Rather than be standoffish the way some families might be, holding the “new guys” suspect, the established branches of the Cavanaugh clan welcomed them all with open arms. And he knew in his gut that although Charley wasn’t a blood relative in the absolute sense, she was part of the police force that embraced them all.
Declan smiled to himself, thinking that there were times when, looking out on a gathering of Cavanaughs, depending if you were looking at the men or the women, you were looking at either a field of dark flowers or golden ones. He supposed that to an outsider, a lot of them tended to look alike. It was only once you got to know them that the things that set them apart, the subtle nuances, became apparent.
“Very sure,” Declan replied.
“And the chief really won’t mind my barging in?” Charley asked, allowing her uncertainty to surface. She could still turn around and go back, and right about now, that sounded like a pretty good idea.
Declan laughed at her choice of words. “You’re not ‘barging.’ If anything, you’re being dragged,” he pointed out. “All that’s missing is the kicking and screaming part.” Amusement lit his eyes as well as his face.
They were at the front door and he was about to ring the bell, but Charley was growing more reluctant by the microsecond. “Look, maybe some other time would be better—” she began, trying her best to beg off.
“Now is always the best time,” the tall man with the kind eyes said. Andrew Cavanaugh had opened the front door in time to hear the young woman beside his nephew trying to come up with an excuse to turn tail and run. “Besides, we’re having breakfast, not human sacrifice. That’s next Friday.” And then he added, in case there was some tiny doubt in the young detective’s mind, “I’m kidding.”
“I know that,” Charley said, raising her chin slightly in an automatic defensive move.
Noting the movement, Andrew didn’t bother hiding his widening smile. Several of his nieces, not to mention his oldest daughter, did that when they were resorting to a show of bravado. This one was going to fit right in, he thought.
Putting his large hand out, he waited until she slipped hers into it. “Charley, right?” The question was a formality since he already knew who she was. He was the one who’d told Declan to bring her. He saw a glimmer of surprise in her eyes before she banked it down. “There’re no secrets in the police force and definitely not in our family. I’m Andrew, by the way,” he introduced himself, though it obviously wasn’t necessary, adding, “You can call me Andrew or Chief. Call me ‘Andy’ and your breakfast will be cold,” he quipped.
“Yes, sir, I mean—”
The smile turned into a grin. “Declan, find your partner a seat before she has a heart attack. And tell her I’m harmless,” he threw in as he closed the door behind the duo.
“He
is
harmless, you know,” Declan told her as he ushered her to the dining area where the rest of the family members who’d dropped by for breakfast were already seated. “Unless he’s defending one of his own—then he’s kind of scary,” Declan added.
She’d never seen so much food in one place before. Appetizing-looking food, aromatic food that coaxed saliva glands into a state of anticipatory attention at lightning speed. Piled high on the extraordinary long table were breakfast crepes, some stuffed with blueberries, strawberries and tiny bits of pineapples, others with eggs, cheese and bits of fried ham. Other serving platters offered scrambled eggs, home fries, sausages, Canadian bacon and a host of other things that she didn’t immediately recognized but that her palate wanted to be on a first-name basis with as soon as possible.
She took in the scene and was more than a little awestruck. This was Declan’s family? “It looks like a town hall meeting,” she whispered to Declan, standing just within the threshold. “They’re all here for breakfast?” she marveled.
“Uncle Andrew makes the best everything,” Declan stated matter-of-factly.
She thought of her own life, of how hard it had been at times for Matt just to feed the two of them. These people constituted a crowd. “How can he afford to feed everyone like this?”
“Well, there’s not always this many people showing up, and we all make contributions to the groceries that’re used,” Declan said. “He’s got a walk-in refrigerator in the garage as well as the biggest pantry I’ve ever seen. Any other questions?” he asked.
Still somewhat stunned, Charley shook her head. “No.”
“Okay, then let’s go in and sit down like he suggested. You don’t want to insult the man, do you?” Declan deadpanned.
Was that what it looked like she was doing? “Oh, God, no.”
Declan laughed. “Take it light, Charley. I’m just pulling your leg. Uncle Andrew doesn’t insult easily, he just wants you to be at ease. The man loves to have his family around and he loves to cook. It’s really all that simple,” he told her.
“But I’m not—” she began.
He knew exactly what she was going to say. Something that about a third of the people there had said at one time or another. “You’re a cop, so yeah, you are,” he assured her. “Now relax and enjoy yourself.”
