Cavanaugh Encounter

by Marie Ferrarella

  Luke paused in the doorway just long enough to ask the question. “So, you do feel that this is the work of the same killer who murdered the other women?”

  “There’s no doubt about it, Luke,” Sean confirmed for his nephew.

  “That’s what I thought.” Nodding his head grimly, Luke made his way back up to the squad room. He had a sample of his own to collect.

  Chapter 7

  Frankie looked up when she heard O’Bannon walk in and return to his desk. When she spoke, she tried not to sound as anxious as she felt. But she felt there was a strong possibility that Valri Cavanaugh had found the connection between her and Kristin.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  Luke dropped into his chair, his mind elsewhere. Belatedly, her single word replayed itself in his head. “Come again?”

  Was he toying with her, or was there nothing to say? “Your cousin called you and you went down to the computer lab,” she said, going over the chain of events. “Did she find out something of interest?”

  “Oh, that. Not yet,” he lied. He wanted to work this out in his head first and then pick his time before questioning DeMarco. “It was just family business,” he told her, anticipating the detective’s next question.

  She didn’t look as if she believed him and made no effort to explain anything any further. They all had their secrets, Luke mused. “How about you?” he asked, glancing from her to his partner. “Either one of you find anything new in those files?”

  “All of the victims were in their twenties,” White Hawk said. He was saying it for Frankie’s benefit.

  “And the killer definitely has a type,” Frankie added, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “All the victims were dark-haired, intelligent, professional women—” She rose from her desk and crossed back to the bulletin board. She indicated the women one by one. “Ellen O’Keefe was a kindergarten teacher, Kris Andrews was a nurse, as was Elena Vegas. Jane Gorman was an accountant. Kelly McClusky was interning at a law firm. Penny James was a resident in a hospital, while the first one, Debra Evans, the senator’s niece, worked at an advertising firm.” She frowned as she studied the board again. “Did any of them know any of the others?” Nothing she’d found in her files indicated that they did, but there was always a possibility.

  Luke shook his head. “As far as I can tell, they weren’t even remotely connected.”

  “Did they have anything else in common besides their looks and their ages?” she asked. It almost sounded as if she was posing the question to herself. Since she had just been brought into the case and the other two detectives were more familiar with the details, she asked them, “Did any of the victims have a record?”

  “No,” White Hawk answered. “Not even a parking ticket. From all indications, they were all exemplary citizens.”

  There was only one other factor she was aware of. “What about addiction?” she asked. “Mrs. O’Keefe said her daughter had beaten her addiction to painkillers and so did Kristin—according to what Amanda had said,” she added as an afterthought, referring to her cousin’s roommate to cover up her slip. “Did any of the other victims have either stints in rehab or drug addictions they had conquered?” Even as she asked the question, another thought occurred to her. “Maybe they all attended the same rehab center?” she suggested, looking from Luke to White Hawk.

  Luke considered the question. “I don’t know, but it’s worth looking into. If there’s nothing in the files, maybe talking to their friends and families could shed some light on the subject,” he said to the other two detectives.

  “Maybe we’re going to need a bigger team,” White Hawk said. When Luke looked at him quizzically, the other detective added, “You know, like when that guy in Jaws said, ‘We’re going to need a bigger boat.’”

  Frankie nodded. “That’s an apt comparison. They were hunting a predator in the movie and so are we, only ours is human.”

  “For the time being, let’s just see what we can accomplish before we go to Handel, begging for help,” Luke said. It was obvious from his tone that the idea didn’t exactly appeal to him.

  White Hawk inclined his head, ready to go along with whatever Luke wanted to do. “You’re the lead on this,” he said. “If you think that the three of us can handle it, then we can.”

  “Let’s put it to the test,” was all Luke said.

  For once, Frankie agreed with him.

  * * *

  For the remainder of the day, they carefully went over all the information in the files, each of them taking turns reviewing all the folders.

  Finally, Luke leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. It felt as if he had been reading for hours and his eyes were just about ready to cross, not to mention that his head was about to explode. As part of his review, he’d made notes on all the files, listing short, descriptive phrases for each of the victims and then comparing them.

  Beyond what had already been mentioned, there appeared to be no other similarities between the victims. He looked over toward White Hawk who seemed as mentally worn out as he was.

  DeMarco had been placed at a desk near his. The former occupant was currently out on medical leave. Luke sincerely hoped that by the time the detective was cleared for duty and had returned, the case they were working on would be solved, which meant that there would no longer be a need to make use of the detective from Major Crimes.

  Although, Luke caught himself thinking, as annoying as the woman could be, at the same time there was something extremely appealing about Detective Francesca DeMarco.

  She was very easy on the eye if not on the ear, he thought with a smile.

  That was when Frankie looked up and her eyes met his. “Find something?” she asked, responding to the obvious smile that was curving his mouth.

  Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, DeMarco had caught him completely off guard.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got a smug look on your face,” she told him. “Like you just came across something. I was just curious what it was.”

  “No smug look,” he denied, thinking that would put an end to her speculation and questions. “I was just thinking of calling it a day and stopping to get a beer at Malone’s.”

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than White Hawk closed his folder and pushed it away on the desk.

  “That gets my vote,” he told his partner. Turning toward Frankie, he asked, “How about you?”

  She had absolutely no interest—or desire—to go out to get a drink. “I think I’ll keep at this a little longer.”

  “No need to impress anyone,” Luke told her, powering down his computer.

  “I’m not trying to impress anyone,” she responded indignantly, rather insulted that he thought so little of her. Besides, she had no plans to remain with this branch of the department, so there was no point in trying to impress anyone here. “All I want to do is just catch this bastard.”

  “So do the rest of us,” Luke assured her. “But there’s nothing in any of these files that won’t keep until morning.”

  “What if he’s somewhere in here?” she asked, gesturing at the scattered files. It was possible that all three of them had missed something, some glaring fact that would lead them to the serial killer’s identity. “What if putting in that extra hour helps us locate this fiend and stop him—or her,” she added as an afterthought, recalling what O’Bannon had said about gender, “from killing the next victim?”

  “That argument can be extrapolated to include the next day—or the next five. At some point, a person needs to step back and unwind, if only to get a clearer perspective,” Luke told her. When he saw the stubborn expression come over her face, Luke quietly added, “That’s an order.”

  “You can’t order me around,” she protested.

 
“While you’re working my case I can,” he informed Frankie in no uncertain terms, even though he kept his voice low.

  Following Luke’s example, White Hawk was shutting down his own computer.

  “The man has a point,” he told Frankie. “He isn’t right often, so when he is, I say we just give him his due and all head down to Malone’s for that drink.” He looked at Frankie. “C’mon, how about it?” he coaxed. “One drink isn’t going to hurt,” he said, guessing at the source of her reluctance.

  For a moment, Frankie debated just turning them down flatly and going home. She had the names of the victims and she could do a little investigating after hours on her own time.

  But then it occurred to her that if she got O’Bannon on what he probably regarded as his home turf, he might be more relaxed and pliable, which meant that she stood a possibility of getting more information out of him. She couldn’t shake the idea that there had been more to his return visit to see his cousin in the computer lab than he was letting on.

  “Okay,” she agreed, forcing a smile. “I guess that one beer isn’t going to impair my drive home.”

  “And if it does,” Luke said, more or less tongue-in-cheek, “Malone’s has got a room in the back of the bar. You can sleep it off there. Half the people who frequent Malone’s have made use of that room at one time or another.”

  He was pulling her leg, she thought, although she wasn’t a hundred percent totally confident of that. “Have you?” she asked, studying him closely, looking for an indication that he was putting her on.

  “Actually, no,” Luke admitted. “I can hold my liquor—and if I couldn’t, there’s always someone from the family there to drive me home.”

  In an odd way, his words got to her. “Must be nice,” she commented, more to herself than to him as she closed down her computer.

  “To have a family member drive you home?” Luke asked, not quite sure if he got her meaning.

  “To have a family,” she answered before she could censor herself and keep the words from emerging.

  White Hawk looked at her in surprise. “You don’t have any family?”

  “I’ll just follow you guys over,” Frankie said, abruptly changing the subject. Out of the blue, she added, “I don’t have a lot of time tonight.” She was paving the way for her exit.

  “I thought you were planning on staying here all night, working,” Luke reminded her.

  “I just remembered something I was supposed to take care of,” Frankie replied evasively. Aware that White Hawk was taking all this in and grinning, she looked at the detective and nodded toward O’Bannon, asking, “Does he always require an excuse to be submitted in writing before he accepts it?”

  Amused, White Hawk replied, “Like I said, the man takes some time to get used to.”

  Leaving the squad room, they walked down the hall to the elevator.

  “I don’t intend to spend enough time here for that to happen,” Frankie told him—as well as indirectly putting O’Bannon on notice. “The minute this killer is arrested, it’s back to Major Crimes for me.”

  “Someone would think that you don’t like being around us,” Luke quipped.

  “That’s not true,” Frankie said as they got into the elevator. She pressed the button for the first floor. “At least, not about both of you.”

  White Hawk laughed. “I think she has your number, O’Bannon.”

  She expected Luke to be annoyed. Instead, she found that the man’s grin was nothing short of wicked. Sexy and wicked.

  Her reaction unsettled her.

  “Then I hope she remembers to use it,” Luke said, looking directly at her.

  Frankie was doing her best to mentally keep her distance, but it really didn’t seem to be working.

  Stepping out of the elevator on the ground floor, Frankie looked at the two men. “Just one drink,” she emphasized.

