Mission: Cavanaugh Baby (4 page)

“I went to work this morning. My lieutenant gave me this address, said a complaint had been lodged about a dog in the apartment that wouldn’t stop barking. The caller said the dog had been barking off and on for several hours.”

Shane nodded at the almost docile dog in her arms. “That dog?”

Without fully realizing it, she closed her arms protectively around the animal. “Yes.”

“Seems pretty quiet to me,” he observed.

Ashley continued stroking the dog. “I have a way with animals. Besides, I think he’s emotionally tired out.”

He watched as she continued to stroke the dog. The animal seemed to be leaning into her, as if he thought he was safe.

“‘Emotionally tired out’?” Shane repeated rather skeptically.

His tone, she judged, was intended to get her to back away from her observation. She didn’t. “That’s what I said.”

“Dogs have emotions.” It wasn’t a question so much as a mocking statement.

Ashley forced herself to bite back a few choice words about the barely veiled sarcasm in his voice. She had a feeling that challenging the detective would only result in his becoming confrontational.

Nonetheless, she stood her ground. “All animals have emotions,” she informed him coolly.

“I’ll keep that in mind and try not to hurt his feelings,” he said, nodding at the terrier. Then his eyes shifted toward her. “Where were you before you came into work?”

Her eyes met his. She refused to look away. Only guilty people avoided eye contact. “Home.” She said the word almost defiantly.

“Can anyone verify that?” he asked.

There hadn’t been anyone to verify anything about her since she was four. For most of her life, until she’d turned eighteen, she had just blended into the woodwork or been invisible to the people around her.

“I’ve got two dogs, but they tend not to talk too much to strangers.” And then her flippant tone evaporated as she demanded, “Do you seriously think I had something to do with this?”

From where he stood, it wasn’t all that far-fetched, and until he had more details or knew otherwise, the woman made for a pretty decent suspect.

“A lot of times,” he told her, “the first one on the scene turns out to be the perp.”

Oh, come on, puh-lease!
“What is that?” she asked. “A direct quote from
Murder for Dummies?
”

He did
not
care for her sarcastic tone. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you, you know that?” he challenged.

“Goes with the rest of me,” she replied with a careless shrug, as if to shrug off his entire statement and whatever off-the-wall theory he was spinning. Shifting the terrier to her other side, much like a mother would shift the toddler she was holding, Ashley asked him, “Are you really a Homicide detective?”

“I’m from the Major Crimes Division,” he revealed. “When you called Dispatch, you asked for backup and a bus,” he reminded her.

“That was because I wasn’t sure what was going on, and she was still breathing.” Seemed to her that they had already gone over this and established it.

“Which was why you moved the body,” he concluded.

This again, she thought, exasperated. What was this detective’s problem? “I just turned her so she was on her back. I found her facedown on the floor between the kitchen and the living room. I didn’t think to take a photo before I tried to find a way to save her life.”

A key phrase in her statement stuck out for him, and Shane commented on it. “Apparently you didn’t think at all.” Before she could retort, he asked another question. “When you got here, was the door opened?”

“No,” she told him, reciting the words stoically, “it was locked.”

He looked around for another person besides the precinct personnel, but there was no civilian in the apartment. “Then the landlord let you in.” It was an assumption on his part.

The next moment, the assumption was shot down as she answered, “No, he didn’t.”

His eyes narrowed. This wasn’t adding up—unless she was the perpetrator. “Then how did you get in?” he asked.

Hadn’t he noticed the pane of glass on the ground under the kitchen window? “I jimmied the kitchen window until I got a pane off.”

He was going to give her every chance—before she hung herself. “Why would you—?”

Anticipating his question, Ashley had her answer ready. “I heard the dog barking, and I looked in through the window. That was when I saw the victim lying facedown on the floor. I called it in and went to get the guy in the leasing office, but the office was empty. Whoever was on duty was out, showing a potential tenant one of the apartments.”

“So you jimmied the window and let yourself in.”

