by Jordan Dane
Chapter 5
Downtown Chicago
Cronan drove across a few intersections to hit the right block of a one-way street as they searched for Ethan Chandler’s residence. The lunch hour traffic had made the drive longer than Angel had expected. She’d called the cell phone number for the violinist, but when no one picked up, she decided against leaving a message.
“No answer. The guy’s not big on phones.” She pocketed her cell as her partner parked down the street.
“A man I can understand,” he said as he got out of the Crown Vic.
It didn’t take a detective to figure out where Ethan Chandler lived. Reporters and camera crews were camped in front of an exclusive residential building. Cronan shoved through the line, repeating “no comment” as he dodged microphones. A doorman stood on the other side of the secured front entrance. After they showed ID, the man escorted them through the foyer and made introductions to the onsite property manager.
“I bet the residents really love all the media attention,” he whispered to Angel as they walked behind the doorman.
No doubt residents valued their privacy at an address that was so exclusive it only had a street number on the outside door. No fancy property name. But flashing their badges had given them all the reason they’d need to pay a visit to Ethan Chandler. The property manager made the call to Chandler’s suite and got permission to send them up.
Angel knocked on the door of the musician’s residence, and a familiar face greeted them.
“You must have made a beeline here, Ms. Blevins,” Cronan said as he walked into the suite after Angel. “Are you always this…hands on with your clients?”
“Ethan’s special.” Rachel Blevins raised an eyebrow. “With Olivia’s murder hitting the news today, you can see the rabble out front. I didn’t want him walking into those vultures before he’d heard the news. I thought it best that he hears about Olivia from a friend.”
“And just to clarify, that would be you?” Cronan said.
This time Angel noticed that the woman didn’t bother to answer. She’d learned to dodge her partner’s sarcasm.
“Please, follow me.” After she led them into a living room, the publicist asked them to wait and left the room. That gave them opportunity to snoop.
“Well, what do you know? Ethan Chandler’s a simple guy like you, Gabe.” Angel walked around the room and checked out the minimalist decor.
“Yeah, this fiddle player and me, we’re gonna be real tight. I can feel it.” Gabe smirked.
Ethan Chandler’s home had been professionally decorated. A masculine design of blacks, grays, and silver tones with splashes of vivid color—colors a blind man would not be able to appreciate. The sleek furnishings were modern with clean designs that emphasized function. The typical clutter of everyday life was absent. Everything had its place. Simplicity must have appealed to the man who called this place home.
Natural light would have come in from the windows, but the shades had been drawn. The room would have been dark except for the dim glow coming from two lamp fixtures. Angel wondered if it mattered to Ethan if light ever came in the room. Did he only flip the switch for guests? Imagining him oblivious to the dark and living his entire life that way made her sad.
“Hey, check this out,” Gabe said. “The guy has his own recording studio.”
A small glassed-in room had a high-tech control panel, musical instruments, and casual seating. A tasteful, blood red sofa caught Angel’s eye. It had a distinctive shape that she liked. Very modern.
“He can record there, but he mainly uses it to practice whenever he feels like it.” The voice of Rachel Blevins interrupted them. “He often uses it at night when he can’t sleep. It’s sound proof so the neighbors can’t complain.”
Angel turned to see that the woman wasn’t alone.
“Ethan? This is Detective Gabriel Cronan…” The publicist had Ethan Chandler on her arm. “…and his partner, Detective Angelica Ramirez. They’re working Olivia’s case.”
The woman made the introductions with a somber voice befitting the purpose of their visit. Her tone and attitude had been a complete departure from the flip way she’d talked about Olivia in her office earlier. No doubt she played it up for her client, pretending to feel his pain.
Dressed in navy slacks and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, Ethan held out his hand in front of him and Gabe stepped over to shake it. Angel did the same.
“Thank you for coming,” Ethan said. “Please, I want to help any way I can. I can’t believe Livie is dead.” The skin on his face looked blotchy red, and his eyes were watery. It looked like he’d taken the news hard.
Angel realized God must have been a woman after she saw the violinist for the first time. Only a woman would know how to create such perfection in the opposite sex. Ethan Chandler was the most beautiful man Angel had ever seen.
“You left messages for Olivia Davenport on the night she died,” she began. “Tell me about your plans for the evening.”
“We had dinner reservations at Amandine’s on Halsted Street for eight o’clock, but Livie…she never showed.” Ethan’s lower lip trembled, and he visibly shook as he told them about his plans to meet Olivia and how she never answered his calls. When he was done, he said, “Oh my, God. Was she already dead…when I called?”
Rachel Blevins touched his chest and stroked fingers down his arm. He accepted her gesture without flinching. Ethan might not have been surprised by the intimacy, but Angel was. Without the ability to communicate to a blind man with a sympathetic facial expression, perhaps the publicist had only meant to send a message of concern to him in the only way she could.
Or maybe the woman’s touch carried another meaning.
“We’re piecing together a timeline of her activities before she died. That’s why we’re here,” Angel said, avoiding an answer to his question. “Did Olivia give you any reason to expect her to be late to the restaurant? Had she run errands or did she meet anyone beforehand?”