“There’re a couple of seats right over there,” Callie, Andrew’s oldest daughter, called out, pointing to two empty chairs on the far right of the extra-long dining room table. “If you two want to sit closer to the kitchen, I’m sure Shaw and Moira won’t mind trading seats with you,” she said, volunteering her older brother and his wife.
Charley looked toward the couple who’d just been pointed out to her. For a second, as recognition teased her brain, she stared at the man’s wife. And then her mouth dropped open.
“You’re Moira McCormick,” she realized.
“Moira McCormick-Cavanaugh,” the woman corrected with a wide smile. “I’m semiretired now,” she told Charley. “But I have my career to thank for bringing Shaw into my life.”
Charley didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t want to pry. She was a guest here, not an investigative reporter.
“She came here to do research for a part and convinced Uncle Brian to have Shaw take her on a ride-along,” Callie explained, then grinned. “They’ve been riding along with each other ever since.”
“Good thing he didn’t put her in Rayne’s car,” Troy, one of Brian’s sons, quipped about Andrew’s youngest daughter. “Moira would have gone running for the hills instead—right after her hair turned white.”
“Don’t listen to them,” Rayne told her. “I don’t drive that fast.”
“Doesn’t drive that fast?” Jared, another one of Brian’s sons hooted. “NASCAR drivers send her fan letters. She’s their official pinup girl.”
Beginning to relax, Charley turned to her partner and asked, “Is it always like this?”
“No,” he told her seriously. “It’s usually rowdier. I think they’re on their best behavior because you’re here.”
“You wouldn’t know ‘best behavior’ if it bit you,” Bridget, one of Declan’s sisters, informed him.
In total, there were only a little less than a third of the Cavanaughs present, along with their spouses and assorted children, and even
that
, Charley discovered, amounted to almost twenty people. She found herself barely aware of what she was eating and very aware of who she was eating it with.
It made her a little envious of these people she had gotten to almost instantly know. She wondered if they knew how lucky they were. Yes, it was more than a bit noisy and probably pretty crowded when more of them showed up, but the feeling of camaraderie, of genuine affection, not to mention love, was something that even a stranger could easily detect. And that, she thought, was priceless in any person’s book.
* * *
The hours seemed to feed into one another seamlessly from the moment she walked into the office. So much so that she didn’t know when one ended and the next began.
Her breakfast with Declan and the Cavanaugh family at Andrew Cavanaugh’s home the other morning had gone more than well. Declan’s family, she discovered, effortlessly evaporated any feelings of awkwardness she’d harbored before walking into Andrew’s house.
Matt would have really liked them, she’d thought. The almost impromptu occasion had made her more determined than ever to catch the shooter who had robbed her of her brother.
Because she and the rest of the task force had seemingly hit a dead end, they had started from scratch, widening their circle to include cases that all three policemen had been involved in.
None overlapped. Even so, she was convinced that there had to be some kind of connection they were missing. She just hadn’t made it yet.
Determined to solve Matt’s murder and the murder of the other officers, Charley came in early, stayed late and danced with frustration because despite the effort, she was getting nowhere.
But at least there had been no new reports of victims and she took solace in that. Even so, she felt as if they were all on borrowed time.
The only time she’d stepped away from her desk the entire day was to take a ride to the funeral home that Declan had told her about. Though her bank account was fairly low, she needed to make arrangements for Matt’s burial. The M.E. had called her that morning to tell her that she was finally free to claim Matt’s body at any time. Because she was pressed for time due to the current investigation, the medical examiner told her that he would keep Matt’s body where it was until such time as she made her arrangements.
She hated thinking of Matt locked away in a drawer, a toe tag serving as his prime piece of cover. Taking out the name and number she’d hastily scribbled down, she called the funeral parlor and asked them to pick Matt up, then told the man she would be in at noon to make the arrangements.
When noon came, she told Declan she had an errand to run and left before he could say anything.
* * *
The funeral director, Malcolm Avery, was a soft-spoken man who could have easily blended in anywhere without being noticed. The sum of money he quoted, when pressed, for a typical funeral took her breath away. The amount didn’t seem real.
She had always lived rather frugally, but there still wasn’t enough money set aside to take care of the funeral arrangements she wanted for Matt, at least not all at once.
There was no way around this. Though the sum was high, she didn’t want to scrimp, not on this, not for Matt. He deserved the best she could give him.
