Blood Score (9 page)

Angel rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. You’re such a guy.”

“
Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t a compliment?” He opened the front door for her and let her pass. Once they got outside Ethan Chandler’s building and were beyond earshot of the media circus, Angel made sure an overzealous reporter hadn’t followed them before she compared notes with Gabe as they headed for their ride.

“
He had sex with Olivia last weekend, not the night she was killed. So we’re missing one condom donor,” she said. “Ethan was definitely hurting, for real.”

Angel knew what it felt like to lose someone special. Maybe she’d projected her grief onto Ethan, but she preferred to think she was a good judge of character.

“Did he know his girlfriend cheated on him?” Cronan asked. The abrupt question surprised her.

“
I, ah…never asked. I mean, it never came up.”

“
Never came up? Come on, Angel. You ask the questions and they answer. That’s how it works.” When her face heated, her partner changed the subject. “According to Vampira, Olivia didn’t have a monogamous bone in her body. She would have screwed anything breathing. PR lady wasn’t sure that breathing was a strict requirement. Her words, not mine.”

Cronan reached into his pocket for his car keys.

“Rachel didn’t have any real proof,” he said. “Only her suspicions, but she’d seen Olivia flirting, even when she had that poor schmuck with her. If that’s true, Olivia was a real piece of work, with a mean streak worthy of her mad skills.”

Normally Cronan didn’t speak ill of the dead—
unless they deserved it.

“
You believe what Rachel told you?”

“
I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a feeling she’d lie about her own mother if it gave her an edge. She’s got no…soul, you know?”

“
Yeah, I hear that.”

Cronan unlocked the vehicle and looked over his shoulder at her. When she caught him staring, she shrugged and asked,
“What? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“
No, it’s just…” He flipped the keys in his hand, avoiding her eyes.

“
Come on, buddy. How long have we been doing this?” she insisted and propped her hands on the roof of the vehicle. “Now tell me. What’s up?”

“
You got a little distracted back there. You do a good interview, but you didn’t press him. You walked on egg shells to avoid the subject of Olivia cheating.” He stood outside the driver’s door and turned to look up the street as he spoke. “Jealousy can be motive for murder, Angel. If he knew about her extra-curriculars, that could’ve set him off.”

“
In case you didn’t notice, the guy’s blind, Gabe.”

“
Yeah, but where do you think the phrase ‘blind rage’ came from? And murder for hire is an equal opportunity employer. Even a guy with a handicap can hire a pro.” He heaved a sigh. “My gut tells me this had to be personal. Most pros wouldn’t use a knife like that. I’m just sayin’ we need to keep our options open. We haven’t ruled him out as a suspect yet. Or was there another reason you gave him Angel Lite?”

“
What are you talking about?”

“
I got the feeling that you…” Cronan fixed his intense blue eyes on her. “…that you went a little soft on him because…”

At first Angel smiled and almost laughed off her partner’s misguided concern, but something in Cronan’s eyes made her stop. She’d seen the look before when he thought she hadn’t noticed.

“Spit it out, Gabe.”

“
I mean, he’s a good looking guy, and it’s been two years since Manny died. You’re entitled to…look.” He loosened his tie. “I personally don’t see him as your type, but…”

“
Oh, here we go.” She got inside and slammed the door. When her partner slid into the driver seat, she let him have it. “I don’t want to hear your version of
my type
, Gabe. And I don’t need you to tell me what I’m entitled to after Manny. You’re over the line, even for you. I know you’re gonna think I’m exaggerating, but you totally suck at diplomacy.”

Cronan started the engine with his jaw clenched. He let the air-conditioning cool things off as an awkward silence closed in.

“You’re right.” He stared straight ahead with his hands gripping the wheel. “You don’t need a guy like me telling you anything. What you and Manny had, that was real special. But he’s gone and— Oh, hell. Forget I said anything.”

As Cronan pulled the Crown Vic from the curb and merged into traffic, Angel wanted to stay mad at him for overstepping his bounds as a partner and a friend. But his version of an apology—‘
Forget I said anything
’—almost made her smile. She’d never seen him so unsure of himself. He had a hard time wielding the words when things got personal. Gabe showed his feelings and like most men, he never cared much for talking about ‘touchy feely’ stuff.

That didn’t mean his message didn’t get through to her. She’d read him loud and clear. For the first time since Manny died, she had thoughts about another man and Gabe had noticed—even before she had.

What was that all about?

***

North of Downtown Chicago

Normally arguing with Angel got him fired up in a good way. Cronan loved a healthy debate as much as the next guy, and a shot of adrenaline from time to time wasn’t a bad thing. Clashes were bound to happen between two headstrong people and past disagreements had always been job related. But this time he’d stomped over personal territory, and he felt lousy doing it.

He’d won the prize for being the colossal jerk wad of the century and in his case, it wasn’t good to be
King
.

“
This is it,” Angel said as she pointed to an upscale condominium project on the fringe of the suburbs. On the drive over, his partner had done her best to minimize the strain from their argument by sticking to the case.

It looked to be working for her. Too bad he couldn’t say the same.

“Man, I don’t know what the Department of Cultural Affairs pays an entry level promotion person, but I think daddy kicked in coin,” she said as he drove through the main gate and found a parking spot in front of the building where Olivia had lived. “Daddy D must have pulled a few strings to get his daughter a good start in life.”

“
I’ll say,” he agreed. “Maybe a life of handouts wouldn’t have done her any favors in the long run.”

