Cavanaugh Standoff

by Marie Ferrarella

  Eager to know if she was right, Sierra began reading over his shoulder. “Well?” she pressed.

  He pulled over the list of the serial killer’s victims he’d copied from the bulletin board and compared the names to the list on his computer. He looked at her over his shoulder.

  “Every single one of the gang members arrested at the shoot-out was executed by our serial killer.”

  She’d had a feeling. Going back to her desk, she sat in front of her computer. “Okay, so now we know that that shoot-out is at the root of whatever’s going on. It’s obvious that someone’s out for revenge. Davis sent you the name of the taxi driver, right?”

  Ronan looked down the list. “Yeah, he’s on the bottom.”

  “Okay, what is it?” she asked.

  “‘Darren Campbell,’” he read, then looked across his desk at Sierra. He could see by the look on her face that something had occurred to her. “What are you thinking, Carlyle?”

  “Dark thoughts,” was all she said as she typed the dead man’s name into the general search engine.

  It took a little searching, but she found what she was looking for. “Got it,” she declared.

  “Got what?” Ronan asked. Not waiting for an answer, he got up and crossed to her desk to look over her shoulder.

  “Darren Campbell’s obituary,” she told him. Looking at the screen, she read the bottom of the short obituary out loud. “‘He was survived by a wife, a son and a daughter.’”

  “Okay. So are a lot of people,” Ronan said. “Are you thinking that maybe the guy’s son decided to take the law into his own hands and he killed all those people, included our two cops?”

  She had to admit that was in her head, but she didn’t want it to seem as if she was jumping to any conclusions. So she said, “I’m thinking that maybe we should go and talk to Darren Campbell’s family and see if that leads to something.”

  It felt as if they were spinning their wheels, but they certainly weren’t going to get anywhere by standing still, Ronan thought. Out loud he told her, “Can’t hurt, I guess.”

  * * *

  LIKE THE GANG members who had been executed, Darren Campbell’s family lived outside of Aurora, in a modest little one-story attached home located in Tesla.

  The house looked as if it could stand to have more than a little work done on it. Despite that, there was a For Sale sign erected in the tiny front yard, near the front door.

  “Looks like things aren’t going very well for the Campbells,” Ronan commented as they walked past the sign to get to the front door.

  “Maybe they just want to get away from all the bad memories,” Sierra suggested as he rang the doorbell.

  A tall, young woman of about twenty-five or so came to the door just as he was about to ring the doorbell again. With one hand on the door, ready to close it quickly, she asked, “Yes?”

  “Detectives O’Bannon and Carlyle,” Ronan said, flashing his ID and badge. Sierra did the same. “We’d like to speak to Mrs. Darren Campbell. Is she in?” he asked politely.

  The laugh was dry and mirthless. “She’s in, but I’m afraid you can’t speak to her. I’m her daughter, Olivia. Is there something I help you with?” she asked, still holding the door ajar.

  Sierra decided to press the issue. “Is she busy?” she asked in a friendly voice, trying to put the young woman at ease.

  “She’s not very much of anything these days.” Olivia Campbell looked at them for a long moment and then said, “Come with me.”

  They followed the lanky young woman into the living room. There was a hospital bed in the center of the room, a tired older woman lying in it. The television was on, filling the room with low-level noise. The person in the hospital bed wasn’t watching it. She was staring into space, appearing to be unaware of her daughter or the two strangers who had walked into the room with her.

  There was weary compassion in Olivia’s eyes as she gestured toward her mother. “She’s been like that since my dad was killed.”

  “And you take care of her?” Sierra asked kindly.

  Olivia squared her shoulders, as if bracing against an onslaught of pity. “When I’m not working,” she answered crisply.

  “Who looks after her when you’re working?” Ronan asked. Remembering the obituary, he asked, “Your brother?”

  A look bordering on anger entered the young woman’s face. She laughed caustically in response to his question. “Hank? Yeah, right. That’ll be the day. Hank took off shortly after our dad was killed and he saw what it did to our mother. His last words were, ‘Not my problem.’ He’s not exactly the steadfast, dependable type,” she said dismissively. And then her face softened slightly as she looked back at her mother. “I have a woman staying with my mother whenever I’m out.”

  Olivia glanced at her watch. “Imelda’s due any minute now. I really hope she’s on time,” she said, talking more to herself than to either one of the two people standing in front of her. “They hate it when I’m late for work.”

  Ronan took the opportunity to ask her, “Where do you work?”

  “At Tesla Memorial,” Olivia said. “I’m a physician’s assistant and I volunteered for the night shift at the ER so that I can look after my mother the rest of the time.” The doorbell rang and a look of relief crossed her face. “There she is, just in time.”

  Without another word to the two detectives, Olivia Campbell hurried to the front door and threw it open. “Imelda, hi.” She picked up her purse from the small table next to the door. “Mother’s had her medications, but I can’t get her to eat anything. See if you have better luck than I did.”

  A petite older woman with salt-and-pepper hair walked in. She nodded at the information. “I will make her eat, Miss Olivia. Do not worry about your mother.”

