Becoming a Cavanaugh Page 10

  “That’s because he thought he was immortal,” Jaren surmised quietly, voicing the thought more to herself. She looked over toward the wall of drawers. “Which drawer is his?”

  After removing the face mask that still dangled about his neck, Carter tossed it onto the counter and crossed over to the extreme left of the room where the drawers were. They housed the bodies either waiting for an autopsy or a ride to the funeral parlor.

  He pulled open the bottom one.

  Following him, Jaren gazed down at the surgeon’s lifeless face. The vampire slayer’s first known victim was already turning blue.

  From everything they’d learned about the surgeon, he was insufferable, if exceedingly talented. A lot of people were probably glad he was out of their lives. But somehow, having him lying here, unclaimed like a forgotten lump of clay just didn’t seem right. At least, it didn’t sit right with her.

  “What do you do with bodies that no one claims?” she asked Carter.

  But it was Kyle who answered her. Intrigued by the expression on her face, he moved a little closer to her. “The city comes up with a little cash to bury them in Potter’s Field.”

  She shook her head. “Not right,” he thought he heard her whisper. “It’s just not right.” It wasn’t as if the surgeon lacked for money. He just had no one who cared. Impulsively, she turned toward Carter and said, “If no one turns up to make arrangements for him, let me know.”

  Kyle exchanged glances with the M.E. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he inquired of Jaren, “why?”

  “Because if no one else comes forward, I’ll make the arrangements for the funeral,” she told him.

  “But you don’t know this guy from Adam,” Kyle pointed out. “I mean, other than the fact that we caught this homicide, you have no connection to him. Do you?”

  “No,” she told him firmly. “But it’s just sad that no one cares enough about him to step forward.” She turned to face her partner and noticed that both he and the M.E. were watching her as if they thought she’d lost her mind. But dealing with her father had shown her that there were always two sides to everything, if not more. “What does that say about the sum total of the man’s life?”

  “That he reaped what he sowed?” Kyle put in archly.

  “Maybe so, but it still doesn’t make it right.”

  Kyle had another guess for her. “How about what goes around, comes around?”

  This time, Jaren smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

  Kyle didn’t understand immediately, and then her meaning dawned on him. “You’re hoping that when your time comes, that—”

  Jaren waved away the rest of his words, not wanting to hear them. Somehow, hearing the sentiment spoken made her sound calculating, and she’d never been that.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, you’ve proven your point. You’re good at guessing and piecing things together,” she granted him. Turning toward Carter, she said, “Don’t forget, call me if no one turns up to take care of our neurosurgeon.”

  “You’re almost as good as called,” Carter told her as she walked out.

  Jaren walked slightly ahead of Kyle on the way back to the elevators. One arrived almost as soon as she pushed the up button. Stepping in, she was keenly aware that her partner studied her. The fact that he wasn’t saying anything just seemed to make it worse.

  She pushed the button for their floor.

  “What?” she finally asked, unable to figure out if she’d said the wrong thing, or if something else was on Kyle’s mind. Was he thinking about last night? Because she was, no matter how much she tried to shut it out of her mind.

  The shrug was vague and dismissive. “Just trying to figure you out, Rosetti.”

  “Do yourself a favor and don’t,” she suggested, echoing the same sentiment he’d expressed on their first day together. “Just enjoy the ride,” she instructed glibly.

  The lazy smile that whispered over his lips told her that Kyle was already doing that.

  “Okay, now what?” she asked.

  The elevator doors opened and they walked toward their squad room. “You up for some more canvasing?” he asked.

  “More than up for it,” she told him.

  Being downstairs in the morgue made her feel restless and unsettled. She didn’t think she could concentrate if confined behind her desk right now. At least out on the street, she had an excuse to move around.

  Grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair, Jaren said, “Lead the way.”

  They went back to the scene of the latest slaying. Jaren was both surprised and pleased to see that the area where the Count had been killed was now commemorated with a small collection of prayer candles of varying sizes and colors. Their flames flickered in the afternoon breeze like so many minions paying their last respects.

  “I guess people really did like him,” she commented to her partner.

  Maybe if they’d shown the man this kind of attention when he’d been alive, he might have been able to turn his life around, she thought. But then, according to what she’d heard from the handful of people she managed to interview last night, the Count was content with the life he’d chosen for himself.

  Maybe he actually was happy.

  Kyle’s next words confirmed her suspicions. “He was a character, part of the decor. I think a lot of people tried to help him over the years, but he wouldn’t have any of it.” Bending over, Kyle picked up a card that had fallen over and righted it. “He liked being the eccentric figure, leaning on his staff and spinning lies, reciting them as if they were pure gospel.”

  “Anyone else like him around?” Back in Oakland, all they’d had were the usual collection of homeless people. No one stood out the way the Count had.

  “Not to my knowledge, but then the Count left a void. Somebody’ll be along to fill it soon enough,” Kyle speculated. “Why, think that’ll be the next victim?”

