Cavanaugh Cold Case (10 page)

“Yes,” Kristin agreed with enthusiasm. “That's exactly what I mean.”

Malloy rolled the thought over in his head. “Could explain why the male victim was buried near the others,” he said.

“Not near,” Kristin corrected. “On top of.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Come again?”

“I asked O'Shea for details on how he had found the victim, and he said that all the other bodies were in separate graves, but they found the male skeleton on top of one of the female skeletons.”

“Well, that's definitely something to think about,” Malloy said, rolling this new piece of information over in his head. “Anything else that you think I should know?” he asked.

“That's it for now,” she said.

He thought he detected a note of weariness in the medical examiner's voice. The woman had definitely put in a long day.

“It's after hours,” he pointed out. “Why don't you knock off for the night? I'll buy you a drink to celebrate.”

Kristin's guard was immediately up. “Celebrate what?”

Malloy shrugged. “Making progress on the case. The end of the day. Whatever you like.”

“What I'd like,” Kristin told him evenly, “would be for you to stop hitting on me.”

If she was annoyed, her voice gave him no indication. He had the feeling she was saying this just out of habit, for form's sake.

“This isn't me hitting on you,” he told her. “This is me, offering to buy a colleague a drink.”

“Well, ‘colleague,' I've still got a few loose ends I'd like to tie up before I leave. But thanks for the offer. Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, letting it go at that.

For now.

Baby steps, Malloy told himself. Some things have to be reached using baby steps. And she hadn't told him to get lost or to hold his breath. She hadn't really said no at all and that, in his book, was progress.

“See you tomorrow, Doc,” he said as he walked out her door.

“Same time, same place,” he thought he heard her mutter to herself.

Malloy grinned to himself as he went down the hall to the elevator.

Chapter 9

B
efore leaving for the night, Malloy stopped off at his desk. He wanted to get copies of several of the missing persons flyers he'd pulled off the database earlier. If he wasn't going to be taking the lovely medical examiner out for a drink, he reasoned, then he might as well be doing something useful. He had to admit, this case had him more intrigued than most of the cases he had handled in the past year.

Gathering together the papers he wanted, Malloy folded them in half, slipped them into the pocket of his jacket and locked his desk.

Just as he did, he heard what was the unmistakable crack of thunder. It sounded as if it was close by. This was
not
the time of year for rain, at least, in his experience, not here in this part of California. While the rest of the country was familiar with the clichéd rhyme about the relationship between April showers bringing May flowers, there were no April showers in Aurora.

At least, hardly ever, he amended.

But obviously, whoever was in charge of the weather out here hadn't familiarized themselves with the area's bylaws recently. Rain was supposed to be relegated to falling between November and March, with the concentration of rain happening in the middle of that range.

However, it seemed that all bets were off.

By the time Malloy reached the first floor and walked through the precinct's rear glass doors, rain had definitely arrived.

With a vengeance.

Malloy owned an umbrella, but as to even its general location, well, he hadn't a clue. So, raising his jacket up over his head, he made a run for it to the rear parking lot.

Most of the cars in this part of the lot had cleared out, so there was no momentary hesitation as he tried to find his car. It was right out in plain sight.

Hitting the security button on his key ring, he heard the familiar squawk that told him the car had unlocked and was waiting for him to get in.

He did the latter posthaste.

Brushing the stray drops of rain from his hair and his clothes, Malloy allowed himself a moment to bless CSI's efficiency. The perimeter of the nursery had been swept in its entirety, and all the data that
was
data had been tagged, collected and brought to the lab. The heavy rainfall wouldn't be interfering with his case or washing out what could have been a possible crime scene. That was an immense relief.

Buckling up, Malloy put his key in the ignition and turned on the lights at the same time. Time to go home and see if there was anything he could scrounge up in his refrigerator. He knew he could swing by Andrew's house and find a meal waiting for him. The man always had something ready to put on the table, no matter what time of day or night someone arrived on his doorstep.

But as tempting as that was at the moment, Malloy knew it would be taking advantage of a very good thing, and he really didn't want to be seen in that light. He genuinely liked the spur of the moment—as well as the planned—get-togethers that his newly acquired grand-uncle held, and the last thing he wanted to do was show his appreciation by becoming a moocher.

Rain suddenly began lashing at his windshield, as if to somehow make up for all the time that had been lost this past year.

