Cavanaugh on Call Page 6

  Maybe it was, she told herself now, driving past a popular strip mall. Maybe all this was a terrible coincidence and Ethan had gone off somewhere for a mini-vacation. Somewhere where he was unable to get a signal on his cell phone.

  Even as she told herself that, Scottie sincerely doubted it.

  Making a left at a major intersection, she approached Ethan’s apartment complex. Her pulse accelerated.

  “Damn it, Ethan. You’d better be home, sleeping off a bender. You only get one free get-out-of-jail card. If you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something now, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get you out of it.”

  But wasn’t that why she’d transferred departments? To try to stay one jump ahead of whatever was going down with these break-ins and, if he was involved, to find a way to hide that?

  Her head hurt.

  Rather than parking in guest parking, Scottie stopped her car right in front of her brother’s first-floor garden apartment door. If he was home, that was all she wanted to know. She wasn’t staying.

  “Please be home,” she murmured under her breath over and over again as she got out of her vehicle.

  She rang the bell. When there was no response, she rang it again. And then she knocked, but there was still no response. Sighing, she got back into her car.

  But rather than driving off, this time she found a space in guest parking. With her stomach in a knot, she returned to stand in front of Ethan’s door.

  She gave knocking one more try. Then, stifling the sigh that rose in her chest, she took out the key Ethan had given her. When he had handed her the copy, he’d told her it was his way of proving to her that he had nothing to hide.

  She’d never used it before.

  Scottie held her breath as she unlocked the door, still fervently hoping she would find her brother sleeping off a drinking spree.

  Opening the door, she found the apartment bathed in darkness.

  This didn’t look good.

  Scottie felt around on the wall for the light switch. Turning it on, she looked around. She was in the kitchen. There were dishes stacked in the sink, a testimony to her brother’s less than stellar housekeeping. Taking a closer look, she saw that the food looked caked on and was turning colors. That meant he hadn’t been here for a while. Maybe even several weeks or so.

  Her heart sank further.

  “Ethan? Are you home?” she called out, even thought she knew it was hopeless. “It’s Scottie.”

  There was no answer. The sinking feeling consumed her as she carefully made her way through the rest of the apartment.

  Ethan was nowhere to be found. While there was no evidence of a scuffle, the apartment looked as if whoever had been there had left in a hurry.

  What kind of a hurry and why?

  “Damn it, Ethan, what’s going on? I’m not supposed to be your keeper anymore. You’re almost twenty-four years old,” she told the empty bedroom.

  Walking to the closet, she saw that there appeared to be nothing missing. No indication that her brother had thrown a handful of clothing into a suitcase for a sudden, impromptu vacation.

  Or a getaway.

  About to leave the apartment, she doubled back to the kitchen and, on a hunch, opened the refrigerator.

  That was when she saw it.

  Ethan had left his keys in the refrigerator. From their location, on the bottom shelf, to the left, it looked as if he’d hastily tossed them there just before, she assumed, he’d been dragged away.

  That was their signal. Keys in the refrigerator. It was to indicate that something was out of place. Their mother—in her more sober state—had had a habit of misplacing her keys and had left them in the refrigerator more than once.

  Scottie took the keys out. They were cold. The keys had been there for a while. What did that mean? Days? Weeks?

  “Okay, so who has you and why?”

  She locked up the apartment and stared at the keys in her hand. She needed answers. Someone had to have seen something, although she knew firsthand that witnesses were unreliable. Still, she had to start someplace.

  Frustrated, she knocked on the doors of the two neighbors who lived on either side of her brother’s apartment.

  Starting with the one on the right, she held up her badge when a rather bleary-eyed, barefoot man in a torn blue T-shirt opened the door.

  “Something wrong, Officer?”

  “Detective,” she corrected the man out of habit and then identified herself. “Have you seen your neighbor in 1K lately?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t seen anyone,” he told her. “I just got in from a double shift and all I want to see is my mattress.” The next moment he was closing the door, calling an end to the interview.

  She turned to the neighbor who had the apartment to Ethan’s left. She rang the bell twice before anyone answered. Again, Scottie identified herself as she held up her badge then asked, “Do you remember when you might have last seen Mr. Loomis?” she asked the woman in the second apartment.

  “Who’s Mr. Loomis?” the woman asked.

  “That would be your neighbor in 1K,” Scottie told her patiently.

  “I don’t butt into people’s lives,” the woman told her indignantly.

  She took measure of the older woman and pressed on, confident that, despite her protest, this was a woman who did butt into people’s lives whenever possible.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you did, but we all notice things as we go about our daily lives,” Scottie told her genially. “I just wondered if you’d seen him lately.”

  The woman sighed, as if thinking, then volunteered, “Not for at least three weeks. The last time I saw him, he was opening his door to let this little skank in.”

  Alarms instantly went off in Scottie’s head. Eva. Ethan’s former girlfriend could easily be described that way, especially by someone who was pretending to take the moral high ground.

  “Could you describe her to me?” Scottie asked.

  “She was a skank,” the woman repeated. “She had on a short, tight skirt, a see-through blouse that left nothing to the imagination—this is a respectable apartment complex, you know,” the woman interjected indignantly. “There are kids here.”

  Scottie struggled to curb her impatience. “I know, it’s shameful. Did you happen to notice if she was a blonde or a brunette? Anything at all you can remember would be helpful,” she coaxed.

  “She wasn’t neither,” the woman told her. “The little tramp had blue and green streaks in her hair. Otherwise, it was brown. And she looked like one of those wannabe model types, you know, the ones who eat one grape for lunch and say they’re full,” the woman complained. “I saw her hanging all over the guy in 1K. Talking to him, touching him. He didn’t seem all that into her, but she looked like she had her mind made up about him.”

  Scottie did her best not to sound as if she was excited. “Did you hear them talking about anything by any chance?” she coaxed.

  The woman looked offended. “Are you asking if I eavesdropped?”

  “No,” Scottie said tactfully, “but if you happened to have heard him call her by her name, that might prove to be very helpful.”

  Suspicion entered the woman’s flat features. “Why are you asking all these questions? Is he some kind of criminal?” Panic entered her voice. “Am I in danger? Should I be asking for police protection?”

  “Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” Scottie quickly assured the older woman. “Mr. Loomis just hasn’t come into work for a few days and his boss asked the police to check this out. He was just worried that something might have happened to him.”

  “He’s probably off partying somewhere with that little bitch,” was the woman’s guess. “When I saw them, she was carrying this big bottle of whiskey.”

  Ethan
didn’t drink. Ever. Seeing what alcohol had done to their mother had made her brother a lifelong member of the temperance league.

  “Are you sure?” she asked the woman.

  “Of course I’m sure. I know a bottle of whiskey when I see it. It was one of those pricey brands, you know? Waste of money if you ask me. A cheap bottle does the trick as easily as an expensive one, right? Why all these questions?” the woman asked suspiciously.

  “I’m just trying to get all the facts down, that’s all, ma’am. And you didn’t hear him call her by her name?” Scottie pressed again.

  “I already said I didn’t, didn’t I?” The matronly woman looked over her shoulder into her apartment. “Can I go now? My dinner’s getting cold and it just doesn’t taste the same if I reheat it,” she complained.

  “Of course. I’m sorry to have kept you. You’ve been a great help.” That helped placate her brother’s neighbor somewhat. Digging into her pocket, Scottie took out one of her cards and held it out to the woman. “Take my card,” she coaxed. “This is my phone number, if you happen to remember anything else—anything at all,” Scottie stressed. “Please don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

  The woman looked the card over carefully before putting it into her pocket. “Okay, sure. Is there any reward for helping?”

  “Just knowing that you did the right thing,” Scottie told her.

  It was obvious that wasn’t what the woman wanted to hear.

  “Yeah, a lot that’ll get you,” the woman grumbled. She closed her door hard.

  Scottie hurried back to her car.

  Thank God for nosy neighbors, she thought. Thanks to the gossipy woman she’d just spoken to, she felt that she had a possible lead. It was slim, but right now it was better than nothing and, with any luck, it might actually help lead to her brother.

  Because the nosy neighbor had described Ethan’s old girlfriend, the one responsible for getting him mixed up with the gang in the first place.

  Chapter 6

  When Bryce walked into the squad room the next morning, an extra-large container of coffee in his hand, he was mildly surprised to see that his new partner was already there. She appeared to be once again poring through the files that had been compiled for each of the eight previous break-ins.

  Sitting, he was able to get only a limited view of Scottie’s face. Her head was down because she was reading. She seemed totally oblivious to the fact that he was even there.

  She also looked tired, Bryce noted. A great deal more so than she had when she’d left Malone’s last night. It made him wonder about the rest of her evening.

  Dispensing with the customary “Good morning,” he asked, “Rough night, Scottie?”

  She raised her eyes for a moment then went back to reading the files. If she was surprised he had come in without her being aware of it, she gave no indication.

  “I didn’t get much sleep,” she murmured, continuing to read.

  Bryce took an educated guess. “Insomnia?”

  “Something like that.” And then, after a moment, she looked up at him. “What made you guess that and not something along the lines of partying too hard and too long?”

  That would have been the kind of remark she would have expected him to make, given Cavanaugh’s flippant attitude. Granted she’d left Malone’s, but there was no reason for him to think she hadn’t gotten together with other people instead of going straight home.

  Bryce didn’t answer immediately, taking a long swig of the coffee he’d brought with him instead. When he set the container down, he told her, “You don’t look like the type.”

  “Meaning I’m dull?”

  His new partner really had her back up this morning. “That wouldn’t be the word I’d use.” A hell of a lot of other words came to mind first, Bryce mused. Like driven. One thing he had a gut feeling about, there was nothing dull about the woman sitting opposite him. “You sound like you’re spoiling for a fight, Scottie,” he observed. “Are you?”

  Scottie suppressed a sigh, pushing the file she’d been reading to the center of her desk. So far, nothing had stood out for her, or even waved weakly in passing. “No, all I’m looking for is some peace of mind. I was up all night thinking about these break-ins.” Which was true as far as it went. Cavanaugh had no need to know that she was worried about Ethan’s possible involvement.

  Bryce regarded her over the rim of the container. Definitely driven, he thought. “What about them?”

  Scottie put her hand on top of the pile of folders, as if touching them would somehow make what she was looking for apparent to her. Her eyes met his. “I’m trying to find what the common thread is here.”

  Bryce laughed dryly. “That is the million-dollar question and, so far, nobody’s come up with an answer—other than all the houses that were broken into were located in Aurora—and all the break-ins were clean, without any signs of forced entry. I suspect that’s why the lieutenant wanted a fresh pair of eyes to go over all the files.” His description replayed itself in his head as he looked at her again. “Right now, if you don’t mind my saying so, your eyes don’t look very fresh.”

  Scottie frowned at his observation. She didn’t want Cavanaugh getting personal in any way. She didn’t have time for it and, more importantly, if he did succeed in getting close to her, there was more than a fifty-fifty chance he’d eventually find out about Ethan.

  Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t matter to her. But given that she thought her brother was somehow involved in these break-ins—now more than ever since she’d talked to his nosy neighbor—she definitely didn’t want Cavanaugh finding out about Ethan.

  The best way to keep him out of her life was to be off-putting, so she said, “Actually, yes, I do mind you saying that.”

  Bryce pulled over a pad and began to write. As he wrote, he gave voice to what he was writing down. “New partner is sensitive and not in a good way.”

  That definitely caught her attention—as well as irritated her. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He looked up, a far too likable grin on his face.

  Just what was his game? Scottie wondered.

  “Putting together a list of your traits,” he told her. “I figured that since you seem to be against letting us get to know one another the traditional way—by talking—I have to resort to making a list from my own observations. You know, like any good detective.”

  “A good detective doesn’t waste time like this, getting distracted by trivial things,” she informed him tersely.

  “I’m afraid that I can’t help myself.” His smile went up a notch. “You really are so damn distracting,” he told her.

  The lines were dumb, Scottie thought, but there was something almost magnetic about that smile of his.

  Focus, Scottie! she ordered herself.

  “Do you just come up with these lines at will,” she asked him, “or do you stay up nights, compiling them?”

  He pretended to be hurt by the remark. “That was cold, Scottie.”

  “What’s going to be cold is the trail that these break-in artists left behind if you don’t stop wasting time trying to get a handle on me,” she informed him. “What we need to get a handle on is them.”

  There was that smile again, half magnetic, half wicked, and almost next to impossible to block out, she thought, exasperated.

  “I’ve always been able to multitask, Scottie.” He looked at her innocently. “Haven’t you?”

  In addition to trying to ignore that grin of his, she was grappling with a steadily growing feeling of urgency that something awful was going to happen if she didn’t find these thieves before it was too late. Playing word games with Cavanaugh was a definite hindrance.

  “Tell you what,” she told him. “We put in a full day working these break-ins and, at the end, yo
u can play two questions.”

  “The name of the game is Twenty Questions,” Bryce corrected.

  She wasn’t about to go that far. “My game, my rules,” Scottie informed him. “You get to ask me two questions, take it or leave it.”

  “And you’ll answer them?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes.” She wouldn’t be happy about it, but she would do what she had to do to protect Ethan. If that meant allowing Cavanaugh to get closer to her—at least partially—so be it.

  His eyes held hers. “Truthfully?”

  She pressed her lips together. The man was annoyingly intuitive. “Yes,” she snapped.

  He grinned broadly. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “You do realize that you’re getting paid to do what I just bribed you into doing,” Scottie pointed out.

  He appeared almost boyish as he answered. “Yeah, I know.” Time to get down to work, Bryce thought, finishing his coffee. “Okay, Person With Fresh Eyes, how do you want to go about this?”

  She took the simplest route. “I’d like to interview the victims again, see if anything new comes to light,” Scottie told him.

  Bryce had taken the case over from another detective, who had since retired, so he hadn’t conducted the initial interviews with the first four break-in victims. Her idea had merit. “In other words, start from the beginning.”

  “Yes.” She expected him to veto the idea or at least to give her some resistance about it. She was prepared to be insistent. So she was rather surprised when Cavanaugh said, “All right, then let’s get started.”

  This was too easy. He was going to come up with some kind of conditions he wanted met first, she thought. “You’re not going to argue with me about it?”

  “Should I?” he asked.

  “No, of course not, but—”

  In the interests of getting started—and not torturing her any further—Bryce cut her off. “Well, then it’s nice to know I’m measuring up to your expectations.” Circumventing his desk, he came around to hers and then, leaning over her, pulled out the oldest case from the bottom of the pile. “According to the report that was filed, the Taylors were the first victims. We can go question them first,” he proposed.