  “Nobody’s going to hold you down and pour liquor down your throat, DeMarco,” Luke told her, wondering why she felt the need to put them on notice like this. “The idea behind going to Malone’s is just to unwind, not to get falling-down drunk. You can do that with a cheap bottle of whisky in the privacy of your own home,” he added. “You do know how to get to Malone’s, right?” he asked, just to be sure.

  “I’ve been there before,” Frankie answered.

  She hadn’t gone there often, but she was telling them the truth. She’d gone with the rest of her class the day they all graduated from the academy for a celebratory drink. She’d also gone to Malone’s one other time, although she didn’t remember the circumstances that had prompted that visit.

  Frankie had nothing against sharing a sociable drink, it was just that she always found she was too busy to indulge in that sort of behavior. Working in Major Crimes, she was always the first one in and the last one out—by a long shot. That left her precious little time for any socializing outside of the office.

  “Okay, then we’ll see you there,” Luke said, looking at her expectantly.

  “I said you would,” she answered with a touch of impatience. Why did it matter so much to him if she went out for a drink with them or not?

  “And you are a woman of your word,” he replied.

  Frankie was all set to accuse him of ridiculing her—except that he looked as if he believed what he had just said.

  Maybe, just for the duration of this investigation, O’Bannon and she would find a way to get along.

  But most likely not.

  “Yes, I am,” she said with finality.

  With that, she walked over to where she had parked her vehicle that morning.

  Getting in, she buckled up and started her car. After a moment, not seeing either of the other two detectives, she blew out a breath of relief and pulled out of her parking space.

  With an eye on the rearview mirror—just in case—Frankie left the lot. She didn’t like the idea of being followed and it looked as if she wasn’t.

  Frankie drove down the block in the general direction of the establishment where so many of the men and women from the Aurora police station tended to gather.

  She was still not a hundred percent sold on this idea of socializing with the two men she had spent the day working with. If Malone’s parking lot was crowded, she told herself, she would circle it once. If she didn’t readily find a parking space, then she intended to just go home and see how far she could take the investigation on her own.

  If she was being completely honest with herself, Frankie had to admit that she was rooting for there being no available parking spaces when she pulled into the lot in front of Malone’s.

  But she could see that there were several spaces available. One was even right up front, a few feet from the entrance. With a sigh, she pulled in and turned off her ignition. She sat there for a moment, debating whether or not to get out. By the time she did get out of her car, she saw that both Luke and White Hawk had already walked up and were on either side of her vehicle.

  She looked at them in surprise. “Were you right behind me?” she asked. How else could they have appeared so quickly? But she hadn’t seen either of their vehicles, she thought.

  “If you have to ask that,” Luke told her, “we’re going to have to work on you being able to spot a tail. White Hawk’s car was right behind yours. And I was right behind his.”

  That almost sounded like a mini-convoy—or an escort. “Why?”

  “Because we were all going in the same direction to the same place,” Luke answered matter-of-factly. “I guess maybe we’ll have to work on your paranoia, as well.”

  “Maybe what we have to work on is you not making me feel that way,” she told him. She had half a mind to get back into her car and drive away.

  Luke nodded his head as if considering her words. Going up the front steps to Malone’s, he ope
ned the front door and held it for her, waiting.

  “Fair enough,” he told her. “But right now, what we have to work on is unwinding,” Luke said. “Agreed?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

  The word came out grudgingly and under duress. “Agreed.”

  With that, she walked in—counting the minutes until she would walk out again.

  Chapter 8

  “You know,” Luke said as he set down the mugs of ale he’d brought over to the table for himself and for her, “you might enjoy yourself more if you didn’t look as if you were bracing yourself to face a really eager firing squad.”

  If anything, Frankie sat up even straighter. “I’m just exhibiting good posture,” she told him.

  “Compared to you, a wooden ruler has the rigidity of a strand of overcooked spaghetti,” he informed Frankie with a good-natured laugh, taking a seat opposite her at the small table.

  Frankie frowned. She had no intention of sitting here, having to endure insults. She looked around. “Where’s White Hawk?”

  Luke nodded back toward the bar. “He ran into someone he hadn’t seen for a while, so they’re catching up. Why?” His smile widened. “Are you nervous being alone with me without a chaperone?”

  She was not about to have him think that she was afraid of him—because she wasn’t. She was just a little...uncomfortable, she finally admitted. “I wouldn’t exactly call a bar full of cops being alone.”

  “Good,” Luke commented, looking pleased. “Then relax.”

  Frankie looked at the drink he had put in front of her. “Isn’t this a lot of beer?”

  Luke shrugged. “Standard-size mug,” he told her innocently.

  The hell it was. If she were any shorter, she could go for a swim in the mug. “I thought we were just getting a glass of beer,” she said.

  He hadn’t specified either way, but he had his reason for getting mugs. “Getting a mug is actually more economical,” he told her.