Cavanaugh on Duty (9 page)

Kari noted the subtle shift, but before she could say anything, one of her father’s two assistants called out to him.

“Sean, come look at this,” Destiny Richardson requested. She and the other investigator had managed to carefully unfurl and remove the rug from around the victim’s body. The entire area where the rug had been in direct contact with the dead man was completely soaked with blood.

Kari was right beside her father and looked down at the corpse sans his cocoon. “Looks like he was killed on that rug,” she theorized.

“Or wrapped up immediately after he was killed,” Esteban interjected. Inherent concern masked by a veil of curiosity had him glancing in her direction to see how she was handling this up-close view of murder. That her pallor hadn’t changed nor had she bolted to purge her suddenly nauseated stomach, drew grudging admiration from him. “Looks like cause of death was having his throat slashed,” Esteban observed.

“At least it was quick,” Kari said, then raised her eyes up to her father’s, looking for confirmation. “It was quick, right?”

Sean nodded. “That would be my preliminary guess, at least for now. I’ll know more once we get him back to the lab.”

“How long do you think he’s been dead?” Kari asked.

Rather than answer, Sean looked at the investigator who had called him over to the unveiled body. Destiny, the young woman he had initially taken under his wing and personally trained because she had such an aptitude for the work, was soon going to become an official member of the family. She was engaged to Kari’s older brother, Logan.

Right now, though, she had just removed the thermometer she’d inserted into the victim’s liver in order to ascertain body temperature, which in turn allowed them to establish approximate time of death.

“According to his liver temperature, I’d say that he’s been dead close to a week,” Destiny estimated.

“You heard the lady,” Sean said to his daughter.

Before she could thank Destiny, Esteban was calling her attention to something else.

“Hey, Hyphen,” he said, using the same nickname that he’d heard the lieutenant use.

Kari looked in his direction, not entirely sure if she liked the man calling her that or not. She supposed it beat Fernandez referring to her as “hey, you,” so for now she let it go.

“Yes?” she responded, waiting.

“What do you make of this?” While the others were gathered around the victim’s head, looking at him upside down, Esteban was standing on the other end of the body, peering down at the victim’s chest.

Kari circumvented the body, coming over to stand next to her partner. “Make of what?” she wanted to know.

“This.” Esteban pointed to the front of the dead man’s pullover sport shirt.

She squinted, trying to see exactly what it was that had caught her partner’s eye, other than the massive bloodstain that had soaked through the entire front of what looked to have been a light green shirt. The deceased had a large neck, and all three buttons at his neckline were open.

She didn’t notice anything until she looked down a second time. Staring at the shirt, she began to make out what looked like a crude drawing that had been stenciled in with a black laundry marker.

A message from the killer?

“If I had to make a wild guess, I’d say that looks like the scales of justice.”

She looked up at her partner, waiting to hear if he concurred with her or made out some other kind of symbol. The drawing looked almost primitive, but if it had indeed been left by the killer, maybe he’d been interrupted before he could finish his artwork.

Rather than agree or disagree with her guess, Esteban looked over to the head of the crime lab for his assessment. “Chief?”

Sean studied the stained drawing for a moment. “Scales of justice gets my vote. Whoever did that definitely needs to brush up on their technique,” he added.

“Let’s hope he does it on a canvas and not a person,” Kari quipped. “Let me—let
us,
” she corrected herself, not wanting her new partner to think she was trying to slight him, “know if you find out anything interesting in the autopsy.”

She’d stopped herself just short of saying “Dad” at the end of her request. For the most part, she kept her professional life separate from her private one, but there were times when it was far too easy just to slip up when she was dealing with her family.

And now it had become that much more difficult with the vast increase of family members.

Sean nodded absently in response, his mind already moving on to another part of the procedure. But just as Kari began to leave the storage unit, he remembered to remind her about something.

“See you Sunday,” he called out.