He sounded as if he was accusing her. He couldn’t be serious—could he?

“Yes, I jimmied the window and let myself in.” She was truly annoyed. “Tell me, Detective, what would you have done?” she demanded angrily.

Chapter 3

F
or a moment the detective said nothing and Ashley thought he was going to give her hell for talking to him that way. She braced herself for a dressing down. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had one. Because there was no one else for her to turn to, she’d learned how to be her own person and to follow both her instincts and her conscience.

But when the detective finally did say something, he surprised her.

“I would’ve kicked in the door.” Seeing the stunned look on her face, Shane smiled and explained, “I’m too big to fit in through that window.”

It was the first time since he’d arrived that she’d seen even a hint of a smile on his lips. Until now, he’d been scowling at her. When he smiled, the detective looked, she thought, like a completely different person. He looked approachable, not to mention rather good-looking.

Not that what the man looked like really mattered one way or another, Ashley told herself—except for the fact that it was the good-looking ones who were usually also the pompous ones.

“Then it’s lucky for you that she got here first. Those doors don’t kick in as easily as you might think, Detective Cavanaugh. That’s a fire door, and they’re pretty damn sturdy. They only get ‘kicked down’ in movies and TV shows,” a deep voice coming from directly behind her said amicably.

Ashley turned to see a tall, handsome older man walking in. He was carrying a rather formidable leather case with him. The letters
CSI
were embossed across the side of it.

Apparently seeing that she was looking at his case, the newcomer told her, “I’m with the crime lab.” Ashley found it rather unusual that the investigator would tell her that rather than the detective, then realized that most likely, the detective had already been acquainted with the crime scene investigator.

Extending his hand to her, the man introduced himself. “I’m Sean Cavanaugh.”

She flashed a smile at him, grateful to be treated as a person. A great many people on the force acted as if she was part of the scenery—inconsequential scenery, at that. That went along with the fact that there were those in the police department who viewed the people in her division as being no more than just glorified dog catchers.

She had a feeling, judging by the look on the detective’s face when he’d first talked to her, that he thought the same.

But not this man, Ashley decided.

“Officer Ashley St. James,” she responded, shaking his hand.

The man smiled at her. When he did, it occurred to her that he seemed to have the same kind of smile as the detective. Odd.

“Nice to meet you, Officer St. James.” Placing his case on the coffee table, he opened it and took out his camera. He raised an eyebrow as he appeared to study her for a moment. “This your first murder?”

“Yes, sir, it is.” And then she relaxed just a touch and asked, “It shows, huh?”

The reply he gave wasn’t one she was expecting.

“As a matter of fact, it doesn’t.” Sean began to snap pictures of anything in the room that might fit under the heading of possible evidence. “That’s why I asked. You seem remarkably composed for someone who’s seen something this gruesome.” He looked over his shoulder at the detective. “Doesn’t she, Shane?”

Shane had no idea why his father would attempt to get a three-way conversation going in the middle of something so horrendous as this murder—unless it was his way of helping the little officer cope with what she’d stumbled across.

Now that he thought about it, that sounded
exactly
like something his father would do. He was always in there, the voice of calm and reason, trying to help people through a rough patch.

His father was probably the finest man he knew, Shane thought, not for the first time.

“Yeah, composed,” Shane repeated. Let his father take care of whatever support the officer holding the dog might need. He wasn’t here to hold her hand, pretty as it might be, he was here to try to figure out who killed the young woman on the floor—and why.

“He’s usually a lot more talkative than that,” Sean told her, leaning in and making the comment sound somehow confidential. He took a fourth shot of the victim from yet another angle. “Aren’t you, Shane?”

“If you say so,” he responded carelessly as he squatted over the victim to take a closer look.

The terrier the officer was holding became agitated and started barking. The bark grew more aggressive. Shane rose, his expression reverting to the annoyed look he’d worn for the initial part of their exchange. “Can’t you get that dog out of here?”

