Cavanaugh Encounter

by Marie Ferrarella

  She assumed that the answer to that was self-explanatory. “To get my car.”

  “Since we’re all going to the same place, why don’t we all go there in one car?” O’Bannon suggested.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was speaking to her as if he was addressing a child. Doing her best not to lose her temper, she said, “Okay, we’ll use my car since I’m the one who knows where we’re going.”

  Luke gave this temporary addition to his team a tolerant look. “I’m assuming this isn’t some secret location where we’ll have to be blindfolded before we can go there.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good,” Luke declared. “Then we’ll go in my car and you can give me directions,” he told her. “You do know how to give directions, right, DeMarco?”

  Frankie gave the man a withering look. She might have to mind her Ps and Qs while talking to him, but he had no control over the thoughts going through her head.

  “Yes. I’m giving you some right now,” she told O’Bannon.

  White Hawk nearly choked, trying not to laugh out loud.

  “Good thing I’m not a mind reader,” he responded. Hitting a button that opened all four of the car doors, he said, “Okay, let’s go.”

  Frankie got in on the passenger side. “The crime scene investigators have already been there,” she told him.

  Luke opened the driver’s side door and got in. “I kind of figured that out when you said that your victim was in autopsy,” he told her. “But I like looking around the crime scene for myself. Humor me,” he added.

  “You’re the lead,” she replied tersely, just before giving him the address where her cousin’s body had been found.

  Luke heard the less-than-happy note in her voice and assumed it referred to the fact that he had taken over the case.

  “Any time you want to jump off the merry-go-round, go right ahead. You’re more than welcome to do so,” he told her. He glanced in his rearview mirror to see if White Hawk had gotten in and buckled up yet.

  “Understood,” she told O’Bannon in the same tone of voice.

  Having secured his seatbelt, White Hawk took a moment to lean forward in his seat. “Don’t worry. He’ll grow on you,” he promised the sexy detective.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m worried,” she responded, then explained, “so does fungus.”

  “Luckily, they’ve got medications for that,” O’Bannon told her as he adjusted his side mirrors before putting his key in the ignition.

  Shifting ever so slightly in her seat, Frankie looked at the lead detective pointedly and said, “I sincerely hope so.”

  White Hawk sighed quietly. It was obvious that he felt called upon to act as a referee in this verbal sparring match. He spoke up, trying to distract the new member of the team by asking her a simple question.

  “How did you happen to catch this case? I missed that part.”

  Frankie knew the other detective was just asking her that in order to try to keep the peace. But she found him rather easygoing and likeable, so she answered his question.

  “I know the woman who was the victim’s roommate, Amanda Culpepper.” She recited the story that she had memorized for O’Bannon’s benefit—and in order to be allowed to work this case. “When Amanda found Kristin unconscious on the floor and couldn’t revive her, she panicked and called me.”

  “Found her how?” White Hawk asked. “Did she wake up in the morning and walk in to find the victim just lying there like that?”

  “No, Amanda had gone away for the weekend. She told me that she had gone to Las Vegas with her boyfriend and spent three full days there.”

  As Frankie recited the details for what felt like the umpteenth time, she could literally feel O’Bannon listening to her every word despite the fact that she had already told him all of this. She had a feeling that the lead detective was paying such close attention to what she was saying because he expected her to trip herself up and confuse the details.

  Frankie couldn’t help wondering if she had suddenly become a suspect by bringing her cousin’s murder to the department’s fair-haired boy. She found herself wishing that the detective in the backseat was the lead on this multiple murder case instead of O’Bannon.

  White Hawk didn’t make her feel uneasy. O’Bannon did. She felt as if, despite his laidback manner, O’Bannon was scrutinizing every word out of her mouth and comparing them to every other word she’d already said.

  “When did this happen?” White Hawk asked.

  “I got the call early this morning.”

  “So the crime scene’s not that fresh,” O’Bannon said, whether for her benefit or for his partner’s, she wasn’t sure. In either case, she did her best to take the remark in stride and not view it as a criticism that she’d been remiss in not bringing the matter to Homicide’s attention immediately.

  It left her wondering if O’Bannon actually wanted the case and had just been yanking her chain earlier about her reasons for bringing the case to him.

  “It was fresh when the CSI Unit arrived to go over it a couple of hours ago,” she replied coldly.

  “We’ll talk to them after we have a look around,” O’Bannon said, and it was clear to Frankie that he was addressing his partner and not her.

  Even so, she was determined to work with this man. It was the only way she would find Kristin’s killer.

  Frankie nodded in response to what he had just said and murmured, “Fine.”

  “Glad we have your permission,” Luke replied.

  “Turn right at the corner,” she directed coldly.

  He spared her a glance before doing as she had prompted. Luke was deliberately trying to rattle her, to get her to squirm and lose her cool. It was his way of seeing just what she was made of and who he was actually dealing with.

