by Melinda Colt
Evan continued his questions, following his trail of thoughts, willing the young man to provide him with a scrap of valuable info. “So you don’t know if she had an ex-lover, a relationship that might not have ended well? Did she ever mention anyone who hated or disliked her?”
Patrick took his time, his creased forehead indicating he was thinking back hard. After a few moments, he shook his head again. “No, she never mentioned anything like that. The reason why we got along so well is because we both lived simple lives. We went to work, we got home, some nights we went out, some nights we spent at my place or hers. We kept it simple.”
“Right.”
Someone had certainly complicated things for this unfortunate couple. Evan stood, suppressing the urge to massage his aching lower back. Moving from sunny California to cloudy Ireland and having to adjust to the weather was killing him.
“I’ll go and make the arrangements for the polygraph test. Do you want anything to drink or something to eat?”
“A glass of water, please,” Patrick said gratefully.
“I’ll take care of it.” Evan took the evidence bags and headed out. He asked a Garda to get Patrick some water and an energy bar, then turned to Chelsea and John, who’d been following the interview.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, addressing both of them.
John stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes still on the young man that sat patiently beyond the glass. “I don’t know… He seems innocent, I’ll give ye that. But the evidence that incriminates him can’t be disputed, can it?”
Even gnawed at his cheek. His fingers were itching to get to work. “Not necessarily. I have a theory, but I need your help.” He looked at John, then at Chelsea. “I need some time to work on his phone and check something. Would you set up the truth test? Chelsea, do you have time to supervise the lie detector test?”
Chelsea looked at her watch, her brow furrowing. “I’m not sure. I have a patient at four thirty. A polygraph test takes a couple of hours. If the examiner gets here quickly, I could stay…”
“On it,” John said, taking his phone out of his pocket. “We’ll take care of this, Evan. You go and do what you have to do.”
“Thanks. Appreciated.”
Giving each of them a grateful smile, he rushed to his desk. He wasn’t sure if he should hope to be right or wrong. If his assumption was correct, it might serve no purpose other than to exonerate Patrick.
A couple of hours later, his fear materialized. He sat staring at the laptop, barely aware his eyes stung like hell. Patrick’s phone was connected to the laptop through a USB cable, its screen glinting as if to taunt Evan. For the umpteenth time, he swore under his breath. He was about to stand when he saw Chelsea and John approach his desk.
“Patrick O’Leary passed the lie detector test,” Chelsea informed him. “I know it’s not 100 percent reliable, but according to it he didn’t kill Shannon, he had no knowledge of those messages, and he didn’t know about his girlfriend’s murder until we showed up at his door.”
“I know.” Evan sighed, getting to his feet heavily. His legs were almost numb, the contracted muscles of his neck ached.
“How do you know?” John asked, his steel-gray eyes narrowing in bemusement.
“Patrick’s phone was spoofed.” Evan indicated the laptop and proceeded to explain. “Someone cloned his phone number and sent those messages to Shannon. On her phone, it appears they came from Patrick, but they didn’t.”
Chelsea’s lips parted and she looked at him with big, worried eyes. “Do you know who did this? Can you identify him or her?”
“No and no. I tried to find out from what cell tower the messages were sent, but the hacker used a virtually emulated phone over a VPN—virtual private network—which made it impossible to track. It’s a dead end.”
Chapter Five
The tense silence lasted for several seconds.
Finally, Chelsea spoke. “So, someone framed Patrick for his girlfriend’s murder?”
“It appears so.” Evan cleared his throat. “Of course, there’s also the possibility of him planning all this himself to appear as if he was set up, but I honestly don’t see that happening. He doesn’t seem the type of guy who would have the discipline, the e-how and the malice to plan something this elaborate. Besides, he has no motive that we know of.”
Chelsea hooked her thumbs in her jeans’ pockets, blowing out a breath. “Well, I guess I never expected it to be that easy anyway.”
“Not this complicated either,” John muttered, walking behind Evan’s desk to gaze at the monitor. “Does it take a skilled hacker to do this stuff?”