  “You never know,” she replied, then shrugged. “Just trying to stay one step ahead of the killer.”

  He laughed a little. So far, three murders and they hadn’t been able to catch a break. “And how’s that working for you?”

  “It’s not,” she admitted ruefully. Standing beside the restaurant Dumpster, Jaren scanned the area. There was an apartment building not far off whose back windows looked down into the alley.

  Eight stories, she counted. And a lot of windows. That made potentially a great many people to interview.

  “How do you want to do this?” she asked him.

  He was already walking out of the alley. The building’s entrance was on the opposite side. “We’ll go floor by floor.”

  We. As in together. “I thought you might want to divide up the apartments.” She was irked he didn’t suggest it but made her feel as if she needed supervision. “I’m not a rookie, you know.”

  “I know,” he answered mildly. He could sense her agitation. He just wanted to observe her a little more.

  Strictly for work purposes, he silently added, then grew annoyed with himself for feeling that was even necessary. “Maybe I believe that two heads are better than one.”

  And if she believed that, he had a bridge he wanted to sell her, she thought. He didn’t trust her yet, but that was okay. She was patient, she could wait him out.

  Besides, she was accustomed to having to prove herself. There had been a few tough sells on the force in Oakland, but by the time she left, they had all been won over. And—she slanted a glance at her partner—she intended to do the same thing here.

  Eventually, O’Brien was going to have to admit that she did more than just a decent job. God knew she was ready to run with the ball—if only he’d give it to her.

  Until he did, she would go along and play his game. Nothing would be gained by crossing him or going behind his back. Those were plays she had reserved for desperate times, when her gut told her she could succeed and there was no other way left to go.

  The canvas yielded nothing.

  Almost no one looked
out their window the night the Count had died, not even out of boredom. The one man who had gone to the window when he thought he heard a strange noise hadn’t seen anything. Fortunately for the killer and unfortunately for them, it had been a moonless night.

  They kept at it for hours, until they’d interviewed every one of the tenants who were home.

  “That went well,” Jaren said sarcastically as they left the pre-1960s building. “What’s next, fearless leader?”

  He led the way back to his car. He’d left the vehicle parked by the curb. Two other cars had pulled in, one in front, one behind. Between them they’d left half an inch of space. This was going to take maneuvering, he thought, annoyed.

  “Next you start calling landscapers and nurseries to see if anyone ordered or cared for a Brazilian hardwood tree in the last five years.”

  She didn’t bother to ask why he’d given her the assignment. She knew. “My idea.”

  “Your idea,” he answered. “Start with the phonebook and work your way to the Internet.”

  “Why don’t I do it the other way around? Might save some time,” she suggested. “Everyone advertises on the Internet these days.”

  “Not if they want my business,” he commented.

  “You don’t like the Internet.” The remark was accompanied by an amused smile.

  “It’s an annoying invasion of privacy,” he said dismissively.

  “It’s also a hell of a fast way to locate things.”

  The look on Kyle’s face told her he far preferred the old-fashioned way of information gathering—applying shoe leather to the pavement.

  Jaren smiled to herself. It was nice to know that her partner had flaws.

  Chapter 10

  “You look dead on your feet,” Kyle commented the next morning as he came in and sat down at his desk.

  He’d deliberately come in early to get a jump start on things and was surprised to see that Jaren was there ahead of him. Unlike the previous time, she’d changed her clothing so she obviously had gone home the night before. Since their desks butted up against one another, he had an unobstructed view of her face. While disconcertingly attractive, she definitely looked like a woman in desperate need of a nap.

  Kyle cocked his head and peered at her face now. “You get any sleep last night?”

  The truth was that she’d only beaten him here by about ten minutes. She’d come in early because she was afraid she’d oversleep if she stayed in bed that so-called extra five minutes. Ringing alarms had no effect on her when she was sleeping. One of the few comments she could remember her mother making was that she could probably sleep through a grade 8 earthquake.

  Jaren shrugged in response to his question. Picking up her mug of coffee, she held it in both hands and took a long sip before answering. “Some.”

  “Puppy keeping you up?” Kyle guessed.

  “Indirectly,” she allowed. Taking another hit of almost black coffee—hating the taste but thinking it would help make her come around—she elaborated. “I came home to find that she had chewed the corners on most of the boxes in the living room and bedroom.”

  Jaren’s mouth curved in a small, fond smile. No doubt about it. It was love at first sight between her and the puppy. She supposed that she owed O’Brien for that.

  “I think that was her subtle way of telling me to unpack, so I did. I hate stopping anything in the middle,” she admitted, “so I was unpacking until one this morning.” Leaning back in her chair, Jaren sighed and shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “I didn’t realize that I had so much stuff until I had to try to find a place for it all in the apartment.”

  He’d never had that kind of problem. Unlike Greer, he’d always been a minimalist. “Maybe you need a larger apartment.”

