“Sure.”
“I’m sorry if you’re not comfortable with him, Doug, but—”
“No, no. It’s just—I was hoping I could be your shining knight this time, you know? For God’s sake, Gemma, let me do something for you.”
“You held off Freddy pretty well.”
His mouth twisted upward.
Before she could respond, a pair of patrol cars rounded the corner with a short “whoop” from a siren and pulled to a stop blocking the driveway. Pulses of red and eye-searing blue flashed off the houses across the street and over the four uniformed officers who spilled out of the squads, hands on their holsters as they approached the house.
“You know,” Gemma said, “I was actually relieved yesterday when the patrol car stopped following me. How’s that for irony?
Doug opened his mouth and immediately closed it, as if he had nothing to say.
Gemma watched as two of the police shifted into entry formation, their movements concise and practiced. Another started around the perimeter of the house, and the fourth officer finished talking into his shoulder and came across to them. Every few seconds, he sent a wary look toward the dog.
“You live here, sir?”
“No,” Gemma answered, cutting him off. “It’s my house.”
“Name?”
“Cavanagh. First name, Gemma.”
“Can you tell me what happened, here, ma’am?”
“We came back from dinner and found the house had been vandalized.”
“Did you enter the premises?”
“I went to look for my dog. I found her locked in a closet. I was afraid they might have hurt her, but she seems okay.” As she answered questions about the details of the evening, Gemma kept a strong grip on Nikki’s collar, and used her right hand to scratch the long soft fur at base of the dog’s ear. After a minute or two, she realized the action was probably more reassuring to her than it was to Nikki, but she needed the contact.
The officer took Doug’s name and information. “Did you enter the house earlier this evening?” he asked.
“Yes, when I came to pick up Mrs. Carrow.”
“Cavanagh,” Gemma said through clenched teeth.
“Cavanagh,” Doug amended with just an edge of irritation. “Sorry.”
“Was everything in order at that time?”
“Yes, of course it was.”
The three officers came back out of the house.
“Ms. Cavanagh?”
The voice was familiar, but the officer was approaching between Gemma and the porch light and it took Gemma a second to recognize her. “Officer Teng?”
“Whoever did this is long gone, but I’m afraid the destruction is pretty extensive. Do you have another place to stay tonight? Maybe at your brother’s?”
Gemma shook her head. “I don’t know, yet.” She introduced Officer Teng to Doug.
Teng’s voice was sympathetic as she changed the subject. “Have you and Mr. Wheeler been seeing each other very long?”
“I’m not ‘seeing’ him at all. He’s a family friend.”
“I thought she could use a change of scene, a few hours away from everything,” Doug interjected, finally letting his irritation show.
“Sorry,” Teng said. She neither looked nor sounded apologetic.
“When can I clean up?” Gemma asked.
“They may want to take some fingerprints first, but maybe not. These cases are notoriously hard to solve, I’m sorry to say. You’ll need to make an inventory