Читать книгу Cavanaugh Standoff - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 10

Chapter Two

“I don’t think that’ll catch on as a slogan,” Sierra commented, overhearing what Ronan had just said to himself.

Ronan glanced up at her as if she had suddenly started babbling nonsense. “What won’t catch on?”

“You just said ‘Come to Aurora and die’ and—” Sierra waved her hand at him. She might as well save her breath. “Never mind.”

One look at Ronan’s impassive expression and she knew that she could talk herself blue in the face and he still wouldn’t really understand what she was saying, or why. More importantly, he wouldn’t crack a smile. The man was in serious need of a sense of humor, she thought. She firmly believed that, at times, a sense of humor was the only thing that could see a person through the harder times.

Working with O’Bannon was definitely going to be a challenge, she decided. But then, she wasn’t being paid to have a good time, Sierra stoically reminded herself. Her job was to keep the residents who lived in Aurora safe any way she could. And right now, working with O’Bannon and his team was the best way she could do that.

Squaring her shoulders, Sierra looked at the lead detective. “All right, what would you like me to do?” she asked since Ronan had gone back to intently studying the victim. When he raised his eyes to look at her, she instinctively knew what Ronan was about to say and voiced it before he could. “Besides going back to the squad room.”

Rising to his feet, Ronan addressed the other two detectives who were first on the scene. “You two see what you can find out from the guy with the sickly green complexion—” he nodded toward the man still leaning against the wall “—and also find out who was tending bar last night. Maybe the bartender noticed if our victim was hanging out with someone. It would be nice if we could finally come up with a real witness who saw something we can use.”

Determined not to be ignored, Sierra spoke up. “You think the victim was in the bar before he was killed?”

Forced to acknowledge her, Ronan said, “It’s a safe bet.”

Choi leaned in over the body and took a deep breath. His expression became slightly pained. “Oh, yeah, he still smells like he was soaked in alcohol.”

“That could be because the guy who found him threw up when he realized what he’d just tripped over,” Sierra pointed out. “And according to the statement that guy gave the officer on the scene,” she said, “he’d been in the Shamrock drinking for hours. I just talked to the officer,” she added before any of the detectives could ask her how she had found that piece of information out.

Making no comment, Ronan looked at Choi and Martinez. “When you’re done, come back to the station.”

“Okay,” Choi readily agreed. “Is that where you’re going to be?”

In response, Ronan first turned toward his uncle. “Let me take a look at that wallet you found,” he requested.

Sean handed the plastic-encased wallet to him. It had been placed inside the envelope with its two sides spread open so that the driver’s license was visible. Ronan read the address, then handed the secured evidence back to his uncle.

“I’m going to Walker’s apartment to see if he lived with anyone who might be able to shed some light on the situation, tell us if Walker was targeted recently by anyone.”

“You mean like a note from his friendly neighborhood serial killer saying, ‘you’re next’?” Sierra asked with a touch of sarcasm.

Ronan shot her an annoyed look. “You think this is a joke?”

“Not at all, but at least I got you to talk to me.”

Ronan was already turning away. Sierra began to talk more quickly. “I guess since you didn’t give me a separate assignment, you want me to go with you.”

He had to admit that her persistence reminded him of his sisters, but he gave no outward indication as he asked, “And what makes you think that?”

“Simple process of elimination,” Sierra responded without any hesitation.

He knew he had to utilize her somehow and maybe she could to be useful. “All right, you might as well come along. You might come in handy if there’s a next of kin to notify.” Ronan began walking back to his car. “I’m not much good at that.”

“I’m surprised,” Sierra commented.

Reaching the car, Ronan turned to look at her. “If you’re going to be sarcastic—”

“No, I’m serious,” she told him then went on to explain her rationale. “You’re so detached, I just assumed it wouldn’t bother you telling a person that someone they’d expected to come home was never going to do that again. It would bother them, of course,” she couldn’t help adding, “but not you.”

Ronan got into his vehicle, buckled up and pulled out in what seemed like one fluid motion, all the while chewing on what this latest addition to his team had just said. Part of him just wanted to let it go. But he couldn’t.

“I’m not heartless,” he informed her. “I just don’t allow emotions to get in the way and I don’t believe in using more words than are absolutely necessary,” he added pointedly since he knew that seemed to bother her.

“Well, lucky for you, I do,” she told him with what amounted to the beginnings of a smile. “I guess that’s what’ll make us such good partners.”

He looked at her, stunned. He viewed them as being like oil and water—never being able to mix. “Is that your take on this?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” she answered cheerfully.

