Blood Score (8 page)

“
The publicist told us that Ethan had rehearsed this week and hadn’t seen Olivia in days, remember? We need to confirm what she told us, but it looks like while Ethan waited for his date to show up at the restaurant, Olivia Davenport practiced safe sex with someone else.”

Given fiddle boy’s handicap, Cronan’s first reaction was to feel sorry for the bastard—a male bonding thing. The poor sap had waited for Olivia at the restaurant and left countless messages on her cell. Now evidence suggested she had reason not to answer.

Beautiful blonde Olivia was a player.

Maybe she needed more than a handicapped man gave her, even a famous musician like Ethan Chandler. Cheating on a blind guy, who traveled frequently, would have been easy, and Cronan realized something else. He had to flush the first impression he had of Olivia Davenport out of his mind. Whatever he had believed about her before, he would clear the slate forward and let the evidence speak for itself.

“You’re right, Angel. Complicated is the word. Let’s see if Chandler can simplify things. Because you know me, I like real simple.” He unlocked his vehicle as they walked toward his Crown Vic.

Cronan thought about being the bearer of bad news for the second time today. This time would be worse than telling someone that a loved one had been brutally murdered. He’d still have to officially talk about the murder, but telling Ethan the truth about Olivia’s love life made things worse. What guy wanted to hear that while he got stood up, his date had made it with someone else?
Bad news, your girlfriend was murdered, but on the bright side, she went out with a bang.
No, he wasn’t looking forward to his interview with the guy.

The best Cronan could hope for now—for purely selfish reasons—was that Ethan Chandler was a prick.

Cronan drove across a few intersections to hit the right block of a one-way street as they searched for Ethan Chandler’s residence. The lunch hour traffic had made the drive longer than Angel had expected. She’d called the cell phone number for the violinist, but when no one picked up, she decided against leaving a message.

“
No answer. The guy’s not big on phones.” She pocketed her cell as her partner parked down the street.

“
A man I can understand,” he said as he got out of the Crown Vic.

It didn’t take a detective to figure out where Ethan Chandler lived. Reporters and camera crews were camped in front of an exclusive residential building. Cronan shoved through the line, repeating
“no comment” as he dodged microphones. A doorman stood on the other side of the secured front entrance. After they showed ID, the man escorted them through the foyer and made introductions to the onsite property manager.

“
I bet the residents really love all the media attention,” he whispered to Angel as they walked behind the doorman.

No doubt residents valued their privacy at an address that was so exclusive it only had a street number on the outside door. No fancy property name. But flashing their badges had given them all the reason they’d need to pay a visit to Ethan Chandler. The property manager made the call to Chandler’s suite and got permission to send them up.

Angel knocked on the door of the musician’s residence, and a familiar face greeted them.

“
You must have made a beeline here, Ms. Blevins,” Cronan said as he walked into the suite after Angel. “Are you always this…hands on with your clients?”

“
Ethan’s special.” Rachel Blevins raised an eyebrow. “With Olivia’s murder hitting the news today, you can see the rabble out front. I didn’t want him walking into those vultures before he’d heard the news. I thought it best that he hears about Olivia from a friend.”

“
And just to clarify, that would be you?” Cronan said.

This time Angel noticed that the woman didn’t bother to answer. She’d learned to dodge her partner’s sarcasm.

“Please, follow me.” After she led them into a living room, the publicist asked them to wait and left the room. That gave them opportunity to snoop.

“
Well, what do you know? Ethan Chandler’s a simple guy like you, Gabe.” Angel walked around the room and checked out the minimalist decor.

“
Yeah, this fiddle player and me, we’re gonna be real tight. I can feel it.” Gabe smirked.

Ethan Chandler’s home had been professionally decorated. A masculine design of blacks, grays, and silver tones with splashes of vivid color—colors a blind man would not be able to appreciate. The sleek furnishings were modern with clean designs that emphasized function. The typical clutter of everyday life was absent. Everything had its place. Simplicity must have appealed to the man who called this place home.

Natural light would have come in from the windows, but the shades had been drawn. The room would have been dark except for the dim glow coming from two lamp fixtures. Angel wondered if it mattered to Ethan if light ever came in the room. Did he only flip the switch for guests? Imagining him oblivious to the dark and living his entire life that way made her sad.