“Not yet,” she answered, stroking the small canine. She leaned over and whispered something in its ear just before she reached into her pocket and took out one of the treats she kept with her at all times. Bribed, the dog calmed somewhat and stopped barking.

Still petting the animal, Ashley looked from the crime scene investigator to the detective. The latter hadn’t bothered to introduce himself. He’d gone straight to work and was treating her as if she were a suspect. Her eyes shifted back again. The more she compared the two, the more similarities she saw.

“Are you two related, by any chance?” she asked the older man, since he was definitely the friendlier one. “You kind of look alike.”

Sean laughed to himself as he went on working. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sure Shane thinks of himself as the better looking one.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied both men again, this time very carefully. They had the same cheekbones, the same strong jaws and the same eye color, she realized. Most likely, when he was younger, the crime scene investigator had probably had the same color hair as the detective.

“He’s your son,” she concluded.

“On good days,” Sean acknowledged with a nod. “On bad days, he’s his mother’s.”

His son hadn’t given her his name. He was somewhat surprised at the omission. Had something caught Shane’s attention, something that made him forget to follow the usual procedure? “You didn’t tell her who you are?” Sean asked his son.

It was Ashley who answered him, shaking her head. “He went straight to questioning me,” she told Sean. “Said something about the first one on the scene being a good suspect for the murder.”

Sean glanced at his son. His expression was hard to read.

“Be gentle with him,” Sean told the young officer. He winked at her, then picked up his case. He began to head toward the back of the apartment and the victim’s bedroom. “This is his first murder, too.”

That might explain why he was so stiff, Ashley thought. Still holding the terrier in her arms, she turned toward the investigator’s son. “Will you be needing me, Detective Cavanaugh?”

The sun was finally pushing its way into the apartment through the rear sliding-glass doors, lighting the corners of the room that had previously been hidden in the shadows.

It also seemed to weave itself through the petite officer’s red hair, giving it highlights and making it shine alluringly. Catching his attention, it caused Shane’s train of thought to halt abruptly.

Beautiful women always caught his attention, and whatever else this woman was, she was definitely beautiful.

“What?” he asked, realizing that she’d said something and was waiting for an answer. Preoccupied, he didn’t have a clue as to what she’d just asked.

“Will you be needing me?” she repeated, then added, “Any further?”

Ashley had lost her train of thought because the detective was looking at her rather intently, as if he was weighing something.

It took effort for her not to shift uncomfortably.

“You have a card on you, Officer?” he finally asked, his eyes holding hers. “You never know when that need might come up.”

She knew she had to be misinterpreting his words, but the last part sounded much too personal, almost intimate. She could feel her cheeks warming, turning a different shade than they’d been just a moment ago. He’d worded his explanation just ambiguously enough to make it sound as if he might want her for something other than verbal input.

Not for the first time, she cursed her fair complexion. It was a dead giveaway.

Ashley forced herself to calm down and regain control over at least her outward appearance.

This one, she decided, fancied himself a ladies’ man, someone who probably wasn’t accustomed to being refused. Taking a card with her name on it out of her pocket, she handed it to him and answered, “No, I guess you just never do.”

Turning on her heel, she started for the door.

“You taking that dog to the shelter?” he called out after her.

He honestly didn’t know why he’d asked that. He really didn’t care where the animal went, as long as it didn’t run through the crime scene again.

“Why?” she asked, slipping a shielding hand around the terrier as if to silently communicate to the animal that it had no reason to fear anything as long as it was under her protection. “You want to question him later and rule him out as a suspect, too?”

The woman’s feisty attitude intrigued him even as it annoyed him. “I want to tie up all the ends I can in my report. That includes where the dog was relocated. Now can I put down that he was taken to the animal shelter where he can be found until the city disposes of him.”

He’d used the phrase to cover all bases—if the dog went on to be adopted by someone looking for a pet, it was considered to be one method of “disposal.” But even so, she didn’t care for the detective’s cold, detached manner.