  Jaren’s eyes widened and she appeared completely awake for the first time since he’d walked in.

  “You mean move? Uh-uh, this is it,” she swore vehemently. “I’m staying in this place until I die. No more packing and unpacking for me.”

  This had been her first experience with moving. In Oakland, she’d continued to live with her father even after she’d hit the age when most people moved out of their childhood homes. Afflicted with a failing liver and kidneys, her father had needed care. Jaren had seen no point in trying to maintain two separate households.

  “I’m not going anywhere until someone finds a way to transport my apartment from one location to another-intact—without me having to do anything,” Jaren added with feeling.

  He laughed, amused because she sounded so serious. “You finished moving in, then?”

  “Not yet,” she confessed. “But almost.”

  There were still a few more boxes in the spare bedroom, but she’d been too exhausted to open them. Those she planned to get to tonight—if her puppy didn’t beat her to it and chew her way through them.

  Kyle debated volunteering his sister’s help. Greer was a whiz at organizing things and she liked nothing better than doing just that. His thought was interrupted when he saw the lieutenant walking out of his small office.

  Barone came directly to Kyle’s desk.

  The man wasted no words. “The Chief of Ds wants us to put a task force together before the city starts to panic that there’s some kind of vampire-slaying weirdo out there.”

  “So now, instead of two of us being up against a dead end, we’ll have company?” Kyle asked archly.

  The lieutenant frowned. “That dead end had better crumple soon,” he warned. “You know what happens when the public feels their police department isn’t looking out for them—they start taking the law into their own hands.” That was the last thing any of them wanted. And then he got back to business. He glanced at the notation he’d made while on the phone with Brian Cavanaugh. “Okay, you’ve got Holloway and Sanchez, plus McIntyre and Chang.”

  “Which McIntyre?” Kyle asked.

  The lieutenant’s expression indicated that he had assumed Kyle knew which one before the call came in. “You’re related to them now, don’t you guys talk?” he asked.

  “Haven’t seen any of them lately,” Kyle admitted grudgingly.

  Jaren had the impression that the last time he interacted with any of his new extended family was when he’d taken her to dinner. She simply didn’t understand that. If she were part of a large family like that, she’d find opportunities to hang out with them.

  “I think it’s Riley,” the lieutenant answered. “And, if that’s not enough, the Chief of Ds said the money to bring in more detectives will be found. He wants results. As in yesterday,” Barone emphasized. He gestured beyond the squad room. “You can use the conference room to get organized,” he added, then looked from Kyle to Jaren. “Any questions?”

  “None that I can think of,” Kyle said.

  The lieutenant nodded. “Keep me in the loop. I want daily updates,” he said, obviously anticipating that he would be quizzed daily about the progress himself. With that, he walked back into his office.

  “And the fun and games continue,” Kyle murmured under his breath. “C’mon,” he urged Jaren as he rose to his feet. “Let’s go get set up in the conference room.”

  Holloway and Sanchez had just come in, the former juggling a take-out breakfast housed within a large foam container.

  “You two are with us,” Kyle said, walking past them. “Lieutenant’s orders.”

  “We get to work the vampire slayings?” Holloway asked.

  “You get to work the vampire slayings,” Kyle affirmed, leading the way out and down the hall to the conference room.

  The conference room appeared relatively cheery, thanks to the invasion of the morning sun. It contained just a conference table with its accompanying chairs and a single white bulletin board, a holdover from the last time a task force had made use of the room. At the moment, the board was empty except for the handful of colorful magnets that were clustered in the upper right hand corner.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t be filled up, Jare
n thought. As far as they knew, there were only three victims.

  Only she silently mocked herself. Since when had that word become part of the equation? Even one life so callously lost was too many.

  Behind her, several technicians entered, some pushing carts with landlines, others bringing in slim computers to hook up and get running.

  This was taking on all the characteristics of a major operation. Even though it was her first of this proportion, Jaren prayed it would be closed down soon and that the case would wrap up.

  Opening up the folder she’d thought to bring with her, Jaren took out the three eight-by-ten photographs of the victims as they had appeared in life, before they’d met the business end of a wooden stake. She’d gotten the Count’s from the human-interest newspaper article that had been written about him a couple of years ago.

  She placed the photographs at the top of the board in chronological order, then carefully wrote in their names with a red marker just below the border of each photograph.

  Behind her, she heard one technician begin to open up the tip lines. It was only a matter of time before they were inundated with helpful information. Crazies would start phoning in, people who lived humdrum lives and tried to infuse them with a little drama by convincing themselves that they had caught a glimpse of the vampire slayer. She wasn’t looking forward to that.

  But she knew that if they were patient enough, somewhere amid the hundreds and hundreds of calls destined to come in, someone just might have a genuine sighting.

  That’s all they needed, just one legitimate tip. One thing to get them on their way to tracking down the killer. In the interim, they would continue sifting through the information they had, trying to gather more and somehow make sense of it.