Ronan blew out a breath. “You’re a lot more optimistic than I am.”
That drew a quiet laugh from her. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she told him. “So, can we go?”
He wanted to say no, that it was pointless and all they would be doing was going on a wild-goose chase, but without anything else to direct their attention to, he couldn’t get himself to flatly refuse. No matter how much he wanted to.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to.
Just as he was turning the car to go back into the heart of Tesla, his cell phone rang.
“You going to get that?” Sierra asked as it rang again.
He murmured something under his breath but didn’t bother answering her out loud. Instead he pulled over to the side of the road so he could safely take his phone out of his pocket.
Once he had his phone out, he handed it to a surprised Sierra. “You talk, I’ll drive.” So saying, he got back into the right lane again and continued on his way.
She accepted the phone, but let it ring again. “What if it’s personal?” she asked. Sierra had a healthy amount of curiosity, but she didn’t believe in simply butting in where she didn’t belong. That was just plain rude in her book.
“Everyone I know is a cop. I don’t get personal calls,” he told her.
“Cops can get personal,” she argued as the phone rang again.
“Just answer the damn phone, Carlyle,” he ordered.
With a dubious expression, Sierra swiped open his phone. “Detective O’Bannon’s phone. He can’t talk right now because he’s driving, but I’ll be happy to take a message.”
Her cheerful tone faded as she listened to the caller on the other end. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him. Right away, sir.” Sierra exhaled a deep sigh as she terminated the call.
“I’ve never heard you switch gears like that before. Who was on the phone?” Ronan asked.
“That was the lieutenant. They just found the body of another gang member.”
The first thing he thought of was the shoot-out back at the tenement building. “There was a casualty, after all?”
They were on the same wavelength. She understood what he was referring to. “No, not where we just came from. Our serial killer executed another member of the War Lords gang.”
The timetable was stepping up. “They’re sure it’s him?”
“‘Bullet in the back of the head. Right hand missing,’” she recited. “It’s him.”
“Got an address?” he asked.
“The lieutenant said he’d text it to your phone.” She paused and hit the app for text messages then read the message. “We might have a problem,” she told him.
“Why?”
“The body’s not in the city limits. It’s in an empty lot just inside of Allegro.”
“But it was an execution, right?” he asked her.
“Right,” she said grimly.
“And the guy’s hand is missing, right?”
“The hand’s missing, but it’s not a guy.”
He came close to swerving out of the lane but managed to regain control of the car. Ronan glanced at her. “Come again?”
“The executed victim was a female gang member.” Sierra fell back on old, time-honored clichés. “You know, deadlier than the male, the one who bears the babies and all that sort of thing.”
“‘Deadlier than the male,’” he repeated. Ronan glanced at her just before he went through an intersection. “You don’t have to convince me of that one. Now what’s the address?”
She read it off to him. He made sharp right at the next corner and drove toward the outskirts of Aurora and beyond.
“I guess this killer, whoever he is, doesn’t discriminate,” she said, clearly disturbed that the serial killer had added another victim to his tally.
“He’s also escalating,” Ronan said.
She thought a moment. “By my count, he’s killing two a week.”
“Right, but the executions were all spaced apart. Four days between each execution. This one and the last one were closer together.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “That means there’s going to be another execution soon.”
“That’s what it means,” he acknowledged in a solemn tone.
She squared her shoulders.
The picture of determination, he thought, looking at her again.
“Unless we stop him,” Sierra said.
A hint of a smile curved his mouth. “Like I said. You’re an optimist.”
Chapter Eight
The moment that Ronan brought the car to a stop behind the gleaming white CSI van, Sierra immediately got out and hurried through the abandoned lot. She headed toward the three CSI investigators who were documenting everything that could be a potential clue. Considering the state of the lot, there were a great many things to go through and photograph.
Sierra hardly saw any of them. Instead her attention was focused on the killer’s newest victim. At first glance it was hard to tell if the body was that of a female or if it was in reality just a young boy. Dressed in well-worn jeans, a T-shirt and a tattered denim vest, the victim, lying facedown in the dirt, sported a short, blunt haircut and the bare arms were covered with a network of tattoos.
Sierra squatted beside the body to get a closer, better look. She took special care to avoid the pool of blood that had formed just beneath the victim’s neck and shoulders.
“Can I answer any questions for you?” Sean Cavanaugh offered, adding, “The ME hasn’t gotten here yet, but he’s due any minute.”
Rising to her feet just as Ronan joined them, Sierra asked the senior CSI agent, “We’re sure the victim’s a female?”
In response Sean held up a wallet—now safely sealed in an evidence bag—that had been retrieved from the victim’s back pocket.
“That’s what her ID says. Shantina Ramirez. She just turned twenty yesterday,” he told them. “It’s like the killer wants us to know who he’s eliminating. Like with the other victims, everything was left intact in the wallet. The killer didn’t even bother taking any of the money.”