  “Well, that’s it,” Olivia said, looking at the two detectives she’d allowed into her house. Her stance clearly indicated that she wanted them to leave. “I’ve got to go. Is there anything else I can answer for you?” she asked impatiently.

  “No, thank you. You’ve got enough to deal with,” Sierra replied. “We’ll be going now,” she said, looking at Ronan. Her message was clear.

  They followed Olivia out. The door closed behind them. Sierra heard locks being closed.

  Ronan shook his head. “That young woman’s got a lot on her plate.”

  “Certainly makes you grateful for your own life,” Sierra agreed. Getting into Ronan’s vehicle, she watched as Olivia Campbell’s car drove away.

  He glanced at Sierra. “It certainly does,” he murmured and then said as he pulled away from the curb, “We need to locate her brother.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Sierra agreed.

  She was also thinking something else, but for now, since it was probably far-fetched, she decided to keep it to herself.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lacking any other leads, Hank Campbell, the dead cabdriver’s son, became their newest person of interest by default.

  He was nowhere to be found in the immediate area, or in any of the neighboring counties when the search parameters were extended.

  Ronan pushed back from his desk, frustrated. “You can’t tell me that in this day and age, a person can just disappear out of sight like that. He’s got to be somewhere.”

  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Sierra said, agreeing with him. She’d gone through every site she could think of and hadn’t been able to find the man. “But his last posting on his social media page was two years ago and, according to his DMV license, his last-known address was the family house.”

  They hadn’t searched the house when they’d questioned Olivia. Maybe they should have, Ronan thought now. “So maybe Hank does live there and his sister lied because she was covering for him. Maybe she knows what he’s done, or at least
has her suspicions.”

  “Maybe.” Sierra liked to think that she was open to any suggestion. “But I don’t think so. If you ask me, she was giving off a lot of anger when we mentioned her brother’s name.”

  He’d come to respect her intuition. “And you bought that?”

  She inclined her head. “I think I did. That kind of anger seems like it would be hard to fake.”

  Ronan wavered. “Maybe the woman’s just a good actress.”

  She didn’t want to get into an argument over this. “Maybe,” Sierra agreed.

  He saw through her. “But you don’t think so,” Ronan stated.

  There was one way to resolve this, she thought. “We could have someone sit outside the house for a few days, see if Hank Campbell turns up,” Sierra suggested.

  It seemed as good a solution as any. Ronan looked over at Choi’s desk. “How do you feel about a stakeout?”

  Choi was less than enthusiastic, but he went along with it. “Love cold coffee, stale sandwiches and getting a backache from sitting in my car way too long,” the detective said.

  Ronan overlooked the detective’s sarcasm. “Good. You can take the first shift.” He looked at Choi’s partner. “Martinez will take the second. Pull Campbell’s picture off his DMV license so you know who you’re watching for,” he told the two detectives.

  Dispatching half his team, Ronan turned his attention to Sierra. “I want you to call the credit bureau, get a list of Hank Campbell’s credit cards and find out if he’s used any of them lately—and where.”

  “What are you going to be doing?” Sierra asked.

  Ronan rose from his desk. “I’m going back to the CSI lab to find out if they managed to get any fingerprints from any of the serial killer’s crime scenes that—no pun intended—point to anyone.”

  “You know...” Sierra said just as he began to leave the room.

  Ronan stopped and turned to hear her out.

  “If these executions are all about that shoot-out, the killing spree just might be over. From all indications, everyone who was involved in that shooting—six gang members and two police officers—is dead. That means no more killings,” she concluded.

  “Unless the killer’s developed a taste for it—or decided that someone else needs to be punished,” Choi interjected just as he left for his stakeout assignment.

  “There’s a thought,” Sierra murmured under her breath.

  Something in her voice caught Ronan’s attention. “Anything you want to say?” he asked.

  She thought he’d left right behind Choi. His question surprised her. “Me? Why?”

  “You have this expression on your face, like something’s not sitting quite right. Would you like to share with the class?” Ronan asked.

  She debated saying anything. And then, because he’d asked, she decided she might as well say it out loud. “I keep thinking I’ve seen the cabdriver’s daughter somewhere.”

  He waited to see if there was more. “Any idea where?”

  Sierra shook her head. “No. But it’ll come to me.” Most likely when I least expect it, she added silently.

  “I’m sure it will,” Ronan replied, humoring her as he left the squad room.

  * * *

  “YOU READY TO call it a night?” Ronan asked Sierra.

  It was almost seven and they had been at it for hours. The lab had found no useful prints or anything else for that matter at any of the crime scenes, including the last two involving the police officers. The surveillance videos from the Mexican restaurant where Robinson had been murdered had yet to be reviewed. But there were only so many hours in a day and they had all but exhausted theirs.

  “I don’t know about you,” Ronan continued, “but I feel like I’ve just been running in place for hours and going nowhere.”

