Cavanaugh Standoff

by Marie Ferrarella

  Allen looked clearly shaken. “Officer Robertson’s body?” he asked nervously.

  “That’s the only one we’ve currently got,” Ronan said sternly.

  Perspiration appeared along the officer’s upper lip. “Okay,” he answered in a shaken voice.

  “Don’t worry, the coroner’s on his way. You won’t have to stand guard for long,” Ronan promised. He had one more thing to take care of before he began questioning the patrons.

  Turning to the bartender, he told the man, “I want all of the videos from your surveillance cameras that were taken today.”

  He saw Sierra coming into the main room. “Hold it a second,” he told the bartender. He beckoned Sierra over to him. “Carlyle, go with the bartender and help him collect the surveillance videos.” He wasn’t about to take a chance on any of the videos “going missing.” At this point, he wasn’t sure just who to trust. For all he knew, he could have already passed or talked to whoever had killed Murphy’s old partner.

  Sierra nodded. “Understood.” She turned toward the bartender. “Lead the way,” she told him.

  As Sierra and the bartender walked to the back office to get the videos, Ronan began collecting names and phone numbers from the disgruntled restaurant patrons.

  * * *

  IT WAS SEVERAL hours before they were finally able to return to the squad room. As expected, no one at the restaurant had seen anything.

  In their defense, one of the patrons had said, “Well, you don’t come for quesadillas and expect to see someone get shot.”

  Ronan sank his chair, feeling drained. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he complained, “This is turning into a real nightmare.”

  “Yes, except you eventually wake up from a nightmare,” she said. “This has all the signs of going on indefinitely.”

  She was well aware that some crimes were never solved and wound up being filed away in a room reserved for “cold cases.” While she fervently hoped that no more bodies turned up courtesy of their serial killer, she refused to allow this case to go that route.

  Sitting in front of her computer, Sierra stared at the monitor for a few moments, trying to come up with a fresh course of action.

  She could think of only one thing. “I’m going to try just feeding all the victims’ names into the search engines, see what I can come up with,” she told Ronan. “Maybe somewhere in there I can find just how these people all connect with each other—and Murphy and Robertson.”

  “There might not be a connection,” Martinez said as he walked into the squad room. He and Choi had joined Ronan in taking statements and placating angry restaurant customers. “Could just be this killer’s way of messing with our minds.”

  “I know, but I’ve got this thing about order,” she told the other detective. “I like feeling that there are reasons behind everything.”

  “You want a reason?” Choi asked. “The reason is that this guy’s a crazy, bloodthirsty bastard,” he said angrily.

  “O’Bannon,” she turned toward him. “What’s your thought on this?”

  He shrugged. “See if you can find some kind of a connection,” he told her. “Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.” He looked at the other two detectives. “I want you two to find Murphy’s ex-wife and bring her in. Maybe she has some idea what’s going on. Right now, I’m open to listening to anyone,” he said.

  “You got it, boss,” Martinez said. The detectives were gone within minutes.

  Taking a pad from his desk, Ronan walked up to the bulletin board and began writing something down. From where she sat, it looked to Sierra as if he was copying the victims’ names. Finished, he headed for the doorway.

  “Where are you going?” Sierra asked.

  “I’m going to bring this list down to my cousin, Valri, in the computer lab, see if she can find that connection we’re looking for. She’s an absolute wizard and if anyone can find it, she can.”

  Sierra pretended to be hurt. “Don’t have any faith in me, eh?”

  He doubled back for a moment. “On the contrary, I have every faith in you. You’re the one who came up with this idea. It’s just that two sets of eyes are better than one and she might have some tricks up her sleeve that you don’t.” He smiled at her. “No insult to your intelligence intended.”

  Sierra inclined her head. “None taken. My skin’s a lot thicker than you think.”

  Ronan leaned in closer and whispered into her ear, “Not that I recall, but maybe I need to reacquaint myself with you after we leave here tonight.”

  If she didn’t have an incentive before, she did now. Sierra smiled at him as Ronan straightened.

  “You’re on,” she told him.

  * * *

  THE DOOR TO the computer lab was open. Ronan knocked on it anyway, then stuck his head in. Valri’s desk was the first one near the door.

  “Valri?” he asked, looking at the petite blonde working intently.

  Valri Cavanaugh paused and looked up as he entered the room. “Uh-oh, beware of O’Bannons bearing gifts.”

  Ronan realized she was referring to the paper in his hand. “This isn’t a gift,” he told his cousin. “This is an updated list of our serial killer’s victims. I need you to cross-reference them on those fancy databases you’re always pulling up.”

  Valri’s desk was already overflowing with other work. The woman was fast, but she was still human, a fact that seemed to elude a lot of her cousins.

  “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what are you looking for?”

  “Any connection you can find between these people—and I mean anything.” Ronan emphasized the word.

  Her eyes narrowed as she skimmed the list. “Is this right?” she asked, appearing distressed. “Are the last two victims on this list police officers?”

  Ronan nodded grimly. “They’re the latest victims.” “The second victim’s name isn’t common knowledge yet. But you see why this is so urgent, right?”