Though it killed her to ask, Charley knew she had no choice.
“Do you have a payment plan?” she asked the director. “I could make regular payments every month until the bill is paid off—” she began, hating the awkward feeling she was experiencing. This felt almost like begging, despite the fact that she had every intention of paying for the funeral arrangements.
The funeral director looked at her, confusion evident on his brow. “Detective Randolph, I’m afraid I’m a bit puzzled. There’s nothing to pay off.”
Okay, that made two of them who were confused. She looked at the director blankly. He’d just told her how much the arrangements like the one she’d suggested cost. How could that just disappear the next moment?
“Excuse me?”
“The arrangements have all been paid for. Your loved one is to have our exclusive deluxe package,” the man told her gently. “I know that sounds extremely commercial,” he admitted, referring to the wording he’d just used, “but what it means is that there was no expense spared.”
This wasn’t making any sense. She held up her hand, stopping him. “Wait, wait, there has to be some mistake,” she said. “These arrangements are for Sergeant Matthew Holt—”
“Yes, I know,” the funeral director confirmed. “That’s what I have written down. All expenses are taken care of.”
“By whom?” Charley asked.
The director shook his head, looking somewhat apologetic. “I’m not at liberty to say,” he told her sympathetically.
Had the police union paid for Matt’s funeral? But then, wouldn’t she have been notified? This wasn’t making any sense. She hadn’t approached anyone for help with the finances; why would someone step up for her?
“Can you at least tell me if it was an individual or the police union?” she asked the director.
He looked uncomfortable. “All I can say is that the gentleman who paid for the arrangements didn’t want you to have to worry about anything.”
Well, that answered her question if it was the union that had taken it upon itself to bury her brother. They hadn’t. Which meant—she had a hunch who actually might have come to her rescue.
At least, these were the only dots she had to try to connect.
She went back to the police station—and Declan.
Chapter 14
D
eclan turned from his computer the moment Charley walked into the squad room. He couldn’t even say how he knew she was there, he just did.
“You get everything taken care of?” he asked Charley.
Something in the way he asked had her looking at Declan for a long moment. He was the one who’d paid for Matt’s funeral, she was willing to bet her life on it. There was obviously more to this man than she had ever thought. Back when they were both attending the academy, although she was secretly attracted to him, to his electric demeanor, she’d still written him off as someone who, at least in his personal life, was only interested in having a good time. He didn’t act like he possessed a serious, responsible bone in his body.
If that
had
been Declan back then, it certainly wasn’t the Declan she was interacting with these past few days.
“Apparently,” she finally replied.
Declan raised one eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that in this particular case, you would know just as much as I do whether or not everything was taken care of.”
For a minute, she debated leaving it at that. But she couldn’t. Though her pride had urged her to refuse what he had covertly done, she knew that this wasn’t a time for pride, it was a time for gratitude. He’d done it anonymously and thus with the best of intentions.
Their eyes met and held for another very long moment before she said, “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“It was me, what?” he asked innocently, his expression giving away nothing.
She didn’t want to play games. And she was not about to accept charity—from anyone.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. Look, I can pay my own way,” she said, then added more quietly, “Just not completely at the moment.” He was still acting as if he didn’t know what she was talking about, but she plowed ahead. “I’ll make the same arrangement with you I was going to make with the funeral home. I’ll pay you back in equal installments until you have the full amount back—with interest.”
Declan’s expression remained unchanged. “Although I’d love some extra money, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t pay for Matt’s funeral.” It was more of an accusation than a question.
He merely shook his head. “Nope.”
He appeared unshakable, but Charley didn’t believe him. “You swear?”
Declan shrugged, turning his chair back around so that he faced his computer screen. “I swear.”
Grabbing the chair’s arms, Charley forced it back around so that he was facing her again. She wanted the truth and she only knew one way to get at it.
“On your mother’s grave,” she pressed, thinking that invoking the memory of his mother might be the one thing that would make him think twice about covering up his good deed with a lie. “You swear you didn’t do it on your mother’s grave,” she repeated.
She had him.
Declan sighed. “What’s the big deal? Instead of wasting my money on some vacation I won’t remember three days after it’s over, I’m using it to help bury a good cop. To me that’s a good investment.”
“It’s not an investment, it’s a loan and I’m paying you back,” she insisted.
She had enough to contend with right now, he didn’t want her facing monetary woes, as well. “You don’t have to.”