“No, not that I know of. She’d never been very punctual, but to not show up… “ He wiped a hand over his face. “She never told me anything about her plans for yesterday, but I could’ve been too distracted by rehearsals to ask.”
This time when Rachel touched his arm, Ethan clasped her hand in his, a show of affection that seemed natural between them.
“The news media is camped at the front entrance of the building, Ethan,” Rachel told him. “They’ll be looking for you. If you need to leave the building, call me, and we’ll use the same plan as we’ve done before. We can get in and out of this building without prying eyes.”
“Great. A prisoner in my own home. Wonderful.” The violinist looked even more miserable.
“I took the liberty of letting Harrison know what happened,” the publicist said. “He wants to see you later today.”
Ethan grimaced for a split second, enough to send Angel a clear message that something had triggered a reaction in him.
“Harrison? Who’s that?” Angel asked.
Rachel looked at Ethan before she replied, “Harrison Reeves. He’s Ethan’s agent.”
“Okay. I can see clueing an agent in on something of this nature, but you don’t seem happy about that, Mr. Chandler. Why is that?”
Ethan shrugged. “He’s just a little…overbearing when it comes to…”
When he stopped, Rachel picked up the slack. “His agent has a hard time drawing the line between the business and personal affairs of his clients, that’s all. He has an overzealous nature when it comes to protecting Ethan’s interests.”
“Reeves lives in Chicago?” Gabe asked.
“Yeah, he does. If you need his contact information, I’m sure Rachel can get that for you,” Ethan offered, and his publicist nodded.
Angel asked more questions and took notes. She focused on every word Ethan said. Watching him had become a total distraction. When she glanced at him, and he seemed to look back, she turned away until she remembered
Ethan was blind. He wouldn’t see her staring at him. Knowing that was liberating. She took advantage of the situation, something she never would have done with a sighted man.
Ethan was tall and had a lean muscular build. He wore his dark hair a little long, and it had a natural wave to it as if he’d finger combed it. His skin looked flawless, pale with an appealing blush to his cheeks. He had a boyish appearance at times, yet the haunted look in his dark eyes made him appear older than his years. Whenever he talked, she couldn’t help but stare at his full lips.
“Can I get you a drink? I’ve got a stocked bar or I can brew coffee if you’d prefer.” Unlike Rachel Blevins, Ethan Chandler was a considerate host. After he didn’t get any takers, he poured himself a Scotch, neat.
Ethan moved with such confidence in his home that Angel almost forgot he was blind. He had a brooding masculine manner, and he gestured with an easy grace. Perhaps being blind had taught him to move differently than most men, and she found the long fingers of his hands captivating. Ethan made beautiful music with those hands.
Watching him was mesmerizing.
“Who would do such a terrible thing?” He gulped down his drink. “Everyone loved her.” After a long moment, he asked, “Was this a mugging? I have no idea why Livie would have been at a park, especially at that hour. Not when she…was supposed to be with me.”
“We’d like to know why she went to that park too,” Angel said. “Did she use drugs of any kind?”
“No.” He sounded adamant until his voice softened. “Not that I know of.”
She glanced at her partner. Given the new evidence found on the body, now would be the time to ask about Olivia’s love life. She thought it best to find another way to get what she wanted—to avoid upsetting Ethan—but no matter how she worded her question, there’d be no easy way to broach the subject.
“Please forgive me, but I have to ask a very personal question. When was the last time you and Olivia had been intimate?”
Ethan turned his head and stared through her.
“How is that pertinent to your investigation?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”
“The question is routine. The medical examiner will need to know for exclusionary purposes if he finds something during the autopsy. Now please, answer my question.”
When Ethan stalled, Rachel Blevins fidgeted in her chair. Angel would have expected the publicist to intervene in the interest of protecting her client, but the woman didn’t interfere. Cronan must have noticed the same thing.
“I’ve changed my mind. I can use coffee. Anyone else?” her partner asked.
Angel shook her head, and the publicist did the same. When Ethan didn’t respond at all, Cronan turned to Rachel.
“Show me where the kitchen is?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
After her partner left with Rachel, Angel was alone with Ethan. She knew Cronan well enough to know that he’d been deliberate in splitting up the publicist from her client, hoping Ethan would be freer to share. Rachel also had strong opinions about Olivia Davenport. If the woman didn’t have to worry about the feelings of her client, she might be brutally honest. Divide and conquer was worth a shot. Angel couldn’t let Ethan off the hook. She needed his answer.
“Please, Mr. Chandler. Answer the question. When was the last time you had sex with Olivia Davenport?”
***
Rachel Blevins had seen through Gabe’s ruse to get her alone, and she didn’t look happy about it, but the fact that she came with him told Cronan something. She wanted to spill her guts. An ornery woman like Rachel always did, even though she probably wouldn’t make it easy. She crossed her arms and glared at him when they got to the kitchen. All pretenses of civility were done and gone.
“I can show you where he keeps the java, Slick, but don’t expect me to make it for you. Suzie homemaker, I’m not.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He matched her stance. “Do you know if Olivia Davenport cheated on Ethan?”