“You can put down anything you want, Detective Cavanaugh. But if you must know, I’ll be taking the dog home with me when my shift is over.” It was a spur of the moment decision on her part and it wasn’t exactly according to the rules—but that was how she got the other two dogs she currently shared her house with. Animal Control’s rules were slightly bendable, allowing her some leeway.

The way there apparently wasn’t in the main division, she observed.

Shane looked from the dog in her arms to her. “Why would you do that?”

* * *

Ashley continued to pet the dog as she spoke. “Because he’s been traumatized enough for one day, and I thought he could do with calm, tranquil surroundings for a while. He can’t receive that sort of attention if I take him to Animal Control. We don’t have enough personnel available for that.”

Shane looked at her skeptically. He didn’t know what to make of this woman. Was she some PETA-type radical in uniform, or just a pushover—at least where animals were concerned?

“Isn’t giving him individualized care a little over the top?” he asked.

Ashley lifted her chin defiantly. “It shouldn’t be,” she informed him.

Shane laughed shortly. “Easy to see why the dog likes you so much.”

“Why?” she asked, curious about the kind of reasoning he was using—and bracing herself for the worst.

Shane assumed that would be crystal clear to her. Was she fishing for a compliment? “Because you’re taking his side, speaking up for him.”

Maybe she was taking sides with the dog, but there was something about this detective that made her want to instantly take the opposite side of whatever he said.

“I just balance out the people who get off on kicking dogs,” she replied simply.

The expression on his face shifted to one of amusement. “Are you a crusader, Officer St. James?”

She squared her shoulders, subconsciously bracing for a fight. She didn’t like being laughed at. “Not a crusader,” she answered. “Just someone doing her job the way she sees fit. Now, if you’re finished with us, Detective, I’ll take Albert out of here.”

“‘Albert,’” he repeated, surprised. “You know the dog’s name?”

Evidently he was thinking that if she knew that—given there was no dog tag on the animal—she had to know the victim, as well.

“No, but he looks like an Albert,” Ashley answered, shifting her hands and holding the dog up as if she was examining all sides of him, mimicking the process she’d employed when deciding on his name.

“If you say so,” the detective murmured under his breath.

“Oh, Officer,” Sean Cavanaugh called as he stepped out of the bedroom for a moment. “Before I forget, we’ll need to check out that terrier. We might find something in his fur that’ll tell us something about the person who did this. I can have one of my people take him over to Animal Control when we’re done.”

Ashley looked down at the dog. She could feel the animal begin to tremble against her, as if he actually understood what was being said and knew he was about to be separated from her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take him. He doesn’t really look as if he trusts any of you.”

She knew her request wasn’t according to protocol, but had sensed that the elder Cavanaugh might not be a stickler for the letter of the rules, just the spirit.

“That would be fine,” he told her, “as long as you take him in right now. I can’t have any possible evidence being contaminated.”

“Understood,” she replied, then flashed a smile intended strictly for the senior Cavanaugh. “I’m on my way,” she announced, leaving.

* * *

For a moment Shane watched the woman leave with the canine she was protecting.

The second she walked out the door, he turned toward his father—only to find that he had retreated into the bedroom. Shane was quick to make his way to the back of the apartment.

Having the case land in his lap like this seemed almost serendipitous because lately he’d been thinking about asking to be transferred to the homicide division. Homicide was where all the up-and-comers wanted to go, so why shouldn’t he?

Walking into the bedroom, he saw another crime scene investigator in the room with his father, collecting physical evidence. Probably the same man his father had intended to have transport the terrier to the lab before the officer had volunteered to do it.

Shane nodded at the man then planted himself in front of his father, waiting until Sean was finished with whatever he was doing.

Looking up, his father noted his presence and went back to photographing the bedroom.

“Cute,” he pronounced out of the blue.

“What is?” Shane asked.

Sean looked up at him as if to ask, “Are you kidding me?” But he obliged his son by spelling it all out for him. “That officer with the material witness in her arms.”