“Pretty skilled,” Evan replied. “It’s not that hard to clone a phone number, but to hide his tracks so well… I’d say he knows his shit.”
Chelsea glanced at her watch, shifting her weigh on her other leg. “I’m sorry, guys, but I have to go. I can’t cancel my patient appointments unless ye need me for something urgent.”
Evan shook his head. “Go about your business. There’s nothing you can do here at the moment. Thanks for everything.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing. I’m just sorry we didn’t get anywhere. What will you do now?”
“Search Shannon’s apartment, take in her electronics, start going through her laptop, phone, check out her social media. I need to study her life. If we find a motive, we’re one step closer to finding her killer.”
“I’ll tag along,” John offered. “Do you need a ride, Chelsea?”
“No thanks, I have my car. Keep me posted, okay?”
She made eye contact with John, then with Evan. The latter was more insistent, demanding. Evan thought she knew how to use those eyes of hers.
“I will let you know if there’s any breakthrough, Doc.”
Her lips curved and she walked away hurriedly. Evan tried not to stare at her excellent ass. Instead, he focused his gaze on John. The detective cocked an eyebrow, and Evan wasn’t sure if John had read his mind. Briskly, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
“Shall we go?” he asked John. “Let’s drop Patrick O’Leary at home first.”
Shannon Brody had lived in a pretty apartment, right across the street from the nail salon where she worked. After questioning her coworkers, Evan and John learned she was half-owner of the small business. Her partner and longtime friend, Dianna, looked heart-broken when she received the news of Shannon’s death. The staff—consisting of three other young women—were all sad and shocked, claiming everybody liked Shannon. No one could think of a reason anyone would want to hurt her. They also agreed Patrick and Shannon made a lovely couple, and had never heard her complain about him mistreating her. In fact, Dianna said Shannon seemed happier than ever since she’d met Patrick.
“It’s all a fucking paradise. Everybody loves everybody, except a woman is dead,” Evan mumbled as they walked out hours later, and crossed the street toward Shannon’s apartment.
He made an active effort not to shiver in his leather jacket, resigned to the thought he wouldn’t have the time to go shopping for a thicker coat anytime soon. And the bloody rain kept falling. It was a wonder such tiny drops could feel this cold and vicious. He supposed it was like the Chinese drop. If you kept at something long enough, eventually your brain began to exaggerate its perception to the point of breaking.
“Hey, if it were easy, this job wouldn’t be such fun,” John said, huddling deeper into his trench coat. “At least you’re not bored, right?”
Evan scoffed. “I was hoping I would be, but no such luck.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw John studying him.
“Ye don’t seem the kind of lad who would enjoy a nice, boring job,” the older man said. “Maybe you’d think so for a while, but after a few months ye’d go mad. You are a man with an active brain, one who needs challenges.”
Evan gave him a lopsided smile. “I thought Chelsea was the shrink, not you.”
“I’m j
ust observant.”
“That’s great. Let’s put that to good use,” Evan said, taking out the key they had gotten from Shannon’s landlord.
The victim’s apartment was neat and colorful, the walls decorated by tasteful framed photographs of exotic landscapes; a rainbow of pillows adorned the living room sofa, and the light coming from the window was brightened through yellow curtains.
The two men had only seconds to take it all in before a black cat appeared from another room, meowing loudly.
“What the— Why didn’t we know Shannon had a cat?” John asked.
Evan shrugged, bending down to let the feline sniff his hand. Cautious green eyes watched him, while the cat’s white whiskers twitched at the unfamiliar scent.
“I guess no one thought to mention it, given they were all shocked by this tragedy.” Evan stroked the cat gently. His soul softened as he looked at the poor orphaned creature. “We’ll call Mr. and Mrs. Brody to see if they can come and take him. Let’s get him some food and water first.”
Evan stood and took the cat in his arms, pleased to be met with such friendliness. By the size of him, the feline wasn’t in any imminent danger of starvation.
“Alright, show me where the kitchen is, buddy,” he spoke to the cat. “I bet you had a rough couple of days, thinking everyone forgot about you.”
