough to explain. There were undoubtedly homeless people living in the building—they turn up everywhere—and they didn’t manage to get out in time.”

Brianna could see that Jackson was on the verge of losing his temper. Placing her hand lightly on his wrist to placate him, she took the lead.

“No, these bodies didn’t belong to any homeless people looking for shelter. These bodies had been encased in cement,” Brianna told the lawyer.

Cahill’s complexion turned a serious shade of red as he rose to his feet. “Surely you don’t mean to sit here and accuse my client of having anything to do with such a heinous crime. Bear in mind that I can and will sue you and your whole department for defamation of character if either of you even so much as breathe this outside my office.”

Not about to be intimidated, Brianna and Jackson were on their feet as well.

“Before we get into all that ugliness, Mr. Cahill,” Brianna said in a calm voice that seemed to have the exact opposite effect on the attorney, “why don’t you just tell us who approached your client about the sale of the Old Aurora Hotel? You tell us that and we will get out of your hair.”

“And you can get back to doing whatever it is that lawyers do,” Jackson interjected.

“Don’t tempt me to show you,” Cahill said as he drew himself up to his full height, which was at least five inches shorter than Jackson. Clearly struggling to keep his temper in check, Cahill turned away from Jackson and said to Brianna, “If you’ll wait right here, I’ll see about getting you that information.”

With that, the attorney stormed out of his office.

“Why do you think he didn’t use his computer to get that information?” Jackson asked, looking at the door.

“Probably because he wanted to get some space between himself and you before he did something that isn’t smiled upon in law school.” She looked at the other detective, more amused than annoyed. “Am I going to have to put a leash on you?”

“You can try,” Jackson told her. Then, eyeing her for a moment, he added, “Might even be fun to watch you try.”

For just a second, an image that had nothing to do with the case flashed through her mind. Not the time, she silently lectured.

“We’re trying to make nice with these people,” Brianna reminded him. “Haven’t you ever heard that it’s easier to catch flies with honey than with vinegar? And if you give in to your urge and use a flyswatter,” guessing what was going through Jackson’s mind, “then you haven’t gotten anything at all for your trouble except for a flyswatter full of smashed flies.”

Jackson gave her a look she couldn’t read. “Anyone ever tell you you’re colorful?”

“Muldare, I’m serious,” she stressed. “We need these people to cooperate.”

A hint of disbelief entered his eyes. “Are you telling me that you expect these people to just raise their hands and say, ‘You got me. I did it’?”

“No, what I’m hoping is that one of these people might say something to help us find out just who decided to use the Old Aurora Hotel to cover up their killing spree.” She sighed as other thoughts occurred to her, things that needed to be checked out. “We’re going to need to get a task force together to help us tackle this.”

“Safety in numbers?” Jackson asked.

“Efficiency in numbers,” she countered. “I get the feeling that there are a lot of pieces involved in keeping all this secret, and the more people we have working on this, the better chance we stand of getting some answers before someone in the Aurora family tries to stonewall us.”

“Then you do think it’s someone in the family,” Jackson asked. His tone made it clear that he already thought that way.

“Until we get a few more things straightened out, I’m not thinking anything just yet,” she answered.

Jackson was about to ask her something else when Cahill walked back into the office.

At the same time, Jackson’s phone began to vibrate.