The fact that she appeared to have what one of his brothers would label a “killer smile” notwithstanding, Ronan just shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Oh, you’ll get to believe it soon enough,” she told him. Before he could say anything, Sierra just continued talking to him and got down to the immediate business at hand. “I’m going to need to see your files on the other murders once we’re back in the squad room so I can be brought up to date.”

He didn’t even spare her a look. “Fine.”

“Are you always this cheerful?” she asked, “or is there something in particular that’s bothering you?”

This time Ronan did slant a quick glance in her direction. The woman sounded as if she was actually asking that, not just being nosy. He’d grown up in a family with talkative sisters and there was a time when the noise of constant chatter hadn’t bothered him. But that had been before life had taken the drastic, horrible turn that it had, changing all the ground rules on him.

Forever changing his life.

These days he preferred work and quiet, but for now, it looked like one of those ingredients would be seriously missing from the equation.

Moreover, he had the distinct feeling that if he mentioned to Carlyle that she was talking too much, she’d only get worse despite any so-called “efforts” to rein herself in. So, for now, he fell back on a plausible, albeit vague, excuse.

“I don’t like serial killers,” he said between clenched teeth.

That wasn’t it and she knew it. Her guess was that O’Bannon didn’t like being saddled with her, but he was just going to have to make the best of it. She intended to make him glad she was on his team rather than viewing it as some sort of cross he had to bear.

“I don’t think anyone does,” she said conversationally. “Anyone normal, anyway,” she added just before she flashed him another thousand-watt smile. “Lucky thing for you, you’re in the business of getting rid of them.”

He spared her a look that defied reading, so she put her best guess to it. He was probably labeling her a Pollyanna in his mind, but there was really more to her philosophy than that.

“You have to always find the upside to everything, no matter how bad it might seem to you at the time,” she told him. “That’s something my dad once told me.” And then she dropped the bombshell, thinking it was best if he found this little piece of information out sooner than later. “I think he picked it up from your mom.”

For a second Ronan didn’t think he’d heard her correctly. But he had keen hearing and he had heard everything the loquacious detective he’d been forced to add to his team had said since Carver had called her over to his desk, so he reasoned he hadn’t misheard. That raised an immediate question.

“You know my mother?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, I do.” Then, before he could ask, she volunteered just how her father knew his mother. “The ambulance company she runs is attached to the firehouse my dad oversees.” Which was just another example of what a small world this really was.

Granted he didn’t know anything about her background, but then he didn’t know any more than he had to about either Martinez or Choi. It was what they brought to the table as detectives that had always mattered to him.

Ronan glanced at her for half a second before looking back on the road. “Your dad’s a fireman?” he asked in disbelief.

It was an old, standing joke that firemen and policemen were natural rivals. How did she square being in the police department with her family?

Sierra seemed completely comfortable with her admission. “He is. So are my three brothers. Everyone at the fire station thinks your mother’s a great lady—and a hell of an ambulance driver in her day, too,” she added.

She wasn’t certain if that praise would somehow annoy O’Bannon—or make him proud. She didn’t know him well enough yet to make that kind of a call. But she had told him the truth and she didn’t see any reason not to say as much. She knew that she always liked hearing good things about her family from other people.

“Yeah, I know,” Ronan responded, his voice so low it almost sounded as if he was talking to himself rather than answering her.

Low voice or not, it was a start. Maybe, in time, she’d wear him down and actually draw O’Bannon into a normal conversation that didn’t require pulling teeth.

Focused on getting O’Bannon to talk to her, she hadn’t really been paying attention to the area they were driving through. But when he brought his vehicle to a stop a few minutes later, Sierra looked around for the first time.

They definitely weren’t in Aurora anymore.

The buildings on both sides of the streets all had a worn, run-down feel to them. Poverty, desperation and fear almost seemed to waft through the air. This was the kind of area people with any sort of ambition typically strove to leave behind, not come home to night after night.

And yet, for many, there was no other choice.

Eventually the streets won and the area beat people down, stripping them of all their hopes and dreams, as well as their dignity, leaving them with nothing to hold on to.

Ronan glanced at her. “You wanted to come along,” he said gruffly.

It was as if he could intuit what was going through her head, Sierra thought, doing her best to banish her reflections.

“I’m not complaining,” she told him, getting out on her side.

“Maybe I am,” Ronan murmured, hardly audible enough for her to hear.

The address on Walker’s license coincided with a five-story brown building that had gone up in the early seventies. Situated in the middle of a block, there was a bakery right next door to a shoe repair shop. A boarded-up dry cleaner’s was on the other side.

The building where Walker had lived had a front stoop. Several men, ranging from the ages of around seventeen to their midtwenties, were either sitting or standing in the stoop’s general vicinity. There were five of them, just enough so that, immobile, they all but barred access to the entrance.