Too much rain was as bad as not enough. No one wanted to find themselves caught up in a flash flood without warning, or to have—

Malloy's thoughts suddenly evaporated as he squinted at something that was smack out in the middle of the front lot. Drawing closer, he saw that it was a stalled car. A stalled car with a very wet driver, despite the umbrella the driver was juggling in one hand. The wind had decided to whip up the rain, and it was falling not just down, but sideways, as well.

The umbrella was just two steps away from being totally useless.

The driver was circling the trunk and taking out what appeared to be a jack.

What a time to get a flat tire, he couldn't help thinking.

Even as the thought—and sympathy—crossed his mind, he began slowing down. Malloy was close enough to the scene now to see that the person dealing with the flat tire was a woman.

No sooner had he noted that than he realized that he was slowly driving by Kristin's car. He'd already intended to stop and help the driver, but this really cinched it. The next moment, Malloy came to a dead stop right beside Kristin's two-door compact.

Rolling down the window on the passenger side, he leaned over so she could hear him more clearly and asked, “Need help?”

Kristin would have loved nothing better than to say “No,” that she had it covered and then to wave him on his way. But as much as she loathed to admit it, she
did
need help. She'd never changed a flat tire before.

Not only that, but just standing out here had made her look as if she was the first cousin of a drowned rat—despite the umbrella she was holding.

To stay dry, she would either need the wind to cooperate—or to be encased in a bubble.

The distress Kristin felt was because she'd never been in a situation like this before, and because she had to
admit
that she'd never been in a situation like this before. She didn't like not being in control. She liked being perceived that way even less.

“Yes,” she was forced to admit. Then after a beat, she added an almost unwilling, “Please.”

Malloy grinned when he heard the inclusion of the second word. Rolling his window back up, he turned off the engine—leaving the car exactly where he'd stopped it—and got out. Kristin immediately shifted over to him, holding her umbrella aloft just enough to cover both of them.

“Lucky for you that I was looking for a damsel in distress to save,” he told her, then indicated the front seat of her vehicle. “Why don't you get into the car and I'll take care of this?”

Kristin shook her head. “You can't hold the umbrella and change the flat.”

Malloy grinned. “Guess you've got a point,” he agreed. “I left my second set of hands at home.” And then he said more seriously, “I'm already wet. More water won't hurt.” He nodded toward her vehicle. “Get in the car,” he repeated.

“But you don't have to get any wetter on my account,” Kristin argued, refusing to give an inch. Instead, she went on holding the umbrella over his head.

Malloy opened the driver's-side door. “Nobody's keeping score.”

Her eyes met his. In that moment, he knew she was not about to budge, no matter how long or persuasively he argued.

“I am,” she countered.

He shook his head, surrendering. “You are by far the stubbornest woman I've ever had to deal with—and I come from a family of stubborn, pigheaded women. Congratulations, you are now the queen of stubborn women.” He took out the car jack as well as the torque wrench. “My sisters will be by to pay homage later.”

As he moved back to the front tire, she moved with him, holding the umbrella over his head as much as possible. The wind still refused to cooperate.

“From what I've heard about the Cavanaugh women, I'm in very good company.”

Getting the jack under the car on the side with the flat, he began to slowly raise it up.

“And what have you heard about the Cavanaugh men?” he asked, curious.

“To be very careful around them,” she answered Malloy seriously.

“Well, they were right,” he said as he removed the last lug nut from the tire.

Putting all four down next to the jack, he went back to her trunk to retrieve the spare. Moving aside the plastic mat that was covering it, he loosened the tire so that he could lift it out.

“About the
other
Cavanaugh men, not me,” he assured her, hefting the tire out. He had to wait a second until she got out of his way before he could start to put the spare on.

“Oh?” she asked, trying not to laugh despite the fact that she could now feel water making the inside of her shoes soggy. “You're different?” she questioned, playing along.

“Absolutely,” he said with feeling. Slipping the lug nuts into place, his forearms strained as he made sure that each one was securely tightened before moving on to the next one. “I'm just a pussycat,” he informed her, looking up and winking.

Kristin deliberately ignored the corresponding flutter in her stomach. “That certainly wouldn't be my description for you.”

Malloy tested each lug nut one last time to make sure he hadn't missed tightening one of them. “Oh? And just how would you describe me?”

She paused for a minute as she chose her words. “Pushy, persuasive—and dangerous,” she concluded even as she felt her pulse speeding up with each word. Damn it, she should have more control over her reactions than this.

