Cavanaugh Standoff

Sierra chose her words carefully, aware he would examine each one. “Your mother’s a really great, outgoing woman—”

“You already covered that part,” Ronan told her impatiently.

She supposed she could sugarcoat this, but she couldn’t get herself to lie. So she didn’t. “And you act as if you’d been raised by a she-wolf in a cave.”

Well, that was certainly straightforward enough, he thought. This woman obviously didn’t have any trouble telling the truth. He supposed that was a valuable asset—to both him and the team. Still, they weren’t going to get anywhere with this investigation if they kept clashing all the time.

“If you have a problem with the way I do things, Carlyle, you can always transfer out,” he told her. There was no emotion in his voice.

That just made her angry. “I don’t quit things,” she informed him.

“Then I’d say you have a problem.”

“I guess I do.”

He had no idea where she stood after saying that. And he certainly couldn’t just leave it. Easing into a stop at an intersection, he looked at her. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you in or are you out?”

She was probably going to regret this, Sierra thought, squaring her shoulders. But she’d told him the truth. She didn’t quit things. That left her only one answer. “I’m in—but don’t expect me to stop trying to get through that stony exterior,” she told him, qualifying her answer.

“What I expect,” Ronan stated deliberately, “is that you do your part to solve the crime to get whoever’s playing vigilante off the streets.”

The word he used caught her attention. “So now you think it’s a vigilante?”

He reminded himself that she was brand-new to the team and as such wasn’t apprised of pertinent details. He reviewed them in a nutshell. “This is the fifth street thug who’s been ‘executed’ this way. Three from one gang—the War Lords—and two from another—the Terminators. If it’s not a vigilante, what’s your take on it?”

“Well, off the top of my head,” she said, working through the problem as she spoke, “maybe it’s the work of a third gang, trying to get rid of the competition.”

“Aurora doesn’t have a gang. We had a few nerdy types a few years ago who tried to flex their muscles by spray-painting a couple of buildings, but the fact that they’d painted slogans using four-and five-syllable words gave them away. They were tracked down pretty quickly and turned over to their parents. That was the end of Aurora’s one and only ‘gang,’” he declared. “Anything else?”

Sierra grinned. “Nope. Not at this time.”

He caught her expression out of the corner of his eye as he continued to the precinct. “Then why do you look like some damn cat that swallowed a canary?”

“Because that’s the most number of words you’ve said to me since I became part of your team. I knew you had it in you.”

Ronan shook his head, exasperated. He didn’t trust himself to say anything in response so the rest of the ride to the precinct was made in silence.

* * *

THE MOMENT HE reached the squad room, Ronan walked straight to Martinez and Choi’s desks. “You guys learn anything?” he demanded.

Choi spoke first. “In between a bout of dry heaves, Billie, the guy who tripped over our victim, swore he’d never seen him before. I tend to believe him,” he said and then explained why before Ronan could ask. “The guy thought he was going to die and most people tend to tell the truth when they think they’re going to die.”

“And the bartender?” Ronan asked. So far, this wasn’t going well, he thought dourly.

“The guy who opened up the tavern wasn’t the guy on duty last night. He had that guy come down, but the evening bartender wasn’t all that helpful. According to Dave, the guy tending bar last night,” Martinez interjected, “it was really crowded and our victim didn’t make much of an impression on him. He said he ‘thought’ he saw our victim downing some tequilas with some sexy little number making eyes at him, but when Dave came back to that side of the bar, our victim and the woman who might or might not have been with him were gone.”

“There was no sign of a woman being in the alley,” Choi reminded the others.

“Maybe she left before anything happened,” Martinez speculated.

“Or maybe she saw what was happening and managed to get away before the killer saw her. That would make her a witness,” Sierra said, looking at Ronan to see whether he liked that idea.

Ronan nodded to himself. “Maybe you’ve got something there, Carlyle. It’s worth exploring.” He turned toward Choi and Martinez. “Go back to the bartender. See if he’ll sit with our sketch artist and describe this ‘sexy little number’ so we can pass it around Walker’s neighborhood, see if anyone recognizes her,” Ronan instructed.

