Marie Ferrarella - Mission - Cavanaugh Baby

The next moment, the assumption was shot down as she answered, “No, he didn’t.”

His eyes narrowed. This wasn’t adding up—unless she was the perpetrator. “Then how did you get in?” he asked.

Hadn’t he noticed the pane of glass on the ground under the kitchen window? “I jimmied the kitchen window until I got a pane off.”

He was going to give her every chance—before she hung herself. “Why would you—?”

Anticipating his question, Ashley had her answer ready. “I heard the dog barking, and I looked in through the window. That was when I saw the victim lying facedown on the floor. I called it in and went to get the guy in the leasing office, but the office was empty. Whoever was on duty was out, showing a potential tenant one of the apartments.”

“So you jimmied the window and let yourself in.”

He sounded as if he was accusing her. He couldn’t be serious—could he?

“Yes, I jimmied the window and let myself in.” She was truly annoyed. “Tell me, Detective, what would you have done?” she demanded angrily.

Chapter 3

For a moment the detective said nothing and Ashley thought he was going to give her hell for talking to him that way. She braced herself for a dressing down. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had one. Because there was no one else for her to turn to, she’d learned how to be her own person and to follow both her instincts and her conscience.

But when the detective finally did say something, he surprised her.

“I would’ve kicked in the door.” Seeing the stunned look on her face, Shane smiled and explained, “I’m too big to fit in through that window.”

It was the first time since he’d arrived that she’d seen even a hint of a smile on his lips. Until now, he’d been scowling at her. When he smiled, the detective looked, she thought, like a completely different person. He looked approachable, not to mention rather good-looking.

Not that what the man looked like really mattered one way or another, Ashley told herself—except for the fact that it was the good-looking ones who were usually also the pompous ones.

“Then it’s lucky for you that she got here first. Those doors don’t kick in as easily as you might think, Detective Cavanaugh. That’s a fire door, and they’re pretty damn sturdy. They only get ‘kicked down’ in movies and TV shows,” a deep voice coming from directly behind her said amicably.

Ashley turned to see a tall, handsome older man walking in. He was carrying a rather formidable leather case with him. The letters CSI were embossed across the side of it.

Apparently seeing that she was looking at his case, the newcomer told her, “I’m with the crime lab.” Ashley found it rather unusual that the investigator would tell her that rather than the detective, then realized that most likely, the detective had already been acquainted with the crime scene investigator.

Extending his hand to her, the man introduced himself. “I’m Sean Cavanaugh.”

She flashed a smile at him, grateful to be treated as a person. A great many people on the force acted as if she was part of the scenery—inconsequential scenery, at that. That went along with the fact that there were those in the police department who viewed the people in her division as being no more than just glorified dog catchers.

She had a feeling, judging by the look on the detective’s face when he’d first talked to her, that he thought the same.

But not this man, Ashley decided.

“Officer Ashley St. James,” she responded, shaking his hand.

The man smiled at her. When he did, it occurred to her that he seemed to have the same kind of smile as the detective. Odd.

“Nice to meet you, Officer St. James.” Placing his case on the coffee table, he opened it and took out his camera. He raised an eyebrow as he appeared to study her for a moment. “This your first murder?”

“Yes, sir, it is.” And then she relaxed just a touch and asked, “It shows, huh?”

The reply he gave wasn’t one she was expecting.

“As a matter of fact, it doesn’t.” Sean began to snap pictures of anything in the room that might fit under the heading of possible evidence. “That’s why I asked. You seem remarkably composed for someone who’s seen something this gruesome.” He looked over his shoulder at the detective. “Doesn’t she, Shane?”

Shane had no idea why his father would attempt to get a three-way conversation going in the middle of something so horrendous as this murder—unless it was his way of helping the little officer cope with what she’d stumbled across.

Now that he thought about it, that sounded exactly like something his father would do. He was always in there, the voice of calm and reason, trying to help people through a rough patch.

His father was probably the finest man he knew, Shane thought, not for the first time.

“Yeah, composed,” Shane repeated. Let his father take care of whatever support the officer holding the dog might need. He wasn’t here to hold her hand, pretty as it might be, he was here to try to figure out who killed the young woman on the floor—and why.

“He’s usually a lot more talkative than that,” Sean told her, leaning in and making the comment sound somehow confidential. He took a fourth shot of the victim from yet another angle. “Aren’t you, Shane?”

“If you say so,” he responded carelessly as he squatted over the victim to take a closer look.

The terrier the officer was holding became agitated and started barking. The bark grew more aggressive. Shane rose, his expression reverting to the annoyed look he’d worn for the initial part of their exchange. “Can’t you get that dog out of here?”

“Not yet,” she answered, stroking the small canine. She leaned over and whispered something in its ear just before she reached into her pocket and took out one of the treats she kept with her at all times. Bribed, the dog calmed somewhat and stopped barking.

Still petting the animal, Ashley looked from the crime scene investigator to the detective. The latter hadn’t bothered to introduce himself. He’d gone straight to work and was treating her as if she were a suspect. Her eyes shifted back again. The more she compared the two, the more similarities she saw.

“Are you two related, by any chance?” she asked the older man, since he was definitely the friendlier one. “You kind of look alike.”

Sean laughed to himself as he went on working. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sure Shane thinks of himself as the better looking one.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied both men again, this time very carefully. They had the same cheekbones, the same strong jaws and the same eye color, she realized. Most likely, when he was younger, the crime scene investigator had probably had the same color hair as the detective.

“He’s your son,” she concluded.

“On good days,” Sean acknowledged with a nod. “On bad days, he’s his mother’s.”

His son hadn’t given her his name. He was somewhat surprised at the omission. Had something caught Shane’s attention, something that made him forget to follow the usual procedure? “You didn’t tell her who you are?” Sean asked his son.

It was Ashley who answered him, shaking her head. “He went straight to questioning me,” she told Sean. “Said something about the first one on the scene being a good suspect for the murder.”

Sean glanced at his son. His expression was hard to read.

“Be gentle with him,” Sean told the young officer. He winked at her, then picked up his case. He began to head toward the back of the apartment and the victim’s bedroom. “This is his first murder, too.”

That might explain why he was so stiff, Ashley thought. Still holding the terrier in her arms, she turned toward the investigator’s son. “Will you be needing me, Detective Cavanaugh?”