  Had Francesca DeMarco been just another beautiful woman who crossed his path, his approach to her would have been entirely different. But he wasn’t trying to date her—that was on the back burner for now—he was attempting to find out just what sort of a person was trying to be part of his team, no matter how temporarily.

  The team was only as good as its weakest link, and he needed to evaluate just what kind of detective DeMarco was.

  He was fairly sure he could ascertain this from her record on the force. There were reports on file that could be accessed, if not by him, then by his cousin, Valri, who worked in the police department’s computer lab.

  A tour of social media would get him additional personal information.

  He doubted if DeMarco would believe him if he told her, but he was actually rooting for her.

  Still, he had to be sure before he let her sign on for this. If she messed up the investigation for whatever reason, that would be on him, and his lieutenant would be the first one to say it, despite Handel’s blasé attitude about DeMarco’s joining the investigation.

  “Where’s this roommate staying?” Luke asked out of the blue.

  She knew why he was asking. Amanda couldn’t stay in her apartment until the yellow tape went down. “She’s crashing on a friend’s couch until the crime scene’s been cleared.”

  “Yours?” Luke asked bluntly.

  “Someone else’s,” she answered, bracing herself for a barrage of questions as to why she wasn’t taking in the victim’s roommate. She decided to jump ahead of him and answer the main question before it was asked. “Wouldn’t seem right if I had her staying at my place while I’m investigating her roommate’s murder. That would look like a conflict of interest.”

  Silently he congratulated her for being one step ahead of this pantomime even as he asked, “Do you always play by the rules?”

  Her eyes met his as she quietly told him, “That’s all we’ve got, are the rules.”

  A hint of a smile curved
his lips. “Huh. You didn’t answer my question, DeMarco.”

  “Why are you badgering her, O’Bannon?” White Hawk asked his partner. “She’s on our team, remember?” he pointed out.

  Rick White Hawk smiled his support at the petite brunette when she turned around in her seat to look at him.

  Frankie returned his smile.

  “Yeah, so she is,” was all Luke said in response to his partner’s observation.

  He didn’t trust her, Frankie thought, looking at O’Bannon.

  Well, she didn’t need O’Bannon to trust her. She just needed him to work with her and help her find her cousin’s killer. After that, they never had to see each other again.

  As a matter of fact, she preferred it that way.

  Chapter 3

  The yellow crime tape was still fastened across the door of the apartment where Kristin’s body had been found. Frankie silently drew in a breath as she watched O’Bannon pull aside the tape that announced to the world at large that a crime had taken place here and that no headway had been made because the investigation was obviously still ongoing.

  O’Bannon unlocked the door and pushed it open, then entered the apartment. White Hawk was right behind him, but to Frankie’s surprise, the tall detective stepped back and instead waved her in ahead of him.

  “Ladies first,” White Hawk said.

  A small hint of a smile fleetingly graced her lips as Frankie murmured, “Thank you,” just before walking into the apartment.

  It felt as if she was moving in slow motion along the bottom of a lake filled with Jell-O. She’d been to her share of homicides when she’d worked as a detective in Los Angeles before transferring to Aurora, but everything seemed eerie and unreal to her within the apartment.

  Doing her best to appear unaffected, Frankie slanted a glance toward the living room floor where she’d last seen her cousin lying facedown right in front of the entrance at the rear of the apartment.

  Damn it, snap out of it and get a grip on yourself. You’re a detective working a case, not a cousin mourning the loss of the last of her family.

  “Something wrong?” Luke asked her, his deep voice disrupting her thoughts.

  Rousing herself, she shook off her mood and made eye contact with O’Bannon. She would have to watch herself around him.

  “No, just reviewing the crime scene, that’s all,” she answered.

  He’d been watching her face since they had walked in. Something was off, Luke thought. “Something look out of place to you?” Luke questioned.

  Yes. Kris shouldn’t have been killed, here or anywhere else.

  “No,” Frankie said out loud. “Everything is just the way I saw it when the EMTs arrived to try to revive Kristin.”

  An alert look came into his eyes. “You said she was dead.”

  “She was, but Amanda called 911 and requested an ambulance before I was sure that Kristin was already dead,” she told him. Why was he trying to trip her up? “The ME was called in right after that.”

  “And who called for the CSI unit?” Luke asked.

  Frankie couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being grilled, but she knew it was important to keep her cool, answering his questions. There was nothing to be gained by losing her temper and telling O’Bannon to back off. “I did,” she told him.

  “And you remained here while they canvassed the apartment.” It was more of a statement on his part than a question.

  “Yes.”

  Luke nodded his head. All the while his eyes swept over the immediate area. “Very thorough of you.”

  Despite everything, Frankie could feel her temper flaring. She struggled to keep it in check.

  “It’s not my first rodeo, O’Bannon. You needn’t patronize me,” she told him.

  “Sorry,” he told her, raising his hands. “I wasn’t aware that I was doing that.”