“Ha.” She grinned and leaned against the kitchen counter. “You know something or else you wouldn’t have asked the question, tough guy. Don’t give me the same bull your partner laid on Ethan. Routine, my ass.”
“Your ass would be anything but routine.” He cocked his head and smiled.
Rachel narrowed her eyes—pretending to be offended—before she eased into a grin.
“I’m not sure I like that you’ve checked out my ass.”
“Oh yeah, you do.” Cronan raised an eyebrow before he rummaged through kitchen cabinets looking for coffee. “A woman who goes to as much trouble to look the way you do expects men to notice. Now where is that coffee? And answer the damned question.”
***
Thirty Minutes Later
“This is shaping up to be a movie of the week, a flick on that women’s channel,” Cronan said with a straight face as they heading for the front exit. “You know those cable TV shows where all men are bad and someone’s gotta die?”
Angel rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’re such a guy.”
“Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t a compliment?” He opened the front door for her and let her pass. Once they got outside Ethan Chandler’s building and were beyond earshot of the media circus, Angel made sure an overzealous reporter hadn’t followed them before she compared notes with Gabe as they headed for their ride.
“He had sex with Olivia last weekend, not the night she was killed. So we’re missing one condom donor,” she said. “Ethan was definitely hurting, for real.”
Angel knew what it felt like to lose someone special. Maybe she’d projected her grief onto Ethan, but she preferred to think she was a good judge of character.
“Did he know his girlfriend cheated on him?” Cronan asked. The abrupt question surprised her.
“I, ah…never asked. I mean, it never came up.”
“Never came up? Come on, Angel. You ask the questions and they answer. That’s how it works.” When her face heated, her partner changed the subject. “According to Vampira, Olivia didn’t have a monogamous bone in her body. She would have screwed anything breathing. PR lady wasn’t sure that breathing was a strict requirement. Her words, not mine.”
Cronan reached into his pocket for his car keys.
“Rachel didn’t have any real proof,” he said. “Only her suspicions, but she’d seen Olivia flirting, even when she had that poor schmuck with her. If that’s true, Olivia was a real piece of work, with a mean streak worthy of her mad skills.”
Normally Cronan didn’t speak ill of the dead—unless they deserved it.
“You believe what Rachel told you?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a feeling she’d lie about her own mother if it gave her an edge. She’s got no…soul, you know?”
“Yeah, I hear that.”
Cronan unlocked the vehicle and looked over his shoulder at her. When she caught him staring, she shrugged and asked, “What? Do I have something in my teeth?”
“No, it’s just…” He flipped the keys in his hand, avoiding her eyes.
“Come on, buddy. How long have we been doing this?” she insisted and propped her hands on the roof of the vehicle. “Now tell me. What’s up?”
“You got a little distracted back there. You do a good interview, but you didn’t press him. You walked on egg shells to avoid the subject of Olivia cheating.” He stood outside the driver’s door and turned to look up the street as he spoke. “Jealousy can be motive for murder, Angel. If he knew about her extra-curriculars, that could’ve set him off.”
“In case you didn’t notice, the guy’s blind, Gabe.”
“Yeah, but where do you think the phrase ‘blind rage’ came from? And murder for hire is an equal opportunity employer. Even a guy with a handicap can hire a pro.” He heaved a sigh. “My gut tells me this had to be personal. Most pros wouldn’t use a knife like that. I’m just sayin’ we need to keep our options open. We haven’t ruled him out as a suspect yet. Or was ther
e another reason you gave him Angel Lite?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I got the feeling that you…” Cronan fixed his intense blue eyes on her. “…that you went a little soft on him because…”
At first Angel smiled and almost laughed off her partner’s misguided concern, but something in Cronan’s eyes made her stop. She’d seen the look before when he thought she hadn’t noticed.
“Spit it out, Gabe.”
“I mean, he’s a good looking guy, and it’s been two years since Manny died. You’re entitled to…look.” He loosened his tie. “I personally don’t see him as your type, but…”
“Oh, here we go.” She got inside and slammed the door. When her partner slid into the driver seat, she let him have it. “I don’t want to hear your version of my type, Gabe. And I don’t need you to tell me what I’m entitled to after Manny. You’re over the line, even for you. I know you’re gonna think I’m exaggerating, but you totally suck at diplomacy.”
Cronan started the engine with his jaw clenched. He let the air-conditioning cool things off as an awkward silence closed in.
“You’re right.” He stared straight ahead with his hands gripping the wheel. “You don’t need a guy like me telling you anything. What you and Manny had, that was real special. But he’s gone and— Oh, hell. Forget I said anything.”
As Cronan pulled the Crown Vic from the curb and merged into traffic, Angel wanted to stay mad at him for overstepping his bounds as a partner and a friend. But his version of an apology—‘Forget I said anything’—almost made her smile. She’d never seen him so unsure of himself. He had a hard time wielding the words when things got personal. Gabe showed his feelings and like most men, he never cared much for talking about ‘touchy feely’ stuff.
That didn’t mean his message didn’t get through to her. She’d read him loud and clear. For the first time since Manny died, she had thoughts about another man and Gabe had noticed—even before she had.
What was that all about?
***
North of Downtown Chicago