Walking quickly out of the unit in an effort to once again leave the awful smell behind, she caught herself waiting for Esteban to ask about the reminder. When he didn’t, she decided that her new partner didn’t possess a shred of normal curiosity.

She decided to volunteer the information anyway. “He means Sunday dinner.”

Esteban merely nodded. “I kind of figured,” he said offhandedly.

She knew someone else would have just dropped it, but someone else most likely wouldn’t mind dealing with the silent treatment. She, however, did. Habitual silences had always been an indication of awkwardness as far as she as concerned. And if you felt awkward around someone, you definitely didn’t feel as if they had your six, which in turn went to trust. Trust, she had found, even in her young career, was the most important part of police work. If you didn’t have trust, you didn’t have confidence...and if you didn’t have confidence, you were nothing more than a walking target, waiting to be taken down.

“Seems that the former chief of police, Andrew Cavanaugh—now one of my two brand-new uncles— likes to have the family over on Sundays. He goes all out—cooks a huge meal. He throws his doors open to welcome as much of the family as can turn up.

“And I hear that when
everyone
shows up, there’re too many people to fit into the house all at the same time.” She looked at her partner as they reached the car. He hadn’t so much as grunted in response to what she’d just said. “You’re not listening to any of this, are you?” As far as she was concerned, it was really a rhetorical question.

Rather than answer yes or no, Esteban had a question of his own.

“Would it matter?” he asked her. “You seem to like to talk, and I’ve got a pulse.” He looked at her over the hood of the car before getting in. “I figure that’s about all you require.”

Kari got in behind the steering wheel and buckled up, snapping the metal tongue into the slot. “You are a cynical son of a gun, aren’t you?”

“What I am, Hyphen, is a survivor,” Esteban told her.

Kari put the key into the ignition and left it there for the time being. “Is that what you’re doing?” she wanted to know. “Trying to survive this partnership?”

Esteban didn’t answer. He assumed that if he let enough time pass, she’d forget about it. But then something told him this wasn’t going to be the case here.

He could feel Kari’s eyes staring at him. Could
feel
her waiting. She hadn’t started up the vehicle yet and something told him that she wouldn’t, not until he made some sort of a response.

“If you’re going to require answers and input each and every time, then I’m going to have to rethink this whole association,” he told her matter-of-factly.

Kari sighed. She couldn’t just wait him out. They had to get going.

“We’ll work on it,” she promised, then, for his benefit, she decided to lapse into silence for a while, at least until they reached the dead man’s apartment.

* * *

The trip took all of ten minutes.

Getting out of the car, she spared Esteban a look. “Quiet enough for you?”

He looked somewhat disappointed that the solitude had been broken so soon.

“It was,” he replied. “But I guess all good things must come to an end.”

“At least for now.” Then she couldn’t resist adding, “I doubt if Reynolds’s neighbors would appreciate my asking them questions using hand puppets.”

The picture that evoked in his mind made him laugh. It was a deep, rich sound that seemed to immediately weave directly under her skin.

She didn’t need this, she thought.

“You never know,” Esteban quipped, “it might be worth a shot.”

“I’ll keep it in mind as a last resort,” she said dryly, doing her best to ignore his effect on her. He wasn’t irritating her in the least, just unsettling her.

Pausing just short of the building superintendent’s door, Kari looked over to Esteban just before she rang the doorbell.

“I’ll do the talking,” she told him, intending to relieve him of the pressure of actually having to form words.

She was about to tell him as much when she heard him say, “I figured you would.”

“Nice to know I haven’t disappointed you,” she said to him.

She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn that he said, “Yet,” under his breath.

It was all the challenge she needed.

Chapter 7

“M
urdered, you say,” the building superintendent, Walter Meyers, said for a third time as he shook his bald head.

It was obvious that he was having trouble wrapping his mind around the concept. The barrel-chested older man had insisted on coming along with them to unlock the late William Reynolds’s fifth-floor apartment.