  Pressing her lips together, Valri sighed, not at the request, but because of the last two names on the list. Whenever police officers were killed, it was like losing family.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.

  He leaned over the desk to brush a kiss on her cheek. “Knew I could depend on you. And just so you don’t feel put-upon, I’ve got one of my detectives going through search engines, too.”

  “Tell them they have my sympathies,” Valri said. Her fingers were already flying across the keyboard, inputting the name of the serial killer’s first victim into the database she had accessed.

  “I’ll leave you to your work,” he said, withdrawing from the lab.

  Valri hardly heard him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The minute Ronan and Sierra walked into the squad room, Martinez crossed over to them and said, “Officer Murphy’s ex-wife is waiting for you in Interrogation Room One.”

  “And FYI,” Choi added, joining them, “she’s not very happy about being brought in.”

  Ronan nodded. “Thanks.” About to head for Interrogation Room One, he looked at Sierra. “You want to sit in on this?” he asked.

  He wasn’t asking her just to be polite. She was beginning to get good at reading between the lines. “You mean run interference, don’t you?” she asked, amused.

  Ronan shrugged. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” he allowed.

  Sierra fell into step beside him as they went down the hall. “And after we finish with her, I want to show you something I found on the internet that might be interesting.”

  “What is it?”

  She waved away his question. “It’ll keep. The internet isn’t going anywhere. Let’s find out what Murphy’s widow knows—or doesn’t know,” she amended as they walked up to the interrogation room.


  Anne Murphy was a trim, petite brunette who worked in the admissions office of a local university, where Martinez and Choi found her.

  The moment Ronan entered the room, he could see that the late officer’s ex-wife resented being brought in like this. Her brown eyes were blazing.

  “You’ve got a hell of a nerve sending your goons to the admission’s office to drag me out of the building and bring me here. What’s this all about?” Anne Murphy demanded hotly, rising from her chair.

  Ronan gestured for her to remain seated. “We just want to ask you some questions.”

  “Ever hear of a telephone?” she asked sarcastically, remaining on her feet. She gave every indication that she was about to storm out of the room.

  Sierra shifted, blocking the woman’s exit. “Ever hear of obstructing justice?” Sierra countered pleasantly. “Please take your seat, Mrs. Murphy.”

  Scowling, the woman grudgingly sat again. She made it very evident that she was doing so under protest. “So ask me whatever it is you want to ask,” she snapped. “I don’t have all day to waste.”

  Ronan glanced at Sierra. He inclined his head, indicating he wanted her to take the lead.

  Appraising the hostile woman thoughtfully, Sierra deliberated, then asked, “Why did you divorce your husband, Mrs. Murphy?”

  For a second the other woman seemed stunned at the question. And then she answered. “Because he was a brooding ass. Can I go now?”

  “Not yet,” Sierra said pleasantly. “Was he always like that?”

  “No,” Anne Murphy answered angrily, clearly resenting being questioned like this. “When I married him, he was a lot of fun.” Sadness entered her voice. “But then he changed.”

  Sierra glanced at Ronan, but it was obvious that he wanted her to continue. “Do you have any idea why he changed?”

  “I don’t know,” Anne retorted, frustrated. “Because of something on the job, I guess.” Her anger returned. “Look, Jimmy didn’t share what was going on with me. He just shut down.”

  Sierra leaned in across the table, her eyes on the woman’s. “Do you remember when this happened?”

  Anne blew out an annoyed breath. “I don’t keep a diary,” she retorted.

  Undaunted, Sierra kept going. “Mrs. Murphy, your husband was executed. So was his old partner—”

  “Gary?” she asked, the color draining from her perfectly made-up face. For the first time since they had entered the room, the woman they were questioning looked subdued. “Gary Robertson’s dead?” she asked in disbelief. She looked from one detective to the other. “I didn’t hear anything on the news—”

  “It just happened,” Sierra told her. “We’re still trying to get to the bottom of all this.” Keeping her voice on an even keel, she continued the questioning session. “You divorced your husband—”

  “Ex-husband,” Anne emphasized.

  “Your ex-husband,” Sierra amended easily, “around the same time that Officer Robertson requested a different partner, and Detective O’Bannon and I were wondering if something happened in that time period to bring all this about.”

  Anne shifted in her seat impatiently. She clearly wanted to be somewhere else. “Like I said, it was something that happened on the job. Look, I was the last person he’d talk to and I finally got tired of being treated like a piece of furniture, so I left him,” she said as if it was a declaration of independence. “Talk to his CO. His CO would know more about it than I do. Now, can I go?” Anne asked again. “We’re dealing with a flood of entrance applications at the university right now and I really don’t have time to be here,” she stressed.

  They weren’t about to get any more out of her right now, Ronan thought, rising from his chair. “You’re free to go, Mrs. Murphy. We’ll be in contact if we need anything else.”

  “I shiver with anticipation,” the woman told him sarcastically just before she hurried out of the interrogation room.

