Blood Score (6 page)

With the first forty-eight hours of any murder case being critical, other open cases took a backseat faster than a cheerleader did at prom. Cronan was hard at work after he’d made a quick run home to change, grab a bite to eat, and dose up with aspirin after pulling the first all-nighter in the new investigation.

His DMV search for Olivia Davenport had turned up her current address. He posted the details on a white board he’d started to document the steps in their investigation. The board was positioned near his and Angel’s desk. An enlarged reproduction of Olivia Davenport’s DMV photo was clipped to the white board, and he’d started a timeline, using the time stamps for the messages left on Olivia’s cell phone yesterday, in an effort to retrace her steps.

If Olivia had indeed missed a dinner date, they could use her DMV photo at restaurants and shops in the area to see if anyone recognized the blonde beauty. He had a feeling people would have remembered her if they saw her.

Gabe had fielded a call from Schumacher. They still hadn’t found Olivia’s vehicle and had issued a BOLO alert. They’d done a search near Oz Park and at her residence, and her silver BMW 650i Convertible was missing. It made him wonder if she’d been killed as part of a carjacking, but why would a carjacker take the risk of accosting her in the middle of the park and not in the street near her vehicle? Stealing a car was a grab-and-go crime of opportunity. He couldn’t see a thief take the time to hunt for her vehicle after killing a woman to steal her purse. The whole thing felt staged.

Cronan had written his questions on the white board.

He’d found an online newspaper link to a photo where Olivia stood alongside her parents at a local charity event. Olivia looked stunning in a black cocktail dress, smiling for the camera. She’d organized the event as a benefit for the arts, and her parents were mentioned in the article as being generous supporters. Her father had his arm around his daughter. Both of them were grinning, but Mrs. Davenport stood near them and looked as if she’d been caught unaware of the camera. She’d forgotten to smile.

Seeing Olivia in the photo made it hard to imagine how she ended up in Oz Park. Flashes of her violent death stirred his anger, even this early in the morning.

“Hey, you’ve been busy.”

When he heard Angel’s voice, he looked up from his computer.

“Yeah, caffeine helps.” He raised his coffee mug in greeting.

Angel headed toward her desk across from his. They were located in the far corner of the detectives’ bullpen. His partner had gone to obtain the warrant for phone records. She’d also been with forensics to get more information on the mysterious Ethan. Angel had a smile on her face, always good to see.

“Our first stop will be to notify Olivia’s parents,” he said. “Then I’ve got an address for our vic off DMV. We can check that out.”

“
Sounds like a plan.” She nodded. “I did a lookup on the phone number for our boy Ethan, but all I found was the name of a corporation, Circle of Fifths. I have a contact name, Rachel Blevins, and an address. I’ve got us an appointment to see Ms. Blevins after we notify the family. We can ask her face to face what she knows about a guy named Ethan.”

“
Great. Just tell me where to go. I know you like doing that.”

“
You ready to head out?”

“
Yeah.” Cronan gulped the rest of his coffee and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. He shrugged into it and adjusted it over his white dress shirt and leather shoulder holster that carried his Glock 21.

He followed Angel out of the maze of cubicles and desks, but not before looking over his shoulder at the white board.

“If my face ever goes up on a white board, I want the cops in charge to have one question on their minds—
what the hell was he thinking
?”

“
Wow. That’s morbid.” Angel scrunched her face and glanced over her shoulder at him. “But I’d say you’ve got a pretty good shot at that, Gabe. It’s nice to have goals.”

***

There was never a good time to hear bad news, especially about a daughter who’d been murdered and would never come home. Cronan hated this part of the job. It brought back too many bad memories of the day he’d learned the hard way—that with the things that mattered most, there were no ‘
do overs
.’

Angel kept silent as she sat next to him in the passenger seat of his unmarked Crown Vic. She stared out the windshield as they drove toward the house at the end of the driveway. The beautiful home off Sheridan Road had a spectacular view of Lake Michigan. A trim landscaped yard terraced in flowers. Even though the residence sprawled over several acres, it had the appearance of a comfortable cottage, set into the woods. A brick wall surrounded the estate, a wall that couldn’t keep the Davenports safe from bad news.