“Yeah,” Charley contradicted, “I do.”
He shrugged again. She was immovable and he was not about to push it. “Whatever makes you happy,” he told her. “Funeral’s tomorrow?” It was a calculated guess on his part.
Charley nodded. In having it so soon, she was forgoing the traditional three-day viewing period. But as her last act of protection, she was going to keep prying eyes away from her brother. She knew he would have wanted it that way if he could have been able to have a say in the matter. He was, at bottom, a private person.
“What time?” Declan asked.
“Sunset,” she answered. “It was Matt’s favorite time of day. I never knew why. Now I can’t ask him.”
Declan offered her his thoughts on the matter. “Probably because the day was over and everything was winding down.”
Sounded as good as any theory, she supposed, but before she could express her thoughts on Declan’s assessment, one of the other three detectives, Bobby Yu, swung around in his chair, away from his desk.
Terminating the phone call that had just come in on his line, Bobby announced, “Looks like we’re up, boys and girls.” He looked at Declan. “Dispatch said your line’s not working, so she called the closest phone to yours, which for some reason turned out to be mine.” Bobby shrugged, dismissing the subject since that wasn’t the important part. “Homeless guy going through a Dumpster behind a local restaurant found a dead man instead of dinner.”
“A cop?” Declan asked.
“Is there any other kind lately?” Bobby answered grimly.
“And they found him in a Dumpster?” That didn’t sound right, Declan thought, on his feet and checking his service revolver before holstering it. That sounded more like the killer was trying to hide the body after he’d killed him and he had left the others where they could easily be found.
“Not
in
the Dumpster,” Bobby corrected. “Next to it. The officer had one shot to the chest, just like all the others.”
“And a note?” Charley asked grimly. “Was there a note stapled to his chest?”
“Dispatch didn’t say,” Bobby told her. “Doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.”
“The Santa Anas have been acting up,” Detective Callaghan reminded them, referring to the winds that blew in from the desert around this time of year. They were usually hot, intolerable and rather strong. “If the note wasn’t really secured, it could have blown away.”
“As long as we find staple marks on his chest, that should be enough to link him to the same killer,” Declan theorized. “You got the address?” he asked Bobby. Rather than answer, the other detective held up a piece of paper that he had written on. “Great. Okay, let’s roll,” he told his team.
But as Charley began to get up, he put his hand on her shoulder and physically stopped her. “Why don’t you stay and man the phones, call us if something else comes up.”
There was no way she was going to sit here, playing nursemaid to a landline. “You can tell the administrative assistant to do that,” Charley said, her tone making it very clear that the only way he could get her to stay behind was if he physically tied her to her chair—and maybe not even then.
Declan relented. “Yeah, I suppose I can.”
“And stop trying to shield me,” she ordered him. “You’re not going to succeed.”
There was succeed, and then there was
succeed.
The important part was that she understood she wasn’t alone in this, didn’t have to go through it alone.
“Someone has to try,” he told her matter of factly as they hurried out.
She didn’t want his answer to matter to her. But it did.
* * *
The latest victim was a police officer just coming off duty. As with the other murder victims, there were no apparent signs of struggle. No bruised knuckles, no defensive wounds. The officer, Juan Sierra, hadn’t gone down fighting.
There was, however, a look of complete surprise frozen on his face.
“Not horror, just surprise,” Charley noted, studying the man’s expression closely. “Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.” She glanced up at Declan. “What do you think that means?”
“That whoever shot him didn’t look threatening until Sierra saw the gun being pointed at him. What was happening probably didn’t even register until after he went down.” Pity and compassion mixed with frustrated anger filtered across his face. “What’s this guy trying to do, eliminate the force, one officer at a time?” There had to be a connection between these men that they were missing. There
had
to be. “There’s got to be some kind of reason, no matter how screwed up, that he’s doing this.”
“Yeah, but what?” Charley asked, sharing his frustration. They were almost at the end of their lists of men—and the handful of women—who had either washed out, were turned away because they failed their psych evaluations, or had been terminated because of some sort of “unbecoming conduct” that rendered them unfit for duty in the police department’s eyes.
“Sooner or later, he’s going to trip up,” Sanchez said hopefully. “He’s
got
to.”
“Yeah, but how many more cops are we going to lose before that happens?” Charley asked. Even one more was one too many.