“
Hey, check this out,” Gabe said. “The guy has his own recording studio.”

A small glassed-in room had a high-tech control panel, musical instruments, and casual seating. A tasteful, blood red sofa caught Angel’s eye. It had a distinctive shape that she liked. Very modern.

“He can record there, but he mainly uses it to practice whenever he feels like it.” The voice of Rachel Blevins interrupted them. “He often uses it at night when he can’t sleep. It’s sound proof so the neighbors can’t complain.”

Angel turned to see that the woman wasn’t alone.

“Ethan? This is Detective Gabriel Cronan…” The publicist had Ethan Chandler on her arm. “…and his partner, Detective Angelica Ramirez. They’re working Olivia’s case.”

The woman made the introductions with a somber voice befitting the purpose of their visit. Her tone and attitude had been a complete departure from the flip way she’d talked about Olivia in her office earlier. No doubt she played it up for her client, pretending to feel his pain.

Dressed in navy slacks and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, Ethan held out his hand in front of him and Gabe stepped over to shake it. Angel did the same.

“
Thank you for coming,” Ethan said. “Please, I want to help any way I can. I can’t believe Livie is dead.” The skin on his face looked blotchy red, and his eyes were watery. It looked like he’d taken the news hard.

Angel realized God must have been a woman after she saw the violinist for the first time. Only a woman would know how to create such perfection in the opposite sex. Ethan Chandler was the most beautiful man Angel had ever seen.

“You left messages for Olivia Davenport on the night she died,” she began. “Tell me about your plans for the evening.”

“
We had dinner reservations at Amandine’s on Halsted Street for eight o’clock, but Livie…she never showed.” Ethan’s lower lip trembled, and he visibly shook as he told them about his plans to meet Olivia and how she never answered his calls. When he was done, he said, “Oh my, God. Was she already dead…when I called?”

Rachel Blevins touched his chest and stroked fingers down his arm. He accepted her gesture without flinching. Ethan might not have been surprised by the intimacy, but Angel was. Without the ability to communicate to a blind man with a sympathetic facial expression, perhaps the publicist had only meant to send a message of concern to him in the only way she could.

Or maybe the woman’s touch carried another meaning.

“
We’re piecing together a timeline of her activities before she died. That’s why we’re here,” Angel said, avoiding an answer to his question. “Did Olivia give you any reason to expect her to be late to the restaurant? Had she run errands or did she meet anyone beforehand?”

“
No, not that I know of. She’d never been very punctual, but to not show up… “ He wiped a hand over his face. “She never told me anything about her plans for yesterday, but I could’ve been too distracted by rehearsals to ask.”

This time when Rachel touched his arm, Ethan clasped her hand in his, a show of affection that seemed natural between them.

“The news media is camped at the front entrance of the building, Ethan,” Rachel told him. “They’ll be looking for you. If you need to leave the building, call me, and we’ll use the same plan as we’ve done before. We can get in and out of this building without prying eyes.”

“
Great. A prisoner in my own home. Wonderful.” The violinist looked even more miserable.

“
I took the liberty of letting Harrison know what happened,” the publicist said. “He wants to see you later today.”

Ethan grimaced for a split second, enough to send Angel a clear message that something had triggered a reaction in him.

“Harrison? Who’s that?” Angel asked.

Rachel looked at Ethan before she replied,
“Harrison Reeves. He’s Ethan’s agent.”

“
Okay. I can see clueing an agent in on something of this nature, but you don’t seem happy about that, Mr. Chandler. Why is that?”

Ethan shrugged.
“He’s just a little…overbearing when it comes to…”

When he stopped, Rachel picked up the slack.
“His agent has a hard time drawing the line between the business and personal affairs of his clients, that’s all. He has an overzealous nature when it comes to protecting Ethan’s interests.”

“
Reeves lives in Chicago?” Gabe asked.

“
Yeah, he does. If you need his contact information, I’m sure Rachel can get that for you,” Ethan offered, and his publicist nodded.

Angel asked more questions and took notes. She focused on every word Ethan said. Watching him had become a total distraction. When she glanced at him, and he seemed to look back, she turned away until she remembered Ethan was blind. He wouldn’t see her staring at him. Knowing that was liberating. She took advantage of the situation, something she never would have done with a sighted man.