With Olivia dead, he’d never know if his theory had substance. It could be nothing more than useless ramblings from the King of jerk wads.

“I don’t know.” Angel shrugged. “I think it would take a lot of will power to turn down free money if it were handed to you. If you didn’t know a different way of living, why would you give that up?”

“
That’s a scary thought. So what you’re sayin’ is that ignorance is bliss.” He smiled. “If you’re born with money, you have no idea how bad it really is for you. A place like this is more like a gilded cage. You and me, we’re better off without all this grandeur.”

“
Well, that’s one way to look at it.”

The condominium grounds were beautifully landscaped, and the gated entrance would keep traffic to a minimum, even though the guard booth was unmanned. The exterior of white stucco had an interesting array of balconies jutting out over terraced floral beds. Blue and terracotta decorative tile lined walkways and set off windows. The complex had a sprawling Mediterranean look and a decent view of Lake Michigan.

“I think my first apartment was smaller than one of those balconies.” Cronan grimaced into the afternoon sun as he got out of the vehicle and slipped on sunglasses. “You got the unit number?”

“
Yeah, and we won’t have to chase down someone to let us in. The computer forensics techs are here to take her computer into evidence. Schumacher’s guys. He’s already cleared the way for us.”

“
Sweet.”

When they entered Olivia’s unit, the forensic team greeted them and were in the process of disconnecting her computer. Cronan recognized one of the guys.

“You find anything interesting on her computer?” he asked.

“
Not yet. She had it off so we won’t know anything until we get it back to the lab. Logging on would have changed the file time stamps. We want to preserve what’s on the hard drive.”

“
Yeah, whatever,” he said and glanced at Angel. She smiled as she slipped into her latex gloves, but she never said a word.

“
We’ll let you know what we find out,” the tech said.

A computer had become a necessary part of murder investigations for various reasons, but he’d resisted getting sucked into the high-tech world. Angel wasn’t much better. Both of them usually needed help translating geek speak.

“Thanks,” he said.

None of the science geeks were very chatty, which worked for Cronan. He preferred to go through Olivia’s home without anyone hovering over his shoulder. After putting on his latex gloves, he walked through the residence and looked for anything to catch his eye.

Olivia Davenport had expensive taste and surrounded herself with the best of everything. Cronan saw dollar signs everywhere. The rooms looked as if an interior designer had decorated them. Cozy yet pricey. Rich palettes of gold mixed with earth tones. Olivia’s good taste ranged from top dollar furnishings to paintings and art pieces.

Unlike daddy dearest, Olivia didn’t decorate with dead animal carcasses. Even though there were pictures of hunting trips on bookshelves—photos of Olivia with her father with a noticeably absent mother—there weren’t as many framed memories as were in the Davenport home. He wondered if that was significant. Her father’s slip of the tongue about Olivia hadn’t gone unnoticed.

‘…she resents my…our interference in her personal life…’

“
Cronan? I got flowers over here. Fresh.” Angel called out. “The card only has two words—
Love, me
.”

“
Maybe the florist can help us track down Mr. FTD.”

“
Yeah. I’ll run that down,” she said.

Cronan spotted a photograph across the living room that drew his attention. It was a photo of Olivia with Ethan Chandler. Olivia didn’t have many photos displayed of the two of them together, considering she dated the guy. That hadn’t hit him until he saw the photo.

Olivia looked stunning in a long black gown, and Ethan had on a tux and held his violin. The event looked like a concert or a fancy charity gig. They’d made a good-looking couple. Although both of them were smiling, something else had drawn him to the image.

“
Angel, come check this out. Tell me what you think.” When she joined him, he showed her the picture and said, “Check out that look on her face. Is she flirting with the guy taking the photo? I mean, she’s got the hots for someone. All that lusty heat is not directed at Ethan.”

Angel grabbed the photo from his hands and stared at it.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “But she was an attractive woman who loved a good photo op. Maybe that’s all it was.”

“
No, I’ve seen that look before. That’s a look every guy wants to see in a woman’s eyes.”

Angel chuckled.
“I have no doubt you’ve seen that look plenty of times, Gabe. In fact, I’d consider you an expert. You might be right.”

“
What’s that supposed to mean?”

Angel handed him back the photo and didn’t answer. She only shook her head and walked away.

“Rachel had said Olivia flirted, even if Ethan stood right next to her,” he muttered, staring down at the photo again. “Maybe she told the truth about that.”

Cronan noticed there wasn’t a time stamp on the corner of the photo. People like Olivia Davenport didn’t frame date stamped photos like most people on the planet. But he might be able to search newspaper society page archives for her dress. He had a feeling Olivia didn’t wear the same dress twice. If the event was a charity function, his search may not be too difficult. Ethan had admitted dating Olivia off and on over the last six months. If he could track down a guest list from a charity event, he might notice a familiar name.

He had a feeling that finding out who had taken the photo might be important.

Beyond Olivia’s parents and Ethan Chandler, they needed a broader look at her circle of acquaintances. Someone in the public eye like Olivia Davenport would have plenty of people in her life. But good friends, that were her inner circle, might be another story.

Cronan set down the photo and wandered toward the dining room and kitchen. On a console table behind a sofa, a blinking red light stopped him short. Her answering machine had messages. He hit the play button and continued his search, listening to several messages on her machine. The head of an organizing committee had called to ask her to volunteer, and a girlfriend had called to ask about having lunch when she got to town next week.

But the last message got his attention.

‘We gotta talk. Now. Call me.’