Declan turned toward one of the members of the CSI unit who had come out to collect evidence. Lisa Sullivan was taking photograph after photograph, the high-end digital camera in her hand making continuous whirling noises as she snapped away.
He moved into her line of vision, causing her to stop snapping and look up. Only then did Declan say, “I want a copy of every photo you’ve taken from Sergeant Holt through this one—Officer Sierra. Send them to my computer,” he instructed.
“I’ll send them as soon as I get back to the lab,” the woman promised, then, curious, asked, “Think we missed something that’s out in plain sight?”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Declan told her honestly as he turned back to his own part in the investigation.
* * *
For the next hour, he and Charley questioned the restaurant employees, but as with all the other crime scenes, no one recalled hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary.
Unlike the other three murders, this murder had taken place with two security cameras in close proximity, although neither was placed to face the alley.
Hoping that one of the cameras might have caught
something,
Declan commandeered the surveillance tapes for that day, promising to return them once they were finished reviewing them.
* * *
“What are you hoping to see?” Charley asked once they were back in the squad room.
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Something that might just lead us down the right trail for a change.” It was a case of knowing it once he saw it, not before.
She supposed, in a desperate way, that made sense. She took a closer glance at Declan. “You look as beat as I feel,” she told him. “Maybe you should knock it off for the night.”
Declan laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. How had the tables turned? “Now
you’re
mothering
me?
”
“Was that what you were doing the other night in the parking lot?” she asked, amusement entering her eyes. “Mothering me?”
“That wasn’t the first word that came to mind,” he admitted.
Everything about that small interlude had lingered on his mind, like the lyrics of a song that was stuck in his head and refused to fade away.
She smiled at him then. Beyond tired and every bit as frustrated as she knew he was, Charley still managed to laugh—or maybe she laughed because she was beyond tired and her defenses at this point were pretty close to nonexistent.
“Me neither,” she agreed.
“Make you a deal,” he said, glancing toward the door and the hallway just beyond. “I’ll go home if you do.”
She looked at the disk in her hand that she was getting ready to watch. Most likely, in her present state, she was fairly certain that it would put her right to sleep within a quarter of an hour if not sooner.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Fresh eyes might be better at that. I’ll go through the security tapes tomorrow.”
* * *
But the next day was the funeral, an event she had managed to temporarily block from her mind until she woke up that morning.
As much as she wanted to be able to finally find something that would help lead her to Matt’s killer, she needed to be at his funeral more. Needed to say one final goodbye.
Getting ready for the church service was harder than she thought.
Accustomed to rushing around at home when she was getting ready to go to work, she found this time that someone had drained the blood from her veins and substituted molasses. No matter how Charley tried, her sense of urgency just refused to kick in.
She knew it was because she really didn’t want to go to the ceremony, didn’t want to hear the priest say words over the coffin that was to be her brother’s final resting place. Didn’t want to see that “resting place” lowered into the ground.
Didn’t really want to say goodbye, even though it was just a formality. Her brother was already gone.
Fighting off tears, she didn’t hear the doorbell at first. At what point the ringing actually registered with her brain, she didn’t know, but her first reaction to the sound was to ignore it.
She wasn’t expecting anyone.
And then she remembered that she was.
Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the front door and opened it.
Declan was standing there, wearing a dark suit and looking far more subdued than she remembered ever seeing him.
He looked good in a suit, she thought absently, then felt bad having a thought like that on the day she was burying Matt.
“You really don’t have to come,” she told Declan. Charley hated that he felt somehow obligated to prop her up, even if it was the very blackest time in her life.
She looked fragile, he noted. Like a porcelain doll that gave the impression it would crack if the slightest pressure was applied to it. He caught himself wanting to scoop her up into his arms and keep her safe. No one should have to go through what she was going through.
He wasn’t about to go anywhere but with her. Whether she was willing to admit it or not, she needed him.
“Want me to pull rank?” he asked.
The question coaxed a smile out of her. Leave it to him to ask that. “No,” she answered.
“Good, then let’s go.”
Rather than just walk out beside her, Declan presented his arm to her. It was a precautionary step because she gave the impression that she just might sink to the ground at any moment.
“Just so you know, I’m driving,” he informed her. His tone left no room for dissent or argument. Nor did she offer any.
Charley suddenly felt completely, utterly drained. Though she would have never admitted it out loud, she was silently grateful that Declan had taken it upon himself to take charge.
* * *