Ethan was tall and had a lean muscular build. He wore his dark hair a little long, and it had a natural wave to it as if he’d finger combed it. His skin looked flawless, pale with an appealing blush to his cheeks. He had a boyish appearance at times, yet the haunted look in his dark eyes made him appear older than his years. Whenever he talked, she couldn’t help but stare at his full lips.

“
Can I get you a drink? I’ve got a stocked bar or I can brew coffee if you’d prefer.” Unlike Rachel Blevins, Ethan Chandler was a considerate host. After he didn’t get any takers, he poured himself a Scotch, neat.

Ethan moved with such confidence in his home that Angel almost forgot he was blind. He had a brooding masculine manner, and he gestured with an easy grace. Perhaps being blind had taught him to move differently than most men, and she found the long fingers of his hands captivating. Ethan made beautiful music with those hands.

Watching him was mesmerizing.

“
Who would do such a terrible thing?” He gulped down his drink. “Everyone loved her.” After a long moment, he asked, “Was this a mugging? I have no idea why Livie would have been at a park, especially at that hour. Not when she…was supposed to be with me.”

“
We’d like to know why she went to that park too,” Angel said. “Did she use drugs of any kind?”

“
No.” He sounded adamant until his voice softened. “Not that I know of.”

She glanced at her partner. Given the new evidence found on the body, now would be the time to ask about Olivia’s love life. She thought it best to find another way to get what she wanted—to avoid upsetting Ethan—but no matter how she worded her question, there’d be no easy way to broach the subject.

“Please forgive me, but I have to ask a very personal question. When was the last time you and Olivia had been intimate?”

Ethan turned his head and stared through her.

“How is that pertinent to your investigation?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

“
The question is routine. The medical examiner will need to know for exclusionary purposes if he finds something during the autopsy. Now please, answer my question.”

When Ethan stalled, Rachel Blevins fidgeted in her chair. Angel would have expected the publicist to intervene in the interest of protecting her client, but the woman didn’t interfere. Cronan must have noticed the same thing.

“I’ve changed my mind. I can use coffee. Anyone else?” her partner asked.

Angel shook her head, and the publicist did the same. When Ethan didn’t respond at all, Cronan turned to Rachel.

“Show me where the kitchen is?”

“
Uh, yeah. Sure.”

After her partner left with Rachel, Angel was alone with Ethan. She knew Cronan well enough to know that he’d been deliberate in splitting up the publicist from her client, hoping Ethan would be freer to share. Rachel also had strong opinions about Olivia Davenport. If the woman didn’t have to worry about the feelings of her client, she might be brutally honest. Divide and conquer was worth a shot. Angel couldn’t let Ethan off the hook. She needed his answer.

“Please, Mr. Chandler. Answer the question. When was the last time you had sex with Olivia Davenport?”

***

Rachel Blevins had seen through Gabe’s ruse to get her alone, and she didn’t look happy about it, but the fact that she came with him told Cronan something. She wanted to spill her guts. An ornery woman like Rachel always did, even though she probably wouldn’t make it easy. She crossed her arms and glared at him when they got to the kitchen. All pretenses of civility were done and gone.

“
I can show you where he keeps the java, Slick, but don’t expect me to make it for you. Suzie homemaker, I’m not.”

“
Why am I not surprised?” He matched her stance. “Do you know if Olivia Davenport cheated on Ethan?”

“
Ha.” She grinned and leaned against the kitchen counter. “You know something or else you wouldn’t have asked the question, tough guy. Don’t give me the same bull your partner laid on Ethan. Routine, my ass.”

“
Your ass would be anything but routine.” He cocked his head and smiled.

Rachel narrowed her eyes—pretending to be offended—before she eased into a grin.

“I’m not sure I like that you’ve checked out my ass.”

“
Oh yeah, you do.” Cronan raised an eyebrow before he rummaged through kitchen cabinets looking for coffee. “A woman who goes to as much trouble to look the way you do expects men to notice. Now where is that coffee? And answer the damned question.”

***

Thirty Minutes Later

“This is shaping up to be a movie of the week, a flick on that women’s channel,” Cronan said with a straight face as they heading for the front exit. “You know those cable TV shows where all men are bad and someone’s gotta die?”