“They did,” John remarked dryly, snapping on latex gloves. “Make sure he has plenty of water. I’ll get a head start here.”
Evan found the kitchen by the smell. A few overripe bananas were in a bowl on the table, and the window was half-open. He put the cat down and looked around, then opened the fridge with his gloved hands. The Technical Bureau would be over later today to search the apartment, so he and John had to be as inconspicuous as possible. He found an open tin of juicy cat food, and emptied the contents in the blue bowl he spotted near the window. ‘Kieran’ was spelled on it in yellow. The “i” was topped by a tiny crown.
“Shannon must have adored you, Kieran,” he said softly, while the cat bumped his hand away to lap the food greedily.
Next to the food bowl there was another one, simple white. It still held some water, but Evan poured it in the sink, rinsed the bowl, and filled it with cold, fresh water. He put it down, gave the cat another pat on the head, then stood, all business.
Back in the living room, he found John going through the contents of the bookshelf—mostly romance novels. The thin layer of dust covering them indicated Shannon hadn’t had much time to read lately. Scattered on the bookshelf were several framed photos of Shannon and her parents, one of Shannon and Patrick, and another one of her and her cat. Evan thought her smile was vaguely familiar, but that was crazy since he had never met the victim.
“Have you found any electronic devices, such as a laptop, tablet, etc?”
John nodded. “There’s a tablet in that pink case over there. No laptop yet.”
“I’ll check out the bedroom.”
Evan found the laptop—also pink—on the bed. It was open, but it had run out of juice. He closed it and placed it in an evidence bag, then continued his search. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just an average single woman’s apartment. Perhaps more girly and artsy than most, but he already knew from Shannon’s parents and her business partner that she was artistically inclined. He found nothing that hinted to her having had an enemy, an altercation, no threatening notes or anything out of place. Moving quickly and efficiently, he and John finished the search in less than a couple of hours. Other than the laptop and tablet, they didn’t find anything they felt compelled to take in as evidence.
Once they were done, Evan took out his phone. He dialed the home number of Shannon’s parents. After he identified himself, he told them about the cat, offering to come and drop him at their house. To his surprise, Mrs. Brody refused to take the animal.
“I can’t have it here,” she said, her voice apologetic but firm. “Black cats are bad luck, I’ve always told Shannon that. She didn’t listen to me; she found it on the street, and she took it home. Now look what happened to my lass.”
Evan pinched the bridge of his nose. His sympathy for Mrs. Brody prevented him from judging her for her superstitious nature. Nor did he insist on them taking the cat. If they didn’t want it, they would probably put him down.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Brody. I understand.”
“Do ye have anything new to tell us?” she asked hopefully.
“Not exactly. I can tell you Patrick didn’t hurt Shannon. Other than that, we are working as hard as we can to find out who did.”
“Thank you, Detective.” A tired sob echoed into the phone. “We will be waiting for ye to call us again.”
“I will. Goodbye, Mrs. Brody.”
As he turned, John raised an eyebrow. “They don’t want the cat?”
“Nope. It’s not surprising. The victim’s family often rejects an orphaned pet because it reminds them too much of the loved ones they lost.”
John frowned. “I can’t say I understand that mentality, but I respect it. So, what do we do with him?”
Evan gazed at the feline, who now sat perched on the sofa, thoughtfully licking one paw.
“I’ll take him.”
John’s eyebrows arched higher. “Really?”
“Yep. Come on. I saw a transportation cage in the bathroom.”
It was dark outside when they finished and locked the apartment. They loaded the electronics in the car, and put the cat cage in the back seat. Kieran looked agitated and scared, but Evan knew he was doing the best thing for the animal. Cats were self-sufficient creatures, so it wouldn’t matter to Kieran than Evan wasn’t at home much. Living in an apartment with another bachelor couldn’t be worse than having to fend for himself out on the streets.
John handed him the car keys. “Use it for as long as you need to. You hadn’t been assigned a vehicle yet because you hadn’t done field work so far. The chief thought he’d keep you at a desk.”
“That’s what I figured too,” Evan said, taking the keys and climbing behind the wheel.