“On our way,” Choi said, leaving the squad room with Martinez right behind him.

He’d gone with her theory, Sierra thought, rather surprised Ronan hadn’t given her an argument first. She turned toward him, a wide smile on her lips, and asked, “Still annoyed that Carver assigned me to the team?”

Ronan was practically stone-faced. “You waiting for a pat on the head?”

“No, but a ‘hey, not a bad idea’ might be in order,” she countered.

The expression on his face was dark. “Okay. Hey, not a bad idea. Happy?” he asked.

“You’re a tough nut to crack, aren’t you?”

“They haven’t made a nutcracker tough enough for that,” he told her as he began to walk to the break room.

“Don’t count on it,” she called after him.

She saw him stop for a second then resume walking. She got to him, she thought with a satisfied smile. Step one.

* * *

WHEN RONAN RETURNED to the squad room half an hour later, he was halfway to his desk when he stopped dead. There was a bulletin board mounted on wheels pushed up against the wall nearest their desks.

He walked straight to Sierra. “Where did that come from?” he asked sharply.

Busy tacking up a few last-minute things she’d jotted down, she didn’t turn around as she answered, “The store room.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“I thought we could do with some visual aids,” she told him. Finished, she turned around to face him. “Might stimulate our thinking.”

The woman was taking over, he thought, and he didn’t run things that way. “I think my thinking is stimulated enough right now,” he warned her. There was a definite edge in his voice. “Where did you get those?” he asked, waving a hand at the board.

There were five photographs tacked on the board, each with a name and time of death listed beneath it.

“I pulled up the list of victims and then scanned their photos, the ones off the DMV records,” she explained, adding, “because the others were too gruesome. I put those up along with the date and time of their deaths.” She kept talking even though she could see that, so far, her answers were annoying him. Her hope was that if she bombarded him with enough facts, he’d see things her way. “I thought that having them up there like that might get us to see something we’re missing.”

His eyes met hers, pinning her to the spot. “Who told you to do that?”

“No one. It’s call initiative. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

He felt as if she’d pushed him to the edge. “Frankly, I don’t know why you’re here. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“Here’s a hint. It’s to help with the investigation,” she told him.

He could feel his temper rising. “You can ‘help’ by following orders.”

“Which would be okay if there were any orders to follow,” she countered. “Look, other homicide detectives find having this kind of board up is helpful.” When he continued to glare and said nothing, she blew out a frustrated breath. She wasn’t trying to challenge his authority, she was trying to help, but this was still his team to manage. “You want me to take the photos down and take the board back to the storeroom?”

The look of anger on his face abated somewhat. Ronan glanced at the bulletin board again.

“No, leave it up,” he told her in a resigned voice. “Just next time check with me before you do anything.”

She still couldn’t help feeling as if she was being tethered. But if she wanted to work this case—and she really did—she was going to have to abide by his rules.

Inclining her head, Sierra said, “I’m going to the break room for lunch now, is that okay with you?”

Damn, but she was irritating. “If you’re trying to get under my skin, Carlyle, you’ve already done it,” he told her.

“Lunch?” she repeated innocently, still waiting for him to tell her it was all right.

He waved his hand at her impatiently. “Go. And if you solve the case over your ham-and-cheese sandwich, let me know first before you run off to cuff anyone.”

“It’s roast beef,” Sierra corrected. “And you’ll be the first to know if I solve the case,” she promised, elaborately drawing a cross over her heart. The next second she turned on her heel to leave—all but running into a tall, dark, younger, smiling version of Ronan. “Sorry,” she mumbled, withdrawing.

“What was that about?” Detective Christian O’Bannon asked, coming up to his older brother. He took one last look over his shoulder at the disappearing woman. “Is she telling you she loves you?”

Ronan’s mouth dropped opened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Chris jerked a thumb in the direction of the departing detective. “She just crossed her heart. I thought she was miming ‘I love you.’”

Ronan scowled at him. “Did you come here to make an already bad day worse?”

Chris’s face seemed to almost light up. “No, actually I came to ask you to be best man.”