After he parked near the front door, he asked, “You ready?”

“
As I’ll ever be.”

Cronan felt an old familiar knot deep in his belly as he walked to the front door. No matter how many times he’d done a notification, they never got easier. The day it did, he’d know it’d be time to turn in his badge. He avoided looking Angel in the eye. He knew she had her own way of dealing with it and making idle conversation felt like an intrusion. He wanted his next words to be for the family.

Cronan took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. It didn’t take long for someone to answer.

“
Yes, can I help you?”

Cronan recognized Olivia’s mother in an instant. Even though the woman didn’t have blonde hair, she and her daughter had the same distinctive blue eyes. Seeing Olivia in her mother’s face brought a darker edge to what he’d come to do.

“Are you Mrs. Elizabeth Davenport?”

“
Yes.”

“
My name is Detective Cronan and this is my partner, Detective Ramirez. We’re with the Chicago Police Department.” He held up his badge. “May we come in?”

The woman tried to read their faces, but when she couldn’t, her skin turned pale.

“What’s this about?”

“
Please…may we come in?” When Angel softened her tone, the woman raised a hand to the pearls hanging from her neck. She backed away to allow them inside.

“
Yes, this way.” Mrs. Davenport ushered them into a small parlor off the entrance.

The room was decorated in a comfortable way, not too formal. It looked like a cross between a high-end interior design magazine and National Geographic. Exotic animal heads were hung on the walls with fur pelts. African sculptures and other taxidermy animals were accent pieces. Display cases had been positioned around the room and featured artifacts, weapons, and a collection of unusual knives. The décor looked masculine, with dark tones and leather furnishings. It wasn’t something he would have expected of Mrs. Davenport. She didn’t look the type of woman to enjoy big game hunting.

But the photos on the walls told another part of the story.

Cronan saw the many faces of Olivia Davenport. The images were like a time capsule—a glimpse into her life. Photos of pep rallies, best friends forever, prom dates, and graduations took a backstage to the many hunting trips she had taken with her father to exotic locations. She’d been hunting since she was a young girl.

Cronan wasn’t sure why, but that surprised him.

Olivia may have looked like her mother, but that’s where the similarity ended. She’d definitely been her father’s daughter. From the photos, Elizabeth hadn’t joined them on their hunting expeditions. Olivia’s mother was missing from every shot.

When a man called out to Mrs. Davenport from a back room, she raised her voice to answer. “It’s the police, Charles. Please join us in the parlor.”

She lowered her voice to tell them,
“That’s my husband. I suppose you’ll want to talk to both of us?” Her voice cracked, and her hands trembled. The woman avoided their eyes as she sat on a small sofa and waited for her husband to join them.

“
Yes, ma’am,” Cronan said. “That would be best.” He took a seat in a leather wingback chair closest to the woman, and Angel took a seat across from them.

While they waited, Gabe stole glances of Olivia’s mother. Elizabeth Davenport wore pale blue slacks and a crisp white blouse with a string of pearls at her neck. She was a thin woman with intense blue eyes and dark hair cut short that showed off her high cheekbones and slender neck. Laugh lines marked her face. She had a good face, the face of someone he would have liked to meet under other circumstances.

Her husband entered the room and took her hand as soon as he sat next to her. The gesture wasn’t forced. It had come naturally. Charles was tall with thinning gray hair. He wore khaki Dockers with a black polo shirt and had the physique of an athlete and the tanned skin of someone who loved the outdoors.

“
What’s this about?” Charles Davenport asked. His gaze shifted between them. “You’re with the police?”

“
I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, but your daughter Olivia—”

Before he finished, Elizabeth Davenport gasped and clutched the hand of her husband.
“Oh, no. Please…no.”

“
Your daughter was found murdered,” he said.