“You sure it was murder?” he asked Esteban. Putting the key in the lock, he twisted it and opened the door, but blocked it with his rather wide body.

Esteban deliberately moved the overall-clad, heavyset superintendent out of the way. “Most people don’t enclose themselves up in a rug, then slit their own throats,” he deadpanned as he and Kari walked into the apartment.

Inside it smelled stagnant and oppressive.

This place sure could use some ventilation,
Kari thought to herself as she slipped on a pair of plastic gloves. Since Esteban was not following suit, she dug into her pocket and produced a second pair. She wordlessly held them out to him.

After a beat, Esteban took them from her and slid the gloves on.

Satisfied, Kari turned to Meyers. “What can you tell us about Mr. Reynolds?” she asked. “Did he get into arguments with his neighbors or have any enemies that you’re aware of?”

She left it open-ended, waiting for the superintendent to fill in the details.

He shrugged his wide, squat shoulders in response to her question. “Far as I know, everyone liked the guy. He wasn’t that much of a talker, especially after his wife passed on, but he always had a friendly word to offer if you ran into him in the elevator. Paid his rent on time, never made any demands or had any complaints.”

“Where did he work?” Kari asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her partner was already carefully going over the small apartment, looking for signs of a struggle that would indicate that the victim had been killed here. By his expression, she gathered that Reynolds had most likely met his end somewhere else.

“He didn’t,” Meyers was telling her. “He was retired from the post office. He mentioned doing some volunteer work at the local hospital. Said he didn’t like rattling around the apartment now that his wife was gone.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t fathom the notion. “Me, I’d be thrilled to death to be able to just bum around the apartment without having my wife breathing down my neck.” The superintendent sounded almost wistful.

Kari had no doubt that the woman in question would probably say the same thing about him, given half a chance. It made her wonder how some couples ever wound up with each other.

She caught herself looking at Esteban as she pondered that. The next moment, she deliberately looked away. “Would you happen to know which hospital?” she asked Meyers.

He shook his head. “Sorry—he never said. Just that on a good day he could get there on foot.”

Well, that certainly narrows it down,
Kari thought.
After all, what are the odds that there’s more than one hospital in the area within walking distance?

“Hey, Hyphen,” Esteban called to her. “Come look at this.”

She saw that look of curiosity flicker in Meyers’s eyes. However, she was
not
about to enlighten the stranger about her deplorable nickname.

Instead, she told the man, “Thanks. If we need anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Meyers dug in his heels. “That’s okay...I can hang around for a while,” he told her, craning his neck to see what it was that the other detective had found.

Some people, Kari decided, had to be beaten over the head before they took the hint.

“No, you can’t,” Kari informed him with a smile. “We’ll take it from here.” She left no room for argument, although Meyers did look as if he really wanted to convince her to let him stay.

But after a moment, the man sighed and retreated.

Only once the man was out of the apartment did she turn to go and find her partner. But by then, Esteban had evidently grown tired of waiting and had returned to the living room to show her what he’d found.

He was carrying a small black binder that looked as if it had seen years of wear and tear. When he came closer, she saw that the spine appeared to be slightly cracked down the middle.

“Find a secret diary?” she asked, only half joking.

On the job only a few years, she’d learned not to be surprised by anything. The man thought to be a saint could very easily turn out to be a sinner of the highest caliber.

But not today, she learned as Esteban answered her question.

“No, I found his address book.” He held it out to her. “From the faded ink and coffee stains on it, I’d say it’s probably a few decades old, if not more.”

She took the book from him and perused a few pages. “A lot of the entries are crossed out,” she noticed, then raised her eyes to Esteban’s. “People he’s not speaking to anymore?”

“Or people who’ve moved or died” came Esteban’s reply.

Kari thumbed through a few more pages, then threw out a few far-out ideas. “Maybe he ‘helped’ those people to die. His murder could be someone’s idea of payback—or justice,” she pointed out. “That could explain the crude drawing of the scales of justice on his shirt.”