“I already am the best man. I always have been,” Ronan answered wryly.

“At my wedding, you idiot,” Chris said, giving Ronan a friendly shove. “Suzie Q and I are getting married.”

That caught Ronan’s attention. “For real?”

If possible, the grin on Chris’ face widened. “As real as it can get. Priest, flowers, everything.”

Ronan shook his head. “Damn, I thought she had more sense than that.”

“Show a little respect or you’ll be demoted,” Chris warned. “The position of flower girl hasn’t been filled yet.”

“I have a lot of respect for Suzie,” Ronan said honestly, referring to the absent detective. “It’s you I don’t have all that much respect for,” he added drolly. “Never have.”

“Then that’s a yes?” Chris asked, a touch of anxiousness surfacing in his voice. “I know you don’t care for all that attention.”

Ronan shrugged. “Nobody’s going to be looking at me, they’ll be looking at Suzie—and the lucky stiff who’s marrying her.”

Chris wanted to nail things down and he needed a direct answer. “Again, is that a yes?”

Ronan grinned, genuinely happy for his younger brother. “Try and keep me away. Just tell me where and when.”

Relieved, Chris answered, “I’ll tell you a lot more than that, but this’ll do for now.”

Ronan shook his head and smiled as he watched his younger brother leave. He envied Christian, he really did. He could remember being that happy. Once.

Chapter Four

“You should do that more often,” Sierra said.

Ronan turned, surprised to see her standing near him. He thought she was still in the break room and hadn’t even heard her come up.

“Do what?” he demanded.

“Smile.” Even as she said it, his expression went back to its normal impassive look. Still, determined to make him come around, she pushed on. “You don’t look quite as scary when you smile.”

He caught himself almost smiling again and wondered what it was about this woman that had him responding in ways he hadn’t for a long time. “You’re missing the point,” he told her gruffly. “Why wouldn’t I want to look scary?”

“Well, you got me there,” she answered, tongue in cheek. “If you don’t know, I can’t explain it to you.”

“Good.” Ronan turned back to look at the photographs she’d put on the bulletin board, waiting for something to nudge his brain. But nothing came. He glanced at Sierra. The latter had gone back to the desk that had been assigned to her for the duration of this case. “Anything occur to you?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she admitted honestly. “But it’s still early.”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh, turning back to the bulletin board. He frowned a little as he told her, “You know, this isn’t a half-bad idea, using the bulletin board.”

She made no effort to hide her stunned expression. “Wow, two half compliments in one day. Aren’t you afraid that I’ll get a big head?”

“Bigger than it already is?” he asked.

She took no offense. She had a hunch he felt he had to say something like that to counter the left-handed compliment he’d just tendered.

“I don’t have a big head,” she told him. “I just know my capabilities.”

Ronan began to say something about the extent of her “so-called” capabilities when he saw her suddenly sit up and look alert. For just a second, the expression in her eyes captivated him. She looked almost ethereal. Definitely beautiful. And that was when he realized that when she held her head a certain way, she reminded him of Wendy.

Startled, he quickly got hold of himself. This wasn’t the time to think about Wendy. He wasn’t ready to go there now. Maybe he never would be.

The next second he turned to see Martinez and Choi walking back into the squad room. He crossed to them. “Anything?” he asked.

Martinez refrained from letting his disappointment show. “If anyone recognizes her—” Martinez nodded at the sketch put together from the bartender’s recollection “—they’re not talking. But in their defense, that is a pretty generic-looking sketch. Pretty girl, wavy hair, nothing really outstanding.”

“What about the surveillance camera?” she asked.

“The one in the back alley’s inoperable,” Ronan informed her dismissively. It was the first thing that had been checked by his uncle and the team Sean had taken with him.

“Okay,” she allowed, “how about the one inside the tavern?”

“There isn’t one. The owner’s got one up strictly for show,” Ronan told her. “But it doesn’t record.”

“And the one outside, by the entrance?” she pressed, recalling seeing it as they’d passed the front door to get to the alley.

Ronan didn’t answer her. Instead he headed out of the squad room.