“Well, Ireland is a country with a low crime rate.”
“So I heard. Except for that super high profile case you caught and solved last summer. Gareth Reilly, the cybercrime genius.”
John fastened his seatbelt. “Yeah, we were lucky to have Jenna Darcy working with us. She’s the genius.” He paused for a beat, as though measuring his words. “You know, Evan, I can take this case, or assign it to someone else just as competent as you are.”
Evan drove carefully, watching the headlights and street lamps reflected against the rain-sleeked streets. The detective was perceptive. Most probably he’d done a background check on him and knew he didn’t want to work homicide anymore. But he was in too deep now. He wouldn’t step back from this case. He was bound and determined to find Shannon’s killer.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll solve this.”
There was a hint of satisfaction in John’s nod, as though he didn’t expect less. Then he glanced toward the back seat over his shoulder.
“It’s a good thing what you did,” John said. “I have one, too.”
“A cat?”
“Aye. Amber, my fiancée, named him Johnny.”
Evan grinned when he saw the detective’s ears redden. “Nice name.”
“Yeah. So, what’s the plan? It’s getting pretty late.”
“I know. I was thinking I’ll drive you to the station, check if the forensic crime scene report is ready, then swing by the morgue to check in with the pathologist. I want to see if she finished the autopsy report and find out when they will release the body.”
“Sounds good. The sooner you get this guy home, the better,” John said, hitching his thumb toward the cat.
Nóirín was still in the lab, her eyes tired, her blond hair disheveled. Before Evan could open his mouth, she lifted a hand to wave him off.
“I haven’t got your report yet because I’m trying to be as thorough as I can.
I’ll have it tomorrow. Now I’m calling it a day. I can’t see straight anymore.”
Evan stopped himself from giving her a bear hug. “Thanks, Nóirín. Tomorrow is soon enough if you can get me anything to nail down this bastard. Can you tell me—” At her glare, he lifted his hands. “Sorry, I won’t ask any more questions now. We’ll talk tomorrow. Go home and have a hot bath with some pretty smelling bath salts or whatever. Have your husband give you a foot rub.”
Her lips curved in amusement as she peeled off her gloves. Hours of wearing them had left her hands pale and the skin shrunken. “I’m lucky if I can get him to order food for dinner. But I’ll suggest the foot massage. We’ll have a laugh together.”
“You need a man who appreciates you more.”
“Ye’re offering, Yank?”
He smiled at her good-humored teasing. “I’ve never given a woman a foot rub in my life, so I’m not sure I’m better than your husband. I’ll leave these here for now. It’s Shannon’s laptop and tablet, and a couple of things John and I picked up from her apartment. We’ll take care of them tomorrow,” he said, then followed her out.
Back in the car, he checked on Kieran, who sat curled up in the cage, tail twitching in annoyance, green eyes glinting in the dark.
“It won’t be long, buddy. Just one more stop, and then we’re going home.”
It was good to have a car with a working heater. As he drove to the morgue, Evan put the heat on full blast. He doubted Siobhan would still be there, but he had to check. Whenever he caught a case like this, he resented each hour lost, the time he—and everybody else—had to sleep, to rest, to go about their business. He wished they could all work 24/7 until they solved it and caught the bastard responsible for all of this. But he knew life went on, and the people who dealt with murder had lives of their own, and personal issues. They weren’t robots. If he let himself think about it, he’d discover he wasn’t immune to exhaustion either. Adrenaline kept him going for now, but it would soon wear off.
He hated the morgue more than any other place, even the cemetery. At least there was fresh air at the cemetery, an eerie sense of peace, though it had taken him years to find it. He remembered the first time he’d had to visit the morgue, and the smell was the first thing that had hit his senses. He’d been fifteen when his parents had been killed in a car crash, and since they had no other living relatives, he’d been the only one who could identify the bodies. A police deputy had accompanied him into the cold, sterile room, where his mother and father lay still under white sheets. That moment would haunt him until the day he died, because looking down at their white, lifeless faces, he’d been convinced he’d stepped into hell.