Mission: Cavanaugh Baby Page 4

  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 h
er. “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.”

  Shane shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “If you like that sort of thing,” he agreed.

  The deliberate nonchalant reply had Sean looking up at his son. “You always like that sort of thing,” Sean reminded him. “At least, you used to,” he amended.

  For the past eight months, his son had been engaged to be married—until she’d broken it off last month after his partner had been shot on the job. For a while, it had been touch and go for Shane, but after what he’d just witnessed, Sean felt that his son was definitely on his way to recovery.

  “Not when they’re mouthy,” Shane countered.

  Sean was really intrigued now. “She’s a challenge. Good, you could use one. And cute or not, the ladies are always far more interesting when they don’t just fall at your feet in complete surrender. I noticed that you used to lose interest when women looked at you with those puppy-dog eyes.”

  Shane shrugged. All he wanted now was a good time. Getting serious just led to complications he didn’t want anymore. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “There’s no lightning, no lasting attraction,” his father pointed out. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “I’d tell you, but I’m not sure you’re old enough to hear that kind of stuff.”

  Sean saw through his son’s words and his attempt at diverting him. “Is this one getting to you?” he asked.

  The grin faded as Shane’s expression became deadly serious. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because instead of shrugging off what I say, you’re making denials, protesting. That usually means only one thing—”

  “Okay,” Shane said, cutting him off. “This is me shrugging. Watch.” He raised and lowered his wide shoulders in an exaggerated fashion.

  But Sean wasn’t buying any of it. “Too late for that,” he told his son.

  “Too late for what?” Shane demanded, completely at a loss as to where this complicated conversation was actually headed.

  The look in Sean’s eyes all but shouted, “You know, the die has already been cast, my boy.” Out loud, Sean said, “Go, observe. Be a detective. Detect.”

  Shane shook his head. Ever since his father had gotten married again, to the mother of his sister’s fiancée, he seemed determined for all of his offspring to be harnessed in a similar tether. Well, that might work for the others—it seemed as if everyone except for himself and Declan, his brother, seemed to be dropping like flies at the marriage altar—but he’d tried to go that route and gotten kicked in the teeth by cupid. Life had decreed that he was going to remain single, just like Declan. Currently, in their immediate family, they were the last two men standing.

  He intended to remain “standing” for a very long time to come.

  Putting his father and his father’s less-than-subtle hints out of his head, Shane looked around the bedroom. Aside from a small bureau and a double bed, every other stick of furniture and random item in the room all but shouted baby.

  This woman had been getting ready for her unborn child.

  He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the dead woman. The next moment he upbraided himself. Feeling sorry for the woman wasn’t going to help solve the case. He was going to have to work at hardening his reaction if he hoped to get a permanent transfer to Homicide.

  Donning a pair of disposable gloves, Shane carefully handled the contents of a fancy shopping bag. Th
e bag was light blue on one side, light pink on the other. The words Baby Mine were written in fancy lettering on both sides.

  “It’s an expensive baby boutique,” Sean told him when he noticed him staring at the bag.

  Shane looked at him, puzzled. That was an odd piece of information for a man his father’s age to have. “How would you know that?”

  “I know a lot of things,” Sean answered, amused at his son’s attitude. “I don’t just go home at the end of the day and crawl into a shell, pulling the door closed after myself.”

  Shane shrugged. “I just figured that things like babies and all the stuff that goes with them are way in your past by now.”

  Sean glossed over the comment about his age. “Maybe so, but grandkids aren’t.”

  It took a second for his father’s words to replay themselves in his head. At that point, it was as if his brain did a double-take. “What grandkids?” he asked.

  “Show up a little more often at those Sunday dinners your uncle Andrew likes to throw, and maybe you’ll find out,” Sean told him mysteriously.

  It still felt strange calling someone he’d grown accustomed to knowing as the former chief of police his uncle. It was going to take more getting used to, he thought—just like his last name. Half the time he still wanted to say “Cavelli” when he introduced himself for the first time to someone.

  “I’ve shown up at a few,” Shane told his father defensively.

  “Show up at a few more,” his father countered, then, glancing up, he waved him off. “You’re in my light, Shane.”

  Shane stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding bumping into a pile of stuffed animals, all still with their price tags on.

  He picked one up to look over. Since he was wearing latex gloves, he couldn’t feel the toy’s furry texture, but he had a feeling that it was exceedingly soft. He shook his head as he put the stuffed animal back, feeling exceptionally sorry for the victim again.

  “It looks like she was really looking forward to being a mother,” he commented to his father.