  Sierra frowned, looking at the departing woman’s back. “I think I can take a guess why their marriage went south,” she said.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Ronan agreed. Turning back to Sierra, he said, “Let’s see if we can get a few minutes of the CO’s time.”

  Leaving the interrogation room, Sierra was more than happy to go with him to see the dead officers’ commanding officer. “I’ve got a feeling that he’s going to say something to confirm my suspicions.”

  Ronan stopped abruptly. He’d forgotten that she’d wanted to tell him something. “And what are those suspicions?”

  “I found a two-year-old story on the internet. Murphy and Robertson tried to take down some gang members who were shooting it out. Two different gangs were involved.”

  Pausing by the elevator, she watched Ronan press the down button.

  “Neighbors called 9-1-1,” she continued. “Robertson and Murphy were in the area so they arrived first. Trying to stop the shootings, they wound up caught in the cross fire and started shooting themselves. According to the one witness that came forward, it was over practically before it started. Several of the shooters were wounded but no one was killed except for a cabdriver. Poor guy had three bullets in him. One of the bullets apparently came from Murphy’s gun.”

  “Do you think that was deliberate?” Ronan asked her, getting into the elevator car.

  “I’m think Murphy was just fighting for his life, like Robertson, and that civilian got caught in the cross fire.” She looked at Ronan. “That might have been the beginning of Murphy’s descent into depression,” she proposed.

  * * *

  THE TWO DEAD officers’ grim-faced commanding officer, Sergeant Gene Davis, confirmed Sierra’s suspicions.

  “Murphy had to surrender his weapon and was put on desk duty until he was cleared—which he was—but he took the whole thing really hard.” Davis shook his head, remembering. “He felt that everyone was against him. I heard him complaining that he was only doing his job, trying to break up that shooting, and he was really bummed out that the department didn’t back him up. We did,” Davis protested. “But these were the rules. They both had to surrender their weapons because they were fired, but it took longer with Murphy because the autopsy found that one of his bullets hit the cabdriver. In the end, the department ruled in their favor.”

  “What about the dead cabdriver?” Sierra asked.

  Davis shrugged. “He was unfortunate collateral damage. Poor guy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Does anyone know how this whole thing happened in the first place?” Ronan asked the sergeant.

  “Like most of these things,” Davis said. “It blew out of proportion over some imagined slight,” he recalled. “Tempers got hot, people started shooting. The gang members were all arrested, but before it got to trial, they were let go on some legal technicality. Something about their rights not being read to them at the time.” Davis grew angry just remembering the circumstances.

  “How did Murphy take it?” Sierra asked.

  “Not well. He and Robertson fought because Robertson just wanted to let it slide. Robertson finally asked for another partner. That’s about when Murphy’s wife left him.” Davis shook his head. “I honestly thought that Murphy was going to quit the force, but he surprised me and hung in there. Said, good or bad, being a cop was all he had, especially after his wife left him.”

  “One more thing, Sergeant, and we’ll be out of your hair,” Ronan promised. “Do you have a list of the gang members arrested in this shoot-out?”

  Davis nodded. “I can track it down and have it sent to you.”

  “While you’re at it, Sergeant,” Sierra said, speaking up, “could you add the name of that taxi driver who was killed to the list?”

  “Sure thing,” Davis said obligingly. “Damn shame what happened to those two,” he murmured as the two detectives left
his area.

  “Wasn’t exactly a party for the cabdriver, either,” Sierra commented under her breath.

  “What are you thinking?” Ronan asked as they walked back to the elevator.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she admitted. “First I want to see the names of the gang members who were in that shoot-out Murphy and Robertson were trying to stop. If they do match the victims, then we might be onto something.”

  “You’re being very mysterious about this,” he commented.

  “No, I’m being cautious. Isn’t that what you want?” she asked.

  He winked at her as they rode the elevator back up to their floor. “Not always.”

  * * *

  WHEN THEY GOT back to the squad room, Valri had left a message for Ronan on his landline that she had found a few lines in an online story about a “massacre that wasn’t.”

  They went to the computer lab.

  “Your two dead officers were involved in a shoot-out involving members of two rival gangs who were trying to kill each other,” Valri told them, reiterating what they had just found out from Davis. “A couple of the gang members were mentioned by name and both of them were recent guests of our morgue,” she noted. “Does that help?”

  Ronan had no intention of telling her that Sierra had come across the same story. Instead he acted as if this was news to him and said, “I owe you.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Valri replied with a broad grin.

  “Would you print that article for me?” he requested.

  “Way ahead of you.” Valri held up the single sheet of paper that contained the brief piece.

  “Thanks,” he told her, taking the paper from her.

  Scanning the brief article as they rode back to the squad room, Sierra noted, “There’s no mention made of the cabdriver.”

  “Collateral damage, remember?” Ronan reminded her.

  “That ‘damage’ was a person,” Sierra protested.

  “I know. I don’t like it any more than you do,” he said grimly.

  * * *

  WHEN THEY RETURNED to the squad room, Ronan found that Davis had forwarded the list of gang members, as well as the name of the only fatality in the shoot-out, to his computer.