Killer Score (The Irish Garda Files Book 2)

by Melinda Colt

  Everyone had been kind to him, in a distant, impersonal way. How could strangers understand what he was going through when even he couldn’t fully grasp the enormity of the situation? As a rebellious teenager, he hadn’t been that close to his parents, since that would have been uncool for a guy his age. But he loved them deeply. He regretted not showing them more affection, not telling them how much he cared. It had taken him days to remember the last conversations he’d had with each of them, and the pain tore him apart when he realized how meaningless they were. He’d asked his father for money, and told his mother to wash his football jersey because he had a game that week. He hadn’t even said thank you to either of them.

  As he lay awake at night in bed, in the house of a foster family who’d taken him in, these thoughts had obsessed him. He’d wanted to seek revenge, but against whom? The driver of the other car, who had lost control because of speed, had died on impact as well. Evan didn’t know if he had a family, someone who grieved for him as he did for his parents. He didn’t really care. He’d been in a state of numbness most of the time, a sort of trance he had no wish to break. Until one day, when it vanished on its own, pushed away by anger and rage. Just as he’d thought his life couldn’t possibly get any worse, fate had proved him wrong once more.

  He didn’t know how long he had been standing in front of the double doors at the morgue, lost in memories, but he almost jumped when they opened and Siobhan stepped out, nearly colliding with him.

  “Hey, what the—” She stopped, peering at him. He must have looked worse than one of her dead residents because her brown eyes widened in concern. “Detective, are ye okay? For a moment there, I thought one of my friends had sneaked out of their drawer.”

  Her dark humor made him smile. Nothing could cheer one up like a good joke about the dead from someone who dealt with them every day. He nodded briskly, trying to hide his fury and embarrassment at himself.

  “Sure I’m okay. I came by to see if you have the report for Shannon Brody.”

  “Oh, aye.” She lifted a hand full of papers. “Here it is. I was about to call your office.”

  Evan took it and scanned the sheets. “Can you give me a summary?”

  “As I assumed, the blow to the head killed her. The wound was inflicted by a heavy, smooth object, most likely the stone Nóirín found. There were traces of earth on her scalp, and if we match those, we’ll confirm the murder weapon. After she was hit, she was dragged a short distance, then strangled. By that time, she was already gone. The bruising around her neck is extensive, as though the killer wanted to make sure he was doing a thorough job. Possibly he was frustrated she didn’t react in any way. We found faux leather fibers embedded in the skin of her neck, so he likely used gloves.”

  “Maybe Nóirín will match the fibers with a certain brand of gloves,” Evan said without much hope. “Thanks, Siobhan, you’ve done a great job.”

  She shrugged immodestly, small white teeth flashing in a smile. “Hey, it’s what I do. Tell the next of kin they are free to make funeral arrangements. Now get out of here so I can go, too. I have a hot date tonight.”

  “Knock yourself out. Thanks again!”

  As he walked to the car, he realized his legs were rubbery. He vaguely remembered he hadn’t eaten anything all day, so he used his phone to search for a nearby pizza place. He drove there, placed an order for a large Capricciosa with extra cheese. While he waited, he called Mr. and Mrs. Brody to tell them they were free to make arrangements for their daughter’s funeral. The call left him with a bitter taste, especially since he had nothing new to tell them. They weren’t pressuring him to find Shannon’s killer, but he felt it nonetheless. He’d learned to use it as motivation to solve the cases he worked.

  Ten minutes later he was back in the car, placing the steaming pizza box on the passenger seat. As soon as he smelled the ham and cheese, Kieran started meowing from his cage.

  “My feelings exactly,” Evan muttered. “Just let me drive us home, and I promise you can have as much pizza as you can eat.”

  As if he’d understood, Kieran remained quiet and patient until Evan reached the two-story building split into eight apartments. His flat was on the ground floor, and having a back yard meant Kieran would be free to come and go as he pleased if he had a door or window open. Evan hoped the other neighbors wouldn’t mind, but since one of the older ladies had at least five cats, he doubted it. The landlord had made it clear from the beginning Evan was allowed to have pets, but it had never occurred to him that he would.

  He had to circle the neighborhood twice to find a parking spot, because the building didn’t have private parking. He carried the pizza and the cat cage inside, cursing when he couldn’t find his keys fast enough. Being tired and hungry always made him edgy. As he walked inside the small flat, warmth enveloped him, along with the cozy smell of… What? Home, he supposed. At least for now.

  In the kitchen, he set the pizza on the table and the cage on the floor. Then he unlocked the metal box and opened the door, stepping aside. Kieran looked surprised he was finally free. He moved out cautiously, whiskers twitching, sniffing at everything, taking in his new surroundings. Smiling, Evan watched him. He’d had a pet once, a dog his foster parents had gotten rid of because they said they didn’t have room for him in their apartment. After that, Evan’s life hadn’t been exactly the perfect setting for a pet.