Sierra was on her feet immediately, hurrying after him. Moving fast, she managed to catch up to him by the elevator. “You’re going down to the CSI lab to take a look at that surveillance video, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Don’t you have files to go through?” he asked Sierra crisply.

“You know I do, you gave them to me. But they can wait until later,” she answered. “I want to see if we can isolate the footage and find our mystery woman. Maybe she can help us solve this thing.”

He doubted it. Things didn’t just resolve themselves this way. “You realize she could just be someone playing up to anyone who’ll buy her a drink,” Ronan said just as the elevator arrived.

Sierra got in the second the elevator doors opened, not taking a chance he would leave her behind. “I know. But she could still be a witness.”

“She could still be a witness,” he admitted grudgingly, echoing what she’d said. And then his frown deepened. “Don’t grin so hard, Carlyle. Your face’ll crack.”

“There’s a few years left on my warranty, so I’m safe for now,” she said cheerfully.

“Right,” he murmured to himself. Just what he needed on his team—to be saddled with a crazy woman. A crazy woman who reminded him of his own loss. “C’mon, then,” he ordered as the doors opened in the basement.

Sierra didn’t have to be asked twice.

* * *

“THERE, THAT’S GOT to be her!” Sierra cried excitedly, pointing to the image on the monitor in the viewing bay. “Rewind it!”

They had been watching the surveillance video from the Shamrock Inn for the last half hour. The footage wasn’t exceptionally clear because the camera was at least ten years old and the video being used had been taped over and over countless times to save money. As well, the camera had lost its ability to time stamp so they had been unable to isolate the hours they’d needed, which had forced them to review the entire video recorded over the last ten hours.

Ronan had already hit Pause and then Rewind. When he played the tape forward, he did it in slow motion, allowing them to study the scene.

“She wasn’t with anyone when she came in,” Sierra observed.

Annoyed, Ronan looked at her over his shoulder. “I’ve got eyes, Carlyle. I can see.”

“Sorry.” The apology was automatic. “Just getting excited, that’s all.”

“Save your energy. It’s going to be a long haul,” he told her.

He hit Pause again, then got up from the desk he’d been using. He went to find his uncle.

Bringing him back, he indicated the surveillance tape they had been reviewing. “I’m going to need a hard copy of that woman,” he told Sean.

“You mean other than the one you already have?” Sean asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“What are you talking about?” Ronan asked, puzzled.

Rather than answer his nephew, Sean pointed to the colored print of the woman entering the tavern that Sierra was holding in her hand.

Ronan stared at the print. “Where did you—”

“I got it off the printer,” Sierra told him innocently, anticipating his question. And then she smiled, adding, “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Sean nodded his approval. “Nice to have good help,” Sean told his nephew. “Well, if you don’t need anything else...” He looked at Ronan pointedly. It was obvious he had more than his share of work to get back to.

“Not from you at this time,” Ronan acknowledged. “Thanks for letting us look through the video.”

“We all want the same thing,” Sean answered. “To get whoever’s doing this off the streets and behind bars.” He started to leave. “I’ll have the ME send the autopsy report up to you when it’s done, but I don’t expect that there’ll be any surprises.”

“Will that include a tox screen?” Sierra asked, suddenly turning around just before entering the hallway behind Ronan.

Homicide’s lead detective stopped in his tracks, reluctantly turning around.

“Of course,” Sean answered. “Tox screens can include a wide range of tests. Are you looking for something specific?”

She answered his question with a question of her own. “Does that include checking for date-rape drugs?”

That pulled both men up short.

“Not in this case. Why?” Sean asked, crossing back to her. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, it’s just an idea...” Sierra began. “But whoever lured Walker away and executed him would have wanted Walker to come along peacefully and not try to fight him off, right?”

Ronan exchanged looks with his uncle. “Makes sense to me,” Sean agreed. “I’ll get a more specified tox screen done on Walker and let you know what it comes up with,” he promised.

They left the lab and she turned to Ronan as they waited for the elevator. “Now aren’t you glad I came along?”

“The jury’s still out on that,” Ronan said wryly.