“And we’re sure about her gang affiliation?” Ronan asked.
“The tattoo on the right shoulder is the insignia the War Lords all get after they’ve been initiated into the gang,” Sean replied.
“Wait. You said that...Shantina—” it took her a moment to remember the name Sean had used “—turned twenty yesterday, right?”
Sean nodded and sighed as he shook his head. “They’re getting younger and younger. I keep thinking what a waste it is to die so young. They haven’t even begun to be people yet.”
Sierra turned to Ronan just as Choi and Martinez arrived on the scene, crossing the lot to join them. “Maybe she was celebrating somewhere close by last night. Isn’t there a bar on the next block?” she asked him.
In response, Ronan turned toward the other two detectives. “Choi, you and Martinez pull Shantina Ramirez’s photo from her DMV license and enlarge it. Show it around to the locals here. Maybe someone saw something. And I want all the—”
“Surveillance videos in the area pulled,” Martinez said, completing the sentence. “Yeah, we know the drill, boss.”
“While you’re canvassing the area, show them this photo, too,” he told Martinez, handing over the photo he and Sierra had showed to the first victim’s roommate.
Sierra looked at the lead detective, clearly surprised.
“Why not?” he said, answering the unspoken question he saw in her eyes. “Might as well cover all the bases while we’re at it, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, feeling rather good about the fact that at least Ronan was no longer pretending to ignore her suggestions.
“Oh, and when the ME does the autopsy on this one,” R
onan told his uncle, “have him run the same tox screen he ran on the last two victims.”
Sean smiled as he nodded. “I was going to suggest that myself.”
Turning around to face Sierra, Ronan caught the satisfied look on her face. “What did I tell you about grinning so hard, Carlyle?”
“That it’ll crack my face,” she repeated dutifully and then laughed. “I’ll chance it,” she told him. “It’s just nice to know that you’re finally taking my input into account.”
They headed back to his vehicle and he did his best to frown, but the truth of it was he was getting accustomed to Carlyle. She wasn’t half-bad at her job. But he couldn’t just appear to capitulate all at once. He needed to remain in control.
“Don’t let it go to your head, Carlyle,” Ronan warned. “Even a broken clock is known to be right twice a day.”
Sierra just continued to smile in satisfaction. “You can’t fool me with all that bluster, O’Bannon. I’m growing on you.”
“Oh, heaven forbid,” he groaned, then waved at his vehicle. “Just get in the car, Carlyle.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she put her seat belt on.
“Back to the precinct,” he told her, pulling away from the curb. “To find out if this latest victim has any next of kin to notify. Plus, I want to get in touch with a couple of my CIs, see if they’ve heard anything on the street about this serial killer that might prove to be useful.”
Sierra regarded him with surprise. “You have criminal informants?”
“Yes, I do.” He could feel her staring at him as if he’d just grown an extra head. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
Sierra shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it involves talking, something you don’t seem to be overly keen on doing if at all possible.”
Ronan knew he should just ignore her but something seemed to goad him into answering. “There’s not a whole lot of talking on my end,” he told her. “That’s why they’re the ones called informants.”
“Oh. Sorry, my mistake,” she said, still making no effort to hide the wide smile presently curving the corners of her mouth.
“You know, that little know-it-all smile of yours gets to be pretty annoying really fast,” Ronan told her curtly.
She pressed her lips together, doing her best to suppress the smile and only marginally succeeding. There was humor in her clear-water blue eyes as she promised, “Sorry, I’ll work on it.”
Ronan made a dismissive noise. The sound only had her smile widening despite all her so-called efforts to the contrary.
“Why don’t I find that comforting?” Ronan said darkly.
“Want me to make a guess?” she offered brightly.
The last thing he wanted was to listen to her optimistic babble. “No!”
“You’re the boss,” she told him with a profusion of innocence.
Ronan grunted in response. “At least one of us believes that,” he muttered under his breath.
* * *
AS IT TURNED OUT, Shantina Ramirez had been a ward of social services by the time she was nine years old and shuffled from one foster home to another for the next nine years. Thrown out of the system when she turned eighteen, she’d been on her own for the last two years.
The address on her driver’s license, while seemingly in the general area of Allegro, was bogus.
“So, no next of kin to notify,” Sierra concluded.
Ronan didn’t look unhappy about that particular turn of events. “Not this time,” he told her. “I want you to see what you can find out about the six victims that connects them to one another. Start with the internet.”
“What are you going to be doing?” she asked.
“Something else,” he told her, walking out of the squad room.
* * *
DOING HER BEST to be a team player, Sierra spent the rest of the day combing through the internet, looking for any and all stories she could find involving gang violence in both Tesla and Allegro. She was ultimately hoping to see if any of the six victims’ names appeared in the stories.