The rest became a blur—for them and for him. Disbelief followed the initial shock. Angel helped him answer the many questions they had before an oppressive silence filled the room, broken only by a mother’s gut wrenching sobs.

“I don’t understand. Who would do such a thing?” Olivia’s mother said the same words again. “Not my baby girl. Not Olivia.”

“
That’s what we’re trying to find out, ma’am. I know this is hard, but can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Olivia?” Cronan asked. After they both shook their heads, he said, “It happened in Oz Park at the intersection of Lincoln and Webster. It’s in the suburbs of Lincoln Park. Do you know what she would be doing there last evening? There were shops and restaurants in the area.”

“
I’m sorry, but I don’t know. Olivia likes pretty clothes and nice things. Or she might have tried a restaurant, but I don’t…” Mrs. Davenport choked and cupped her hand over her mouth. She buried her face into the shoulder of her husband, and he put his arm around her.

“
Maybe our daughter had plans to meet someone for dinner,” he explained.

When he heard Olivia’s father guessing at her whereabouts, he decided to test how close the relationship was between parent and daughter.

“Was your daughter dating anyone special?” Cronan continued. “Someone named Ethan left several messages on her cell phone. I’m sorry, but we don’t have a last name yet. We were hoping you’d be able to help us. What can you tell us about him?”

“
The name doesn’t sound familiar, but Olivia didn’t talk to us about her dates,” Mr. Davenport said. “She’s headstrong, I’m afraid. She resents my…our interference in her personal life.”

Before Cronan asked another question, Mr. Davenport had one of his own.

“Was this Ethan the last person to see Olivia alive?” the man asked. “Do you think he had something to do with this?”

“
No, sir,” Cronan said. “I have no reason to believe he had anything to do with what happened to Olivia. We only want information on your daughter’s whereabouts last night, that’s all.” He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Can you give us contact information for some of your daughter’s friends? Maybe one of them can shed light on whoever she dated.”

Olivia’s father stared at him for a long moment. Eventually he let the subject of the mysterious Ethan drop and gave a couple of names for them to check out. Olivia’s friends.

“How did Olivia support herself?” Cronan asked.

“
She works for the Department of Cultural Affairs for the city, handling promotions. Musical events are her specialty. She loves music…and travel. That is, she did love it.” Mr. Davenport’s voice cracked after he realized he’d used present tense.

Cronan kept the questions coming to distract him, but when Olivia’s mother fixed her gaze on him, she asked the dark question troubling her.

“How did she die? Did she suffer?”

Without hesitation, he lied.
“She was stabbed, one time. And no, I don’t believe she suffered. She lost too much blood. It would’ve been quick, like sleeping and not waking up. I doubt she even knew what happened.”

Mrs. Davenport nodded and avoided his eyes. Maybe she knew he had lied, but Angel changed the subject to make it easier for her.

“Do you have a recent photo of your daughter?” his partner asked. “We’ll make sure you get it back. We’ll scan it and use it when we canvass the neighborhood around the park to see if anyone remembers seeing her. We’re retracing her steps.”

After a long moment, Mrs. Davenport stood and stepped toward a cabinet. She pulled out a burgundy leather photo album from a lower shelf and rejoined her husband on the sofa.

“I started this when Olivia moved out. Whenever she sent photos, I put them here.” She rubbed a trembling hand over the cover before she opened it and took out a photo of her daughter in happier times. “Take this one. She looks so pretty.” Her tears returned when she handed the photo to Angel.

Cronan leaned forward and grabbed the woman’s hands in his, fixing his gaze on Olivia’s mother.

“We’ll find who did this,” he said. “I promise you. Someone will pay for what they did to your daughter.”

Charles Davenport could no longer hold back his tears. He nodded and choked on a stifled sob, slowly losing it. But Elizabeth Davenport looked at him with her eyes welling. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she returned his grip.

“All I want is my daughter back,” she cried. “And that won’t happen.”

Nothing would heal the pain of a mother who had lost her only child. That old familiar punch to the gut—the feeling of powerlessness—left Cronan empty inside.

***