“Mind getting out of the way?” Ronan asked evenly. His no-nonsense tone told the loiterers that they had no choice in the matter.

Mumbling, the five men moved only enough to create a small, accessible space to the door. Ronan went first, creating the path.

When Sierra started to follow him, one of the men on the stoop shifted just enough to keep her from entering the building.

Ronan never even turned around. “I heard one of you shifting. That had better be to give her more space, not less,” he warned.

The immediate shuffling noise that followed told him that the offender had moved out of the detective’s way.

“That’s a neat trick,” Sierra told him, falling into place beside Ronan once she’d crossed the threshold and had gotten inside the building. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head, too?”

“Don’t test me,” he told her. He expected that to be the end of it.

“Don’t tempt me,” she countered.

Since it didn’t appear as if there was an elevator, Ronan walked to the base of the staircase. “You always have to have the last word?” he asked.

“Not always,” she answered. Her cheerful response told him more than her words. “Lead the way, Fearless Leader.”

He looked back at her and frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Choi did,” she reminded him, using that as her excuse.

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Want me to tell him to stop?” she offered, still searching for a way to get on O’Bannon’s good side—if there was such a thing.

“I want you to be quiet and stay sharp,” he told her, looking around the poorly lit area carefully. The dim lighting on the stairs made it difficult to see beyond a few feet, which in Ronan’s mind placed them at a definite disadvantage.

“I can do both,” she told him, but for the sake of peace—and pleasing O’Bannon—she deliberately kept quiet as they carefully made their way up the next five flights of stairs.

Coming to the landing, Sierra blew out a breath. She exercised daily and felt she was in decent shape, but climbing all those stairs still took a bit of a toll on her, given that she was trying to keep up with O’Bannon’s pace.

“Wow, I’d hate to have to do that after a long day at work,” she commented.

“Could be why Walker and his so-called ‘friends’ didn’t work,” Ronan said cryptically, adding, “At least not in the traditional sense.”

Finding the apartment number he was looking for, Ronan knocked on the door. He gave it the count of ten and was about to knock again when they heard the sound of several locks being opened on the other side. Then someone pulled the apartment door back a crack. There was a chain holding the door in place.

The wary-looking woman on the other side of the door appeared as if she had once been very attractive. But it was obvious she had weathered more than her share of the worst that life had to offer.

Dark brown eyes regarded them both suspiciously, coming to her own conclusions. “If you’re selling religion, I tried it but it didn’t work.”

With that she began to close the door on them but Ronan put his foot in the way, which prevented her from shutting it.

“Hey!” she shouted in protest.

Ronan held up his badge so she could see it. “We’re with the police department.”

“I tried them, they didn’t work, either,” the woman informed him. There was a deep chasm of bitterness in her voice.

“Are you related to John Walker?” Sierra’s question was an attempt to cut through any further protest the woman might have to offer.

A flicker of despair passed through the woman’s eyes. “I’m his mother, why? What’s he done this time?” she demanded. There was anger in her voice as well as weariness that went clear down to the bone.

“May we come in?” Sierra asked politely.

But the older woman held her ground.

“No. You have something to say, you tell me from where you’re standing. What’s he done?” Walker’s mother demanded again, looking from Sierra to the man who still had his foot in her doorway.

Despite Ronan’s thoughts to the contrary, she had never had to break this sort of news to a deceased’s family member before. Sierra could feel a lump forming in her throat as she struggled to push the words out.

It almost felt surreal as she listened to her voice saying, “Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to tell you—”

“Oh, Lord, he’s dead, isn’t he?” Mrs. Walker cried. Her small, frail body began to shake. She struggled as she removed the chain from the slot where it was anchored. “I told him,” she cried with anguished frustration. “I told him that the kind of life he was leading would kill him.” The woman sobbed, looking as if she was going to dissolve where she stood.

Once inside the apartment, Sierra tried to put her arms around the woman to keep her from sinking to the floor.

Walker’s mother fought her for a moment and then gave up as she broke down, sobbing against her shoulder. And then, after several minutes, Mrs. Walker straightened, seeming to tap into an inbred resilience.

Squaring her bowed shoulders and holding her head high, she looked at Sierra. “How did it happen?”

“Someone shot him. His body was found in the alley behind the Shamrock Inn,” Ronan told the woman, reciting the words in almost a clinical fashion.

Mrs. Walker nodded numbly, led the way into her small, cluttered living room and sank onto a sagging sofa that was all but threadbare.

“Tell me everything,” she requested in a hoarse whisper.