“Are you reverting back to the strong, silent type again?” she asked. “I’ve seen you smile, O’Bannon. You can’t fool me.”

The elevator arrived and they got on. Ronan pushed the button for their floor rather forcefully. “I’ve got a question for you, Carlyle. Do you ever stop talking?”

“On occasion,” she replied.

“Do you think that this could be one of those occasions?” he asked. “I think better when there’s silence.”

She laughed softly. “Considering the squad room we work in, you’re pretty much out of luck.”

Ronan looked at her pointedly. “I know.”

“But, if it helps, I’ll stop talking—for now,” she said gamely. “I’ve got some reading to catch up on anyway.”

Ronan made no comment, afraid that if he uttered a single word, it would set her off again and she’d launch into yet another long, winding topic. He really did want to savor a few moments of peace before something else came up.

* * *

SIERRA SPENT THE rest of the day, as well as the next, reading and rereading the files that had been compiled on the five victims. All of them had belonged to neighborhood gangs and all the killings had been identical: one bullet to the back of the head, then removal of one of the hands. In the first four cases, it was the right one that had been severed.

But the last victim had had his left hand removed, not his right.

“Why just one?” Sierra asked, looking up from the file.

All three men on the team were at their desks, working. Martinez and Choi were currently on phone duty, fielding calls from people who swore they had either just seen the serial killer or had just barely escaped being another one of his victims. Each call had to be taken no matter how baseless it turned out to be, but doing so was tedious, not to mention wearing on the detectives’ nerves, as well.

Hearing Sierra’s question, Ronan looked up in her direction. “What did you say?”

He knew he would regret asking because he was all but giving her an invitation to start running off at the mouth again and it had been really pretty peaceful for the last few hours. But she’d asked a question and since she’d been dead-on about the surveillance video, he couldn’t afford to ignore her just for the sake of his own peace and quiet.

“Why does the killer just cut off one of his victim’s hands?” she asked.

Ronan shrugged. “Because it’s the victim’s dominant hand most likely.”

“Okay. And?” She waited for more of an explanation. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her and she had a feeling that if they had an answer, it would get them one step closer to finding who was behind the killings.

Ronan frowned. “And what?”

Taking a breath, Sierra worded her question more succinctly. “Why would the killer want to cut off the victim’s dominant hand?”

“How the hell should I know?” Ronan asked. Frustrated, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “The guy’s a whack job.”

“A whack job who knows how to practically surgically remove a hand from its wrist,” she said pointedly.

Ronan frowned. “Anyone wielding a meat cleaver with a little momentum could do the same thing.”

“I suppose you’ve got a point,” she was forced to admit.

“Why are you focusing on the way the killer cuts off his victim’s hands?” Choi asked, finally getting off the phone. “You think the killer’s a Jack the Ripper type? Some people thought he was a doctor, the way he vivisected those prostitutes.”

“I thought maybe if our killer had some kind of medical background, we might be able to narrow the suspect pool,” she explained.

“We have a suspect pool?” Martinez asked, glancing from Sierra to Ronan and then Choi. “You mean you think that somebody other than the members of those two gangs still left standing is behind this?”

She waved away Martinez’s facetious question. “Right now, I’m just thinking out loud,” Sierra said with a shrug. “Spit-balling ideas until something winds up sticking, I guess.”

Ronan had a thoughtful expression on his face. “And what are your thoughts about why the killer cuts off just one of his victim’s hands? The dominant hand.” His tone underscored the word.

Sierra was surprised he was asking her for input rather than simply telling her not to think out loud until she had something worthwhile to share.

“Like you said, it’s the victim’s dominant hand,” Sierra said. She kept coming back to that. It had to mean something. “The hand he uses to shoot his gun with.”

Ronan’s eyes met hers. “You think these killings are payback for something.” It wasn’t a question so much as an assumption. And it made as much sense right now as any of this did.

“Maybe,” she answered, leaving herself a little leeway. “But I can’t find a connection between the two gangs, other than they pretty much stayed out of each other’s way.”

And that was what was frustrating her. There had to be something. But what?