  “At least you’re running,” Sierra told him. “I feel like I was sucked up by the treadmill an hour ago and, at this point, I’m flatter than a thin sheet of paper.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “Nobody is ever going to compare you to a thin sheet of paper,” he told her meaningfully. Then, in a slightly louder voice, he said, “Close up and let’s go home.”

  She was more than ready but asked teasingly, “Is that an order?”

  “If it has to be.”

  She broke into a wreath of smiles. “I hear and obey.” She shut off her computer, more than happy to see the screen grow dark.

  “Yeah, sure. Like I believe that.” He laughed. He saw her raise her chin. “Don’t give me that innocent look. I’m not an idiot. The word ‘obey’ is not in your vocabulary. If you’re going along with what I just said, it’s because you want to.”

  She liked the fact that he understood her. It made things easier. “Potato, potahtoe.”

  He grinned. “Exactly.”

  She’d been rather oblivious to her surroundings as she searched for some sign of Hank Campbell. She felt as if she had just come up for air as she looked around. The two desks near her were empty. “No word from Choi or Martinez?”

  Ronan shook his head. Neither detective had called in. At this point, he assumed Martinez had taken Choi’s place in the stakeout.

  “All quiet on the western front,” he told her. He waited until she got her purse and stood. “You in the mood for Chinese?” he asked, referring to dinner.

  The idea of sitting in a restaurant seemed particularly overwhelming. “Only if it’s to go.”

  “To go, it is.”

  There was no discussion, but after they had picked up dinner at the Cantonese Express, Ronan drove them to her house.

  As he pulled up in her driveway, she pretended to look put out. “Am I being taken for granted already?”

  Ronan played along. Without cracking a smile, he said, “I can leave.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Sierra warned. “I still have my gun on me.”

  He nodded. “Convincing argument. I guess I’m not leaving,” he said, getting out of the car on his side. He took the takeout with him.

  “That really smells good,” Sierra commented. “I didn’t realize I was this hungry.”

  He nodded, knowing how she felt. “Time to focus on something other than just work.”

  * * *

  THEY WERE ONLY able to get halfway through the multicarton meal before other appetites took over. He supposed he’d started it by nibbling on the spring roll she had just picked up.

  Electricity telegraphed through them as his lips touched her fingers. He pulled her onto his lap, ready to feast on something else. But when he went to kiss her, she put her fingertips to his lips and asked, “Aren’t you afraid that your lobster Cantonese will get cold?”

  “Better the lobster Cantonese than you,” Ronan answered, lightly licking her fingers between each word he uttered.

  That did it for her. A shiver of anticipation shimmied all through her.

  “Never happen,” she breathed.

  It was all the encouragement he needed.

  Rising, he swept Sierra into his arms and carried her to her bedroom where he quickly proceeded to separate her from her clothing.

  Not to be outdone, Sierra undressed him just as swiftly. Within moments of entering the bedroom, they were exploring already familiar areas as if they were entirely new.

  She knew what to expect and yet the anticipation that echoed through her body was glorious, leaving her breathless and wanting.

  With the memory of the other night vividly echoing in her brain, she was a far more active participant this time than she had been before, wanting to pleasure Ronan as much as he had pleasured her.

  It was almost like a tennis match. Each stroke, each caress, was mirrored, received and echoed. She was determined to make him feel as wildly exhilarated as she did.

  Just bef
ore he was about to culminate the moment the way she had been aching for him to do, she drew her last remnants of strength together and surprised him by flipping their positions. Suddenly she was over him and he was beneath her, stunned but quite pleased.

  He laughed and the sound warmed her as he framed the face that loomed above his.

  “I love the way your hair hangs down like that, making you look wild. My wild woman,” he murmured, bringing her face to his. The moment dissolved in hot, wanton kisses that fed on one another.

  Something distant stirred in her brain but before Sierra could lock onto it, it was gone, burned away in the overpowering heat he created within her.

  She surrendered to the moment and to him as they made love, wildly and passionately, as if there was never going to be a next time.

  * * *

  EXHAUSTED—THE PERFORMANCE had had an encore—she collapsed against him, unable to speak, trying her best to catch her breath. Her heart was hammering like a hummingbird convention within her chest. She felt his heart pounding beneath her palm as she kept it against his chest.

  They fell asleep that way.

  * * *

  SHE WOKE WITH a start, then settled back when she saw that Ronan was still there. And awake.

  “Morning,” she murmured.

  “It certainly is,” he agreed. Lying beside her, he was lightly trailing his fingertips along her soft skin, silently indicating that she was his and he was hers, even when they weren’t lost in the throes of lovemaking, although the latter situation was growing closer to becoming a reality again.

  She heard him chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

  “Hunting a serial killer seems to invigorate you,” he teased.

  “Hunting a serial killer has nothing to do with it,” she protested. Sierra shifted, leaning her chin against his chest as she looked up into his face. “You have a lethal mouth and I haven’t learned how to stay out of reach.”

  “Do you want to?” he asked, running his hand through her hair.

  “Hell, no,” she said with such feeling she made him laugh. She felt his laugher rumble against her. Felt a fresh wave of excitement begin all over again, linking together with the night before.