“If they didn’t hear anything—like a woman screaming—that means that either the killer caught her completely by surprise or, more likely, it was someone she knew and she didn’t see it coming,” Ashley revealed. If there was no screaming, that meant the person had attacked the woman instantly. “And no one saw anything?” she questioned. That meant that the killer was one of those people no one really noticed. A handyman? A mail carrier? That might be one explanation why the victim had opened her door to the killer.
“Not so much as a shadow moving,” Shane complained. “Going by the people I did talk to, our victim was killed by an invisible psychopath.”
“That wouldn’t exactly be something the single women living in that apartment complex would welcome hearing,” she commented sympathetically.
Ashley sincerely hoped that Cavanaugh hadn’t expressed that sentiment to anyone he’d questioned. The single women who lived in the complex were going to have enough trouble getting any kind of sleep until whoever had done this was caught.
“So I take it that means you’re no further along in the case than you were this morning?” she asked the detective.
Shane wasn’t, but he hated the way that sounded, so he rephrased the situation. “I’m waiting on the crime scene investigators to come up with something I can go on.”
“In the meantime, did you check out if the rental office has any surveillance cameras pointed anywhere near the crime scene?” she asked. “It seems like these days, every time you turn around, you find yourself staring up into the lens of a surveillance camera. Maybe for once, this invasion of privacy will work in our favor.”
She could tell by the look on Shane’s face that he hadn’t thought of inquiring into that.
“Haven’t had the opportunity to check that out yet,” he murmured. It was obvious that his omission made him uncomfortable. He should have thought of that. “Good point,” he allowed. Then, to deflect any further attention to this glaring oversight, he asked her, “Are you thinking of taking the exam for sergeant?”
The idea had crossed her mind, but only in the vaguest sense. “No, why?”
“Well, you seem to have a keener eye for detail than most people in your line of work—”
“My ‘line of work’ is being a police officer,” she pointed out, doing her best not to be insulted by the careless phrase he’d used. “Now, maybe I have ambitions of moving up in the department and maybe I don’t, but either way, that has nothing to do with the way I feel about working in Animal Control. The other officers in the unit and I perform a necessary service,” she told him with a touch of pride enveloped in irritation and stamped with swiftly dwindling patience.
It was very obvious to him that she was neither trying to curry favor with him nor impress him, and he had to admit that he liked that. He’d never been all that keen about impressing a superior or the brass, either. He did what he did for his own sake—and the sake of the job itself. He’d never been an out-and-out rebel because it suited his fancy or some preconceived notion he had of himself, but neither was he interested in being a puppet, jumping whenever he was told to jump.
He was beginning to view the officer that fate had caused to cross his path in a whole different light—and with a growing measure of respect, as well as interest.
Chapter 7
They talked a little longer. He noted that she nursed her beer for an uncanny amount of time, despite the fact that he offered to buy her another. He wondered if it was that she didn’t really care for beer all that much, or if she didn’t want it to seem as if this was a date by any stretch of the imagination and that somehow, allowing him to buy her a second drink qualified as turning this into an official date.
In either case, when she finally did finish the glass of beer she’d been sipping in almost slow motion, he saw Ashley glance at her watch.
“I’ve got to get on home,” she told him. “I don’t want to leave the new guy alone in the house for too long.”
“Afraid the other two will gang up on him?” he asked, wondering if that was what was going through her head, or if this was just a convenient excuse that she’d decided to use.
“They wouldn’t dare,” she told him with a soft laugh he found rather engaging. “For the most part, they’re pretty docile and well behaved—unless you happen to be a burglar,” she conceded. “But if Albert gets nervous, he might start acting up, and then all bets are off. I’m not sure how the other two will react,” she told him as she got off the stool. Smiling, she nodded at the empty glass on the bar. “Thanks for the drink.”
She was just saying that to be polite, he thought. “Next time we’ll make it something you actually like to drink,” he couldn’t resist saying.
Ashley was about to walk away, but she stopped and stared at him. Why would he say that? “What makes you think I didn’t like the beer?”
“At the rate you were going, I’d say that more of it probably evaporated than you managed to actually drink. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone drink beer that slowly before. I finally figured out that you hated it, but were too polite to say so.”
She surprised him by shaking her head, the corners of her mouth curving in amusement. “Sorry to blow up your theory, but you figured wrong. Beer’s definitely not my favorite,” she admitted, “but I don’t hate it.” She shrugged, about to divulge a piece of information she generally didn’t share with anyone. “It’s a holdover from when I was a kid, a habit I guess I never got over.”
“You drank beer as a kid?” he asked, stunned and maybe just a little bit impressed. He would never have been able to get away with something like that in his household. One of his siblings would have immediately told their father what he was doing.
“No, not that.” She would have gotten beaten for that in a number of the foster homes she’d lived in. “I just learned to husband everything I got to eat or drink because most of the time, I never knew when I’d be able to get any more.”
