by Jordan Dane
Normally arguing with Angel got him fired up in a good way. Cronan loved a healthy debate as much as the next guy, and a shot of adrenaline from time to time wasn’t a bad thing. Clashes were bound to happen between two headstrong people and past disagreements had always been job related. But this time he’d stomped over personal territory, and he felt lousy doing it.
He’d won the prize for being the colossal jerk wad of the century and in his case, it wasn’t good to be King.
“This is it,” Angel said as she pointed to an upscale condominium project on the fringe of the suburbs. On the drive over, his partner had done her best to minimize the strain from their argument by sticking to the case.
It looked to be working for her. Too bad he couldn’t say the same.
“Man, I don’t know what the Department of Cultural Affairs pays an entry level promotion person, but I think daddy kicked in coin,” she said as he drove through the main gate and found a parking spot in front of the building where Olivia had lived. “Daddy D must have pulled a few strings to get his daughter a good start in life.”
“I’ll say,” he agreed. “Maybe a life of handouts wouldn’t have done her any favors in the long run.”
With Olivia dead, he’d never know if his theory had substance. It could be nothing more than useless ramblings from the King of jerk wads.
“I don’t know.” Angel shrugged. “I think it would take a lot of will power to turn down free money if it were handed to you. If you didn’t know a different way of living, why would you give that up?”
“That’s a scary thought. So what you’re sayin’ is that ignorance is bliss.” He smiled. “If you’re born with money, you have no idea how bad it really is for you. A place like this is more like a gilded cage. You and me, we’re better off without all this grandeur.”
“Well, that’s one way to look at it.”
The condominium grounds were beautifully landscaped, and the gated entrance would keep traffic to a minimum, even though the guard booth was unmanned. The exterior of white stucco had an interesting array of balconies jutting out over terraced floral beds. Blue and terracotta decorative tile lined walkways and set off windows. The complex had a sprawling Mediterranean look and a decent view of Lake Michigan.
“I think my first apartment was smaller than one of those balconies.” Cronan grimaced into the afternoon sun as he got out of the vehicle and slipped on sunglasses. “You got the unit number?”
“Yeah, and we won’t have to chase down someone to let us in. The computer forensics techs are here to take her computer into evidence. Schumacher’s guys. He’s already cleared the way for us.”
“Sweet.”
When they entered Olivia’s unit, the forensic team greeted them and were in the process of disconnecting her computer. Cronan recognized one of the guys.
“You find anything interesting on her computer?” he asked.
“Not yet. She had it off so we won’t know anything until we get it back to the lab. Logging on would have changed the file time stamps. We want to preserve what’s on the hard drive.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said and glanced at Angel. She smiled as she slipped into her latex gloves, but she never said a word.
“We’ll let you know what we find out,” the tech said.
A computer had become a necessary part of murder investigations for various reasons, but he’d resisted getting sucked into the high-tech world. Angel wasn’t much better. Both of them usually needed help translating geek speak.
“Thanks,” he said.
None of the science geeks were very chatty, which worked for Cronan. He preferred to go through Olivia’s home without anyone hovering over his shoulder. After putting on his latex gloves, he walked through the residence and looked for anything to catch his eye.
Olivia Davenport had expensive taste and surrounded herself with the best of everything. Cronan saw dollar signs everywhere. The rooms looked as if an interior designer had decorated them. Cozy yet pricey. Rich palettes of gold mixed with earth tones. Olivia’s good taste ranged from top dollar furnishings to paintings and art pieces.
Unlike daddy dearest, Olivia didn’t decorate with dead animal carcasses. Even though there were pictures of hunting trips on bookshelves—photos of Olivia with her father with a noticeably absent mother—there weren’t as many framed memories as were in the Davenport home. He wondered if that was significant. Her father’s slip of the tongue about Olivia hadn’t gone unnoticed.
‘…she resents my…our interference in her personal life…’
“Cronan? I got flowers over here. Fresh.” Angel called out. “The card only has two words—Love, me.”
“Maybe the florist can help us track down Mr. FTD.”
“Yeah. I’ll run that down,” she said.
Cronan spotted a photograph across the living room that drew his attention. It was a photo of Olivia with Ethan Chandler. Olivia didn’t have many photos displayed of the two of them together, considering she dated the guy. That hadn’t hit him until he saw the photo.
Olivia looked stunning in a long black gown, and Ethan had on a tux and held his violin. The event looked like a concert or a fancy charity gig. They’d made a good-looking couple. Although both of them were smiling, something else had drawn him to the image.
“Angel, come check this out. Tell me what you think.” When she joined him, he showed her the picture and said, “Check out that look on her face. Is she flirting with the guy taking the photo? I mean, she’s got the hots for someone. All that lusty heat is not directed at Ethan.”
Angel grabbed the photo from his hands and stared at it.
“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “But she was an attractive woman who loved a good photo op. Maybe that’s all it was.”
“No, I’ve seen that look before. That’s a look every guy wants to see in a woman’s eyes.”
Angel chuckled. “I have no doubt you’ve seen that look plenty of times, Gabe. In fact, I’d consider you an expert. You might be right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Angel handed him back the photo and didn’t answer. She only shook her head and walked away.
“Rachel had said Olivia flirted, even if Ethan stood right next to her,” he muttered, staring down at the photo again. “Maybe she told the truth about that.”
Cronan noticed there wasn’t a time stamp on the corner of the photo. People like Olivia Davenport didn’t frame date stamped photos like most people on the planet. But he might be able to search newspaper society page archives for her dress. He had a feeling Olivia didn’t wear the same dress twice. If the event was a charity function, his search may not be too difficult. Ethan had admitted dating Olivia off and on over the last six months. If he could track down a guest list from a charity event, he might notice a familiar name.
He had a feeling that finding out who had taken the photo might be important.
Beyond Olivia’s parents and Ethan Chandler, they needed a broader look at her circle of acquaintances. Someone in the public eye like Olivia Davenport would have plenty of people in her life. But good friends, that were her inner circle, might be another story.
Cronan set down the photo and wandered toward the dining room and kitchen. On a console table behind a sofa, a blinking red light stopped him short. Her answering machine had messages. He hit the play button and continued his search, listening to several messages on her machine. The head of an organizing committee had called to ask her to volunteer, and a girlfriend had called to ask about having lunch when she got to town next week.
But the last message got his attention.
‘We gotta talk. Now. Call me.’
A man’s voice, and the guy sounded pissed.
“Who the hell was that?” Angel questioned.
Cronan checked the caller ID.
“The guy knew her well enough not to leave a name. Caller ID says it’s Bryce Peterson. Does that name ring a bell to you?”
“No. I haven’t
heard it through this case or anywhere else.” Angel made a note of the name, and Cronan gave her the phone number. “Is that the last message?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll check her bedroom.”
Gabe caught her eye at the same time her cell phone rang. Angel reached into her pocket to retrieve it.
“I’ll catch up.” She nodded as he headed down a hall.
***
When Angel looked down at her phone display, she recognized the incoming number. On instinct—in a move she’d think a lot about later—she went looking for a private spot to talk.
“I gotta take this. Give me a sec.” She called out to Cronan and headed outside. When she was alone and beyond earshot, she answered the call. “Hello.”
“Detective Ramirez?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, uh…I wasn’t sure who would answer. I’m glad it’s you. This is Ethan Chandler.”
Angel felt her heart ramp up to a new level, and she had to steady her breathing.
“How did you get this number, Mr. Chandler? On the business card I gave you, the number is for the station dispatcher.”
“Reading business cards isn’t a strong suit of mine. But since you called my cell earlier, it was easier for me to hit redial. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”
Angel felt the heat rush to her face as Ethan explained that his cell has “a voice” to help him navigate its system. He made assurances that her business card would not get tossed. He had a card scanner and a specialized computer that had voice controls so he wouldn’t be disadvantaged.
She took a deep breath after remembering her call to Ethan on their way to his residence.
“No, it’s okay. What can I do for you?” When her voice cracked, she winced.
“I know this might sound like an odd request, but I hoped we could talk, face to face.”
“My partner and I can meet you somewhere. Would that be convenient?”
“No, I mean…just you. I’ll explain when I see you.” Ethan suggested meeting in a public place at a restaurant bar down the street from where he lived. He wasn’t in a rush to do it. “Will nine tonight work for you?”
It didn’t take her long to make up her mind.
“Yeah, that’ll work. See you then.” She ended the call and stared straight ahead. She hadn’t hesitated, and she didn’t regret what she’d done—at least, not yet. Not even when the voice in her head said, Ramirez, you’re a damned idiot!
The guy might have called because he felt comfortable with her. She’d been the one who had talked to him most. He could have something new for their investigation, but as Cronan pointed out, Ethan was on the suspect list until they ruled him out.
“Who was that on the phone?”
Gabe’s voice made her leap out of her skin. She turned to face him, unsure how much he had overheard of her conversation. Angel stared into his unwavering blue eyes and had no idea what she’d say.
Chapter 6
Cronan stared down at Angel who looked as if she’d swallowed a chicken bone. She blinked a couple of times—wide-eyed and gorgeous—before she glanced at her phone. For a minute, he gave thought to check if his fly was open.
“Sorry. Did I scare you?” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and gave a quick glance at his zipper. “Was that Schumacher with an update?”
“No.” She shook her head and swallowed, hard. “What’s up? Did you…find something?”
The awkwardness between them had returned. Since his fly wasn’t the reason, his next thought was that he’d intruded on something very private. From the look on Angel’s face, she wasn’t in a sharing mood. He narrowed his eyes, unsure whether he should press her with more questions on her call or talk about what really bothered him—the personal tension between them. But after Angel walked by him and headed for Olivia Davenport’s front door, he’d missed his opportunity to clear the air.
“Yeah, one of the techs found something actually,” he said. “In her bedroom.”
He directed Angel toward the back of the condo into the master suite. The bedroom was as beautiful as the rest of the place. It had oversized furniture, fancy bed linens and pillows, with long flowing white drapes to add drama to the high ceilings. The room looked like a high-end magazine layout from Architectural Digest.
Except for one thing.
“Apparently Olivia Davenport had secrets,” he said.
Cronan pointed down to an open black leather suitcase on the carpet. One of the evidence techs had found the case under the bed, filled with sadomasochistic devices. A strap-on dildo, fur-lined handcuffs, leather whips and blindfolds—S&M contraptions that he had no idea what they were used for.
Well, almost no idea.
“Looks like Olivia had an alter-ego. This suitcase is filled with classic bondage and discipline gear, right down to the ball gag and spreader bar. Check out her bed.” He pointed to sections of an elaborately carved metal headboard and footboard that appeared to be scraped. “These marks look like someone was bound. Maybe a chain or metal handcuffs scraped off the black paint.”
Angel looked closer and grimaced.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she muttered. “Miss high society got tempted by the dark side of the Force.”
“And check out the sturdy metal hooks positioned around the room, in odd places. They don’t look like plant holders.” He pointed to the closest hook and a few others. “I don’t want to know what that one over her bed was used for.”
“Oh, come on, Gabe. Of course you want to know.”
“Okay…you got me.” He glanced at her sideways.
“Do you think she was the one cracking the whip or the submissive?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say she liked being in charge, but…” He shrugged.
“But what?”
“This is all pretty damning stuff, on the surface,” he said. “Kinky sex points to a dangerous lifestyle, but she probably kept her second life secret from her friends. We may have to go directly to the players to see what she was up to. Something here could lead us to motive, but this crowd relies on discretion. They don’t talk much.”
“Yeah, and in Chicago, who knows where she might have gone?”
“Someone like Olivia would have fewer options if she wanted to be discreet. There are places a person like her could go. I can check with some of my sources.”
“You have sources in the rough sex trade?”
Cronan shrugged, but didn’t answer. He had something else on his mind.
“But this doesn’t feel right, Angel.” He walked around the room and picked up a photo of her smiling father off the dresser and showed it to his partner. “’Cause I can’t see her donning leather with daddy watching.”
“Now that you mention it, that does appear a little bent and twisted, but isn’t that the whole point?”
“Just hear me out. This girl had been tied to daddy’s purse strings her whole life. If she’d wanted to rebel, she could have found other ways to do that. This feels…secret. If she’d intended to make a point with daddy, she would’ve done it in other ways, too. Don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “A woman like this has got to have a maid service. It doesn’t feel right that she’d leave a suitcase under her bed where any nosey maid could’ve found it.” He leaned against the dresser, set down the photo, and crossed his arms.
“Yeah, but those scratches on her headboard,” Angel said, “and the metal hooks positioned around the room. They’re worn, and they don’t seem haphazard to me. None of it goes with this pricey décor. A woman as meticulous as Olivia Davenport, she wouldn’t have settled for anything less than perfection when it came to decorating her place…unless the hooks served a purpose that was more important than a seal of approval from House Beautiful.”
After his partner made her point, she added, “I can see keeping an open mind, Gabe. But sometimes you gotta take a strap-on dildo at face value.”
“Thanks for that image.” He nodded. “’P
reciate it.”
“Anytime.” She smiled.
“The techs will inspect this gear for DNA, epithelial cells, and fingerprints, but that will take time. My gut tells me this is wrong. It’s a smoke screen. A diversion.”
“Then let’s keeping digging. We’ll follow the evidence. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”
“Yeah, guess so.”
Gabe looked perplexed by what they’d found, and she saw his mind working the case on his own. Despite her encouraging words to him about sticking to the evidence, Angel had a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. After seeing the bondage gear, she didn’t want to think about Ethan being involved in Olivia’s dark secret. Yet she couldn’t get images of him out of her head. In truth she could easily picture him being the submissive to a dominant lover’s obsession, but was he capable of playing a more forceful role? Either way, it scared her to think of him leading a deviant lifestyle, no matter who cracked the whip.
Why had she agreed to meet him?
She’d lied to Gabe. Well, not exactly lied, but she sure hadn’t been up front about her phone call from Ethan. Even now, she knew she wouldn’t tell her partner. Something had driven her to keep her rendezvous with the violinist private, and she couldn’t help but wonder.
Was that how Olivia’s secret life had started?
***
Hours Later
After Angel told him she had something personal to do, Cronan didn’t put up a fuss when she said she’d see him at the station in the morning. He had his own private matter to take care of—to further the investigation into Olivia Davenport’s murder—and he’d chosen not to involve his partner.
Where he had to go, Cronan didn’t want Angel with him.
He needed to shower and change clothes before he hit the street again, but he had another reason to make a side trip to his place. Jack would be waiting for him. With the sun down, he pulled his vehicle up to his front door in a compound that was locked and secured by a heavy-duty steel gate that closed behind him on remote. No one from the street could see past the gate to know anyone lived behind it.