  Stroking the cat’s black, sleek fur, he regretted all the years he’d deprived himself of the simple affection of an animal. Kieran did a tour of the kitchen and hallway, sneezed after sticking his nose into Evan’s discarded shoes, then returned to him. After bumping his head shortly against his new owner’s open palm, he walked purposefully toward the table. In one swift motion he jumped on the chair, arched his back and meowed loudly. Laughing, Evan scratched the cat’s chin and lifted the lid off the pizza box. It was time for dinner.

  Chapter Six

  It was the first time Evan had ever awoken assaulted by meowing and claws digging into his bare chest. He’d imagined male cats were above begging and caterwauling like this, but obviously Kieran wasn’t. The cat scratched his shoulder, nudging him to wake up with short, insistent meows, demanding to be fed.

  “Man, you’re as nagging as a wife,” Evan muttered, then grinned and ruffled the cat’s fur.

  He was reluctant to get out of his warm, cozy bed. Even though it was almost too short for him, paired with a fluffy duvet and pillows, it was comfortable. Evan remembered how small everything had seemed to him when he’d first arrived in Dublin and had been looking for a place to live. Compared to his spacious townhouse in Sacramento, most houses and apartments in Europe seemed tiny. The more modern buildings were larger, but the older ones, like this flat, could have fit in his living room back in the USA.

  Sighing, he pushed the duvet aside, cat and all, looking at his watch as he sat up. It was 6:15. Might as well get an early start to a busy day.

  He walked barefoot on the parquet floor to the kitchen, Kieran on his heels. Only when he opened the fridge did he realize he hadn’t had a chance to buy any cat food. Or any food, period. There wasn’t a crumb left from last night’s pizza dinner.

  He glanced down into green, accusing eyes.

  “Give me a break. I didn’t exactly plan your staying here, Majesty.”

  The cat stared at him unblinking. Evan focused on the contents of the fridge, and took out everything he found there: a piece of hardened cheese, a few slices of deli ham, four eggs, and half a carton of milk. Not exactly a feast, but it could feed both him and the cat. Inspiration struck and he reached up into the cupboard he used as a mini-pantry. He found two cans of tuna, which he grabbed triumphantly.

  “See? You won’t starve.”

  He waved the cans in front of the cat who continued to stare up at him, uttering an impatient meow from time to time.

  Evan opened a can, put the contents on a small plate, then stacked a few paper towels on the floor, so the polished wood woul
dn’t get stained. He barely had time to put the plate on top of the paper towels before Kieran started wolfing down the fish.

  Satisfied, Evan turned on the old-fashioned stove and started preparing his own breakfast, mixing most of the ingredients on the table into an omelet. It wasn’t much to look at, but as he sat down to eat, he decided it was delicious. Kieran seemed to think so too; after he finished the tuna he convinced Evan to hand over some omelet as well.

  The kitchen had a door that led into the back yard, and Evan left it open a crack, enough for Kieran to go outside when he had to. It had occurred to him the cat might leave and not come back, or worse, go out on the streets and get hit by a car, but he figured he was doing the best he could for the feline. Keeping him locked up in the house wasn’t better than him having access to a patch of grass and fresh air. Besides, the cat didn’t seem at all tempted to wander off. After his first outing in the cold morning air, Kieran rushed into the house and jumped straight on the radiator, closing his eyes in pleasure, no doubt as his butt was getting warm. Then he started licking the mud off his paws, his furry face scrunched up in disgust. Nope, it didn’t look as if he would be going out too often. He was a house cat, through and through.

  Evan showered, without bothering to shave. Luckily, the stubble and beards were fashionable these days. If he were to give a crap about this stuff, he supposed he’d be considered trendy rather than lazy. Truth be told, he preferred his face shadowed by stubble since he thought a clean shaven face made him look too young or, even worse, not enough of a bad ass. One didn’t have to look rugged to be a good cop, but he thought the rough edges suited him and his personality better. He couldn’t understand why some men these days went to salons to get manicures, waxed their body hair, wore flowery clothes in bright pastel colors, or man buns. He shook his head as he pulled on jeans and a thick black sweater. Maybe he was too old school or simply too old. Either way, he’d wasted enough time on trivial thoughts. It was time to make a plan.

  While he waited for the car to heat up, he decided to go and talk to Patrick’s friends first. His gut told him this was a dead end, but he had to follow up on Patrick’s alibi and get a feel for the two men whose names and addresses Patrick had given him.

  As expected, no leads resulted from the couple of hours he spent tracking down and talking to Patrick’s buddies. One of them didn’t even know Shannon. The other friend had made her acquaintance only briefly. Evan knew men didn’t talk much about relationships, especially steady ones. Maybe they bragged when it came to casual sex or hot affairs, but when he questioned Patrick’s friends, he didn’t get any vibes that Patrick had talked much about Shannon with either of them, or that they cared about Patrick’s girlfriend. Sure, they expressed their sympathy and outrage regarding what had happened, but that was no more than the average person’s reaction to tragedies that happen to someone else.

  Afterward, he stopped to buy a large coffee, then drove to the Garda headquarters. Next on his agenda was digging into Shannon’s electronic devices to learn more about her life, friends, connections, and habits. As he sat at his desk and went through the information on her social media accounts, he wondered why she had used a dating website. She had been beautiful, had a good education, a decent background. Men would line up to date such a woman. Browsing through her photos, he noticed plenty of flattering comments and likes under each one. She hadn’t been one of those women who posted dozens of selfies every day, but she had a generous amount of photos online, and it was obvious she liked to take artistic pictures. She hadn’t been just an amateur photographer, but a creative one. Evan noticed her evolution over time.

  Like most creative people, she seemed to get bored easily. She must have dyed her hair black recently, because in earlier photos she was a blonde, in others a redhead, and the list continued. She equally liked color and black and white photos, flamboyant and simple settings. The life story he saw studying her social media account was interesting and far from boring. Her smile would light up an entire city, as would her quiet beauty when she was in a serious pose. Apparently, she liked to travel, but judging by the amount of photos taken abroad, her budget hadn’t allowed her to take many trips outside Ireland.

  She had photos of herself alone, of her and Patrick, her and her parents, her and friends, her and Kieran. Evan smiled sadly when he looked at a black and white photo of Shannon and Kieran. She held the cat lovingly close to her cheek, his face almost lost in her cloud of blond hair. Both pairs of eyes were slanted in an expression of blissful love. It looked like a gorgeous picture in a magazine, a symbol of happiness and beauty.

  Evan began to read the comments, as he had done painstakingly for every picture. The same “Gorgeous”, “Wow”, “Stunning”, hearts and flowers he’d encountered so far. Only one comment drew his attention, because it wasn’t a flattering one. It was an angry face emoji from someone called Black Dawn. The comment was dated March 8th this year. Shannon hadn’t replied, which was in a way more insulting than if she had.

  Evan’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to the monitor, his senses alert. Who was this person? He clicked on the profile, hoping to shed some light over Black Dawn’s identity, but the information was very skimpy, and the profile picture portrayed a black panther, fangs bared. Sort of sinister, though not unusual for social media.

  Evan stared at the screen, trying to decide if this was a lead, or if he was seeing something suspicious when it wasn’t the case.

  “Black Dawn… Who the hell are you? What the hell are you? Not a fan of Shannon’s, that’s for sure.”

  When he checked, he noted that Black Dawn was not on Shannon’s list of friends. Scrolling down the profile, he saw this person hadn’t been active in weeks. There was no data on his or her sex, age, nationality, or anything concrete. There were some public posts from the account owner, most of them comments on blog posts and articles. What was frustrating was that Evan was unable to tell if Black Dawn was a man or a woman. The one thing obvious about him or her were several personality traits that transpired from the words written—unhappiness, frustration, an overall hatred of most people, a deep bitterness of a person who had nothing good to say about anyone, and had a lot of bad things to say about everything and everyone. Whether it was a comment on a political post, an article about a well-known movie star, or a how-to guide on achieving success, Black Dawn always had to badmouth something or someone. His or her comments were more ramblings rather than arguments, and although he/she had an impressive command of the English language and seemed to love using complicated words, the long rants didn’t have clear logic. Black Dawn was repeatedly rebuked by other users, but always replied and got into arguments with everybody.

  “Chelsea would have a field day analyzing this freak,” Evan murmured.

  He was glad to have an excuse to call her tomorrow and ask her to come in; however, he wasn’t sure this wasn’t just a waste of time. After all, it was only a comment. The world was full of people with the need to offend others in order to feel better about themselves.

  This looked like another dead end. Finally, he’d caught a glimpse of someone who possibly disliked Shannon, but he had no idea how to track down this person who called himself or herself Black Dawn. At first glance, the comment implied Black Dawn was jealous in some way of Shannon. Was this the reason someone had decided to kill her? Or was it a man she’d scorned in some way? Was it someone from the dating website, a man whom she’d rejected? Someone who had developed an obsession with her?

  Could it be someone envious of her job, her appearance, her social relationships, or financial status, or some other reason, more or less logical? He had no idea if this was indeed a lead or a waste of time, but he had to check it out. He had to track down Black Dawn. Even the choice of the nickname implied something gloomy, menacing, like a shadow lurking in the background, ready to strike.

  Evan searched the history on Shannon’s laptop and accessed her profile on the website where she and Patrick had c
onnected. In her profile picture she was a dark-blonde, wearing a red dress that showed enough curves to entice the imagination. No doubt this photo and the data in her ‘About’ section had attracted many potential partners, eager to connect with such a beauty. Since she had her ID and password saved in her computer, Evan didn’t have to invest the time and effort it took to request access to her account in order to get them.

  Grateful for this break, he started methodically to go through the matches and messages. There were plenty, and he noted Shannon was always polite and diplomatic when she’d declined a date. She’d also accepted several, all from men, which meant he would have to dig and find out their identities and question each one.

  Hours later, he stretched in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. He’d gone through most of the messages, skimmed over the bits that seemed unimportant for now, and focused on the ones that had potential. In total, he’d summarized she had accepted meetings with three men other than Patrick O’Leary. He couldn’t be sure if she’d gone through with the dates, but the next logical step was to track down each of these men and question them. He stared at their profile pictures, one by one. Who could tell if any of them was a killer? Not by looking at them, that was for sure. Ted Bundy had been as charming and good-looking as he’d been twisted.