Every so often, she looked toward the squad room entrance, waiting for Ronan’s return. How long did it take to contact confidential informants? she wondered impatiently.
She tried not to let it, but the truth of it was, it drove her crazy that Roan hadn’t shared any of what he was up to with her. Not that he was obligated to do so, but the last partner she’d had had never kept her in the dark like this about anything.
She began to think that once this case was solved—and she was determined that it would be—she just might transfer into Major Crimes or any of the other departments. If she remained in Homicide, eventually she would find herself being teamed up with O’Bannon again and that was just asking for more trouble.
* * *
IT WAS SIX O’CLOCK. Sierra sighed and combed her hand through her hair. She felt as if she was on the verge of going cross-eyed and decided that she’d spent enough time scrolling for news items on the internet. Ronan hadn’t returned to the squad room and she assumed he’d just gone home after his business with the CI or CIs was completed.
Time for her to do the same.
Powering down her computer, she took her messenger bag out of the bottom drawer and slung the bag over her shoulder. She had just pushed in her chair and was ready to leave when the phone on her desk rang.
Looking at it, she fought a strong urge to just ignore the phone and walk out, but her sense of duty had her hesitating. The more she hesitated, the more she weakened.
Maybe it was something to do with the case.
Picking up the receiver, Sierra braced herself as she declared, “Carlyle.”
“That’s what I thought. I already called you at home and, guess what, you’re not there. Don’t they let you go home at a decent hour?” the deep, gravelly voice on the other end asked.
Sierra shifted from one foot to the other. She was tempted to remind her father that she had a cell phone that was always on her person, but she let it go. In a lot of ways, her father was still living in the middle of the last century.
“Did you call just to ask me that, Dad? Is this some catch-22 thing?”
“I called to give you an answer, but if you’re not interested...” Craig Carlyle deliberately allowed his voice to trail off.
“An answer?” she repeated, confused. Pulling out her chair, she dropped into it, her entire attention focused on the voice on the other end of the line and what he had to say. “Does this mean that you talked to Maeve O’Bannon?”
“That I did. Not a hardship, really,” he said, sounding rather cheerful about it. “Salt of the earth, that woman. Loyal as they come. And if you’d ever seen her drive that ambulance—which she still does on occasion when they’re shorthanded—”
“I’m sorry, are you drawing up her job résumé or did you call to tell me what you found out when you asked her about her son?”
“Always the impatient one,” her father said reprovingly.
“May I remind you that I got that impatience from you, Dad?” she said.
“Okay,” he granted, switching subjects. “You wanted me to find out anything I could from Maeve about her son.”
She’d asked for something specific, but for now, she let that go. She didn’t want her father to be distracted. “And did you find out ‘anything’?” she pressed.
“Well, of course I did,” he said with a trace of annoyance. “He’s the oldest and she came to rely on him a great deal when her husband died. Of course, she does have that large family, being born a Cavanaugh and all, but there’s nothing like the bond a parent has with their firstborn,” he said with conviction.
“Dad, I’m growing old here. Ronan said I reminded him of someone,” she prodded. “Was there someone significant in his l
ife that kind of looked like me?”
“I asked her that. Had to work my way up to the subject. You just don’t come flat-out and ask that sort of thing without building up to it,” he added indignantly.
“I’m sure you did a lot of fine building, Dad, but could we cut to the chase? Please?”
“I was just getting to that,” he told her.
Sierra had her doubts, but said nothing. She knew how to play the game.
“Ronan was engaged to someone who looked a great deal like you. Maeve showed me a picture of the two of them she had on her phone and, for a minute, I thought it actually was you.”
“What happened? Did they break up?” Sierra asked. She really couldn’t picture Ronan in love or even in a relationship.
“In the most permanent sense possible,” her father told her. “Apparently she was caught in some cross fire. Turns out someone was stalking Ronan and the gunman wound up shooting her instead. She died instantly—in his arms. Maeve said he just withdrew into himself after that.”
Her father paused, waiting for some sort of response from her. When only silence met his ear, he prodded, “Sierra? Did you hear what I said? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here, Dad, and I heard what you said,” she said quietly. She felt stunned and almost numb. Most of all, she felt exceedingly sorry for Ronan. “Thanks for finding out for me, Dad.”
“Maybe you’d better not say anything to Ronan,” he advised.
“I don’t plan to,” she told him. “But this does answer a lot of questions for me. Thanks again, Dad,” she said just before hanging up.
Wow, Sierra thought, staring at the receiver she’d just hung up. It took her a moment to digest the news and its import. Her heart had instantly gone out to Ronan. The whole thing had to have been devastating for him. And if she looked as much like his late fiancée as her father had just said, then no wonder Ronan seemed uncomfortable and was having so much trouble being around her.
Cavanaugh Standoff Page 8