“Dangerous?” he echoed incredulously. “Me?” And then he laughed at the very idea. “Only if you're a bad guy. The innocent and pure have nothing to fear from me,” he assured her.

His smile went clear down to her bone. “Oh, I think the ‘innocent and pure' have a great deal to fear from you, Cavanaugh,” she told him. “Mainly that they wouldn't remain that way.”

“You do have one hell of an imagination, Doc,” he told Kristin.

Finished, with rain and a reasonable amount of dirt clinging to his slacks around the knee area, Malloy rose to his feet and carried the tools he'd used back to her trunk.

Closing it, he turned to look at her. “You're ready to roll,” he told her, then qualified, “Although I wouldn't roll too far. Those tires are only good for about fifty miles at best. They're thinner and smaller than the real thing, but they can get you to a gas station where you can buy another tire—or two to keep them balanced and equal,” he added. “By the way, that last part was free,” he tossed in.

Immediately alert, Kristin braced herself. “And the first part?” she asked. What would he want for that? “You changing my tire,” she prompted.

“That'll cost you,” he answered. Then, seeing the wary look on her face, he couldn't find it in his heart to tease her and draw this out any longer. “That drink I asked to take you out for earlier,” he told her.

“You want to buy me a drink?” she asked, not all that certain that she believed him.

“Unless they're giving them away,” he added. “Or someone's buying rounds for the house. Yes,” he confirmed, “I'd like to buy you that drink.”

“But I'm wet,” she protested, looking down at her clothes. Because of the umbrella, she wasn't completely drenched, but she was a long ways from dry.

He spared her a glance and tried not to let himself linger over the way her blouse was provocatively clinging to her upper torso. His imagination was in danger of running away with him at any second, so he reined it in but not without some effort.

“Don't worry about it,” he assured her. “Everyone else will be wet, too. No one'll notice.”

Especially if their eyes were sealed shut
, he added silently. The woman was impossible not to notice, but saying so was not going to get him what he wanted—just a quiet drink with her to start to break the ice between them.

Kristin chewed on her lower lip as she weighed the pros and cons of the situation. Malloy didn't have to stop to help her. If he had driven away, she wouldn't have even known that he'd seen her or the dilemma she had found herself in. If he'd just gone home, she would have been none the wiser and he would have been dry.

She owed him.

And she always paid her debts.

Kristin made her decision. “I guess I can't say no.”

“You can always say no,” he contradicted, surprising her. She found herself warming to him far more than she wanted to or was comfortable with. “But I'd really rather that you didn't.”

“Okay,” she agreed, even though a part of her felt that she would regret this. “But we'll each drive.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” he told her. He had an exact location in mind. “Do you know where Malone's is?”

Malone's was a bar owned and run by a retired police officer, and it was where all the off-duty law enforcement agents went to try to shake off the stress of the job. They did so by exchanging stories, picking each other's brains about particularly baffling cases and just spending some time in the company of people who knew what they were feeling without their needing to say a word.

“I'm familiar with it.”

The way she said it, he had a feeling that Kristin might have driven past the place once or twice without really taking any note of it.

So this would be something new for her, he thought, enjoying the idea.

“Tell you what, you follow me. Malone's isn't far from here.” Then, to encourage her to come, he said, “The drinks aren't watered down, neither is the conversation—and Sal makes a mean cheeseburger if you're hungry,” Malloy added as he felt his stomach rumble in protest that it had been neglected.

“Sal?” she repeated.
Was that one of his girlfriends?
Kristin couldn't help wondering. “Is that short for Sally?”

He laughed, thinking of the feminine name being affixed to the barrel-chested, balding man he'd just mentioned. “It's short for Salvatore,” he told her. “Salvatore Vincenzo. A great cop,” he told her. “Caught a bullet, retired and lasted four months before he was looking for something to do with himself. Eventually, he bought the bar.”

Kristin was trying to connect the dots. “But you just said that the bar's name was
Malone's
, not Vincenzo's.”

At least she was paying attention. “The guy who originally owned the bar was Tim Malone. His widow sold the bar to Sal. She wanted it to be ‘in good hands,' she'd told him, which was why she'd sold it to another cop.”

Although Malloy had to admit that there was something intimately isolating about standing out here in the rain with this woman, he decided that it might be a better idea to go where catching pneumonia wasn't a viable option.