  “Yes, you were.” Her eyes met his. If she was going to be tossed out, she might as well speak her mind and be dismissed for a reason. “I work in Major Crimes, not the neighborhood sandbox,” she told him. “I don’t deserve to be talked down to like some kind of wet-behind-the ears novice.”

  She heard White Hawk laugh, something she assumed would further anger O’Bannon.

  “She’s got a point, O’Bannon,” he told his partner when Luke shot him a reproving glance for laughing at the woman’s retort.

  Rather than contest the words, or give them both a piece of his mind the way that Frankie expected, O’Bannon merely shrugged.

  “Sorry,” he said to her. “I didn’t mean to insult you. Just trying to be thorough on my end.” He paused for a moment, then asked her, “Do you know which is the victim’s room?”

  “The second one right off the bathroom. Your uncle’s unit has already gone over the entire apartment,” she pointed out again. Not to mention that she had, as well. Exactly what did he hope to find?

  “I know,” Luke replied. “But it never hurts to have another set of eyes going over the apartment—or, in this case, a fourth set,” he said, recalling that his uncle usually took at least two other members of the unit with him to go over any crime scene he was investigating. Luke turned his attention toward his partner. “Why don’t you look around and see if you notice anything out of place. Anything that might help us with the case,” he emphasized.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked O’Bannon when he didn’t give her any instructions.

  “The same,” he answered. “Unless you’d rather sit in the car,” he added. Seeing the insulted look Frankie shot him, he dug into his pocket and took out a set of rubber gloves. He held them out to her. “Here.”

  “I have my own, thanks,” she replied, taking a set of clear plastic gloves from the inside pocket of her jacket.

  Luke smiled. “Brownie points for the new kid on the block,” he said with approval. “Okay, get busy, people. We’ve still got another crime scene waiting for us after we deal with this one.”

  “Another crime scene?” Frankie questioned.

  “When you came in this morning, we’d just caught another murder. Body’s with the medical examiner,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your victim’s apartment was on our way so I decided to stop here first.”

  This was staggering. “How many victims did you say that this guy has killed?” she asked.

  “Seven,” Luke answered. “And you’re jumping to conclusions that the killer is a man.”

  She looked at O’Bannon, puzzled. “Then the serial killer’s not a man?”

  “Most likely it is. But what I’m saying is that, in this modern age, nothing’s a given anymore,” Luke informed her. “There was a time when no one believed that a woman could be capable of doing something so heinous as killing one person, much less enough people to qualify being regarded as a serial killer.

  “But the times, they are a-changing and there have been a number of documented female serial killers. It doesn’t happen very often—but it does happen. So, bottom line, rule out no one because of their gender,” he advised. “Keep an open mind at all times.”

  “Sorry, just a figure of speech,” Frankie told the lead detective.

  Luke nodded, accepting her explanation. “I’ll consider this as part of your learning curve,” he replied. He began to head toward the victim’s bedroom only to realize that Frankie was going in the same direction. “Why don’t you take a look around your friend’s bedroom? Sorry,” he caught himself before she could correct him. “I mean your acquaintance’s bedroom. I got the victim’s bedroom,” he said pointedly. Turning to the other member of the team, he said, “White Hawk, you’ve got everything else.”

  White Hawk sighed. “I figured as much,” the tall detective acknowledged.

  “Then let’s get to it,” Luke instructed, walking into the victim’s b
edroom.

  It was small, compact and orderly. The victim had been a great deal neater than he was, Luke noted, thinking of his own living quarters.

  He reviewed everything methodically. If Kristin Andrews had done any entertaining in this bedroom the night she was killed, there didn’t seem to be any evidence of that fact at first glance.

  But if she had been murdered by the serial killer he was currently hunting down, Luke had already learned that the man was methodical, not sloppy.

  If it was a man, he added silently with a slight ironic smile.

  En route here, Luke had had his uncle send him a list of things that the CSI unit had taken from the apartment to examine for possible clues as to why Kristen been chosen by the killer. Scrolling through that list now on his smartphone, he found no indication that a cell phone or a computer of any sort—laptop or tower—had been found on the premises and taken to the lab.

  Luke stared at the list and frowned. That didn’t seem right. In this day and age, everyone had electronic gadgets. They were all but hermetically sealed to them. Why weren’t there any in Kristin’s room?

  His first guess was that this meant whoever had killed Kristin had made off with her cell phone and whatever laptop, tablet or other electronic device she used to surf the net and entrust with her personal data.

  Still, he went through her closet and her bureau drawers, just in case he was wrong. After all, the killer got his kicks terminating the lives of young women, not making off with their electronic gadgets.

  The killer also didn’t sexually attack his victims, which only added to the mystery. Just why were these women killed?

  Coming up empty in his search, Luke decided to check one last place—under the victim’s mattress. Lifting it as far up as he could, he reached in and felt around along the entire perimeter of the box spring.

  The tips of his fingers came in contact with something hard and smooth.

  “Eureka,” he declared a little louder than he had intended.

  The next moment, White Hawk peered into the bedroom. “What’s up? Did you just discover buoyancy?”