Just what the hell was she thinking, sharing something like that with this stranger? Just because he seemed nice was no reason to let her guard down, even for a minute, Ashley upbraided herself. She couldn’t blame it on the alcohol loosening her tongue—she hadn’t had enough to drink for that. She supposed seeing that woman today just reminded her of how alone she was, how she hadn’t connected to anyone since she’d lost her own baby.
“I’ll see you around, Detective,” she said, abruptly terminating the decidedly non-Hallmark moment.
“If I find anything out, I’ll keep you posted,” he promised, raising his voice so that she could hear him. Shane had a feeling that was what she wanted to hear.
Ashley nodded, raising her own voice. “I’d appreciate that.”
He watched her leave, allowing himself to likewise appreciate the subtle sway of her hips as she walked away from him, making her way to the front door.
Shane couldn’t help wondering if she was even aware of her own femininity and the effect it was having on the men around her.
Banishing the thought, he turned around to face the bar and signaled for the bartender. “What do I owe you for the drinks?”
The bartender took out the receipt pad he carried in the pocket of the green half apron he had tied about his waist. Rather than resorting to a calculator, he did the addition in his head. Everyone knew that Steve favored the old-fashioned way of tallying drinks.
“Didn’t go well?” Steve inquired with a touch of sympathy as he gave him the slip of paper.
“I don’t really know,” Shane admitted honestly. Nor did he know if that bothered him or not. For the time being, he decided to just let it all coast. The case—and the possible kidnapping—was what took front and center for now.
Glancing at the sum, he pulled out two bills and left them on top of the counter. “See you around, Steve.”
; Shane made it all the way from the tavern to his vehicle before he decided to see if the rental office at the apartment complex was closed yet or if he could find someone still there. He wanted to take a look at any available surveillance tapes from this morning. He prayed that if there were any cameras on the premises, they would be in working order. So many store owners kept broken cameras up for show.
As he drove, Shane berated himself for not thinking of asking about a surveillance camera himself. Granted, he was new on the job, but St. James wasn’t even on the job and she’d thought of it.
Well, he might not have thought of getting a copy of the recording then, but he had now and that was all that mattered in the long run.
Provided there was a recording.
* * *
Pulling up to a parking space right in front of the apartment complex’s front office, he didn’t see the other car at first. There was really nothing about the vehicle to set it apart or to arouse his suspicions as to the owner. It was just a plain white car that had seen better days and could really stand to see the business end of a hose.
It wasn’t until he walked into the glass-enclosed, plush rental and leasing office that he realized Ashley had gotten there ahead of him.
Not only that, but the leasing agent, looking rather smitten with her, was handing over a couple of DVDs that he’d obviously just duplicated for her.
“Hope this helps your investigation, Officer,” the agent with the baby face and prematurely receding hairline told her.
Ashley graced him with a smile and deftly took possession of the DVDs. “I do, too,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“And I’ll second that motion,” Shane said, adding his voice to the conversation as he walked up behind her.
He thought that coming up like that without any warning would have startled her. Instead the redhead glanced complacently over her shoulder at him and said, “What kept you?”
Instead of surprising her, she had managed to surprise him. “You were expecting me?”
He almost looked boyish with that expression of wonder etched into his features, she thought. “You didn’t strike me as being particularly slow, so yes, I figured you’d stop off here to see if you could get a copy of any surveillance tapes before going home.”
“What about the dog?” he asked as he watched her leave her signature in exchange for the copies of the surveillance DVDs. She wrote on what appeared to be some sort of ledger. “You said you were anxious to get back to him—or was that just something to throw me off the track?”
“Thank you,” she said to the leasing agent, moving the signed ledger closer to him on the desk and picking up the copies of the surveillance DVDs he’d made for her. She tucked the DVDs into the oversize pocket of her jacket. Turning to Shane, she continued with the conversation. “I am. But I didn’t see the harm in stopping here to find out if there was a surveillance recording.” Patting the disks in her pocket, she proclaimed with satisfaction, “Looks like we got lucky.”
“What did you see?” he asked as they walked out of the office.
“Nothing yet,” she answered, not at all self-consciously. “But at least there is something to review.”
“And he just made a copy of it for you? Just like that?” Shane asked suspiciously.
She nodded. “The leasing agent was very accommodating. I just asked him for any video surveillance he might have had around that quadrant of the complex. I showed him my badge and told him that I really needed to review the tape at the precinct. I said it had to be from this morning, then I gave him an approximate time frame and crossed my fingers that we’d get lucky.”
He noticed that she’d used “we” rather than “I.” At least she wasn’t a glory hound, he thought, feeling oddly pleased about that.
Masking his reaction, Shane put his hand out for the DVDs. “Let’s see if we did,” he said to her.
He was not surprised when she made no effort to hand them over to him.
“Tell you what,” Ashley proposed. “I’ll meet you at the precinct. I’ll bring the DVDs, you bring the popcorn and we’ll watch them together and find out.”
Stopping by his unmarked vehicle, he stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“Completely,” she told him, placing her hand protectively over her pocket. “Remember, possession is nine-tenths of the law,” she said glibly.
The petite officer obviously didn’t trust him, Shane thought. “I told you that I’d stay in touch if I found something.”
“Yes, you did,” she acknowledged. “But I happen to know how easy it is to forget to do that,” she countered. “You get caught up in watching the tape, get excited if you see something, or think you see something, and any promises made to someone not in your department just slip your mind.” The scenario was definitely not far-fetched. “I just wanted to make sure you had nothing to berate yourself for,” she told him sweetly.
Sliding into the driver’s side of her ancient, somewhat dented vehicle, Ashley added a coda to her plan of action.
“I just have to make a pit stop to see if Albert is behaving himself, and if he needs a bathroom break. I’ll see you in your squad room at the station in a few minutes,” she promised.
If she thought he was falling for that, she was sadly mistaken. “I think I’ll just tag along, if you don’t mind,” he told her.
She saw right through that suggestion. “You don’t trust me.” She felt she knew the answer to that. It wasn’t even a question, really. It was more of an assumption.
He had a counter answer to that. “Let’s just say I’m coming along to make sure that the chain of evidence isn’t compromised.”
She stared at him. Did he think she was going to tamper with something on the surveillance recording? “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
He thought quickly and came up with a plausible explanation for what he’d just said that wouldn’t put her nose out of joint. “That everyone isn’t as trusting as I am, and it’s actually better for you if I do tag along so I can tell anyone who thinks otherwise that the evidence didn’t stray or get altered in any manner, shape or fashion. Think of me as a witness to your basic integrity.”
She didn’t really believe him. But she only fought battles she felt she had a chance of winning. Ashley had a feeling this detective could go on like this for the rest of the afternoon and half the night.
So, instead of arguing, she just shrugged and told him, “Suit yourself.”
Shane fully intended to, although he did refrain from saying, “I usually do.”
He followed her in his car.
* * *
The residential community Ashley pulled into was, according to his vague recollection of something his father had once said, the oldest one in Aurora. The seven hundred and fifty homes within the development were built up around an initial cluster of two-story family homes.
Even so, although the homes were all verging on being approximately forty years old, he saw none that even remotely appeared to be in disrepair. There were a number, though, that looked as if they could stand to have a little remodeling done or, at the very least, refreshed just a bit.
He even saw several houses that still had the old-style shake roofs on them rather than the far safer clay tiles that most homeowners had gravitated toward in the past twenty or so years.
Currently there was a “Take pride in your classic home” movement going on in Aurora. And that was only to the good, he imagined.
The house she pulled up in front of looked as if it was in need of a fresh coat of paint, but the roof was new and there was a flower garden out front that appeared to have recently been the recipient of a good deal of loving care.
“Nice house,” he said after he parked his car beside hers in the driveway and got out.
“Thanks. It was a
ll I could afford,” she said offhandedly.
The house had been sold as a fixer-upper, and any spare time she’d had in the past two years had gone into working on it. Though it might not look it, the house had come a long way. When she’d bought it, the walls had been removed. The former owner had died here, and no one had missed the old man until three weeks later. By then, the smell had gotten into the very walls as well as the rugs. Removal was the only way to get rid of it.
“I’m working on it bit by bit,” she told him.
“This isn’t your parents’ home?” He’d just assumed, given the home’s age, as well as its size, that she’d inherited it from her parents, one or both of whom he assumed might still be living on the premises.
Ashley wasn’t about to tell him how the house represented a lot of scrimping and saving on her part—she’d even held down two jobs at one point. Every penny had gone into its down payment. As a child, she’d always dreamed of having a house to come home to for something longer than just three or four months at a stretch.
And now she did.
“Why would you assume that?” she challenged, wanting to know.
Had he said something wrong? A lot of people inherited their parents’ home. Nonetheless, given her tone, he decided to tread lightly here.
“I just thought that, given the age of the development, you got this from your parents.”
“I bought this house,” she proclaimed tersely. “Put every dime I had at the time into it. Nobody gave me anything. Ever.” Then, adopting a slightly milder tone, she changed the subject. “Are they assigning anyone else to this case?”
“Why?” he asked warily.
She answered him honestly. He might be a detective, but she had a gut feeling he wasn’t that kind of a detective. “Because so far, you don’t exactly strike me as a hot-shot detective, Cavanaugh. I’m thinking maybe Homicide isn’t your thing.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m working on it,” he told her evenly.
She took a breath, telling herself that to insult this man wasn’t going to be productive. He was, after all, a Cavanaugh.
Mission: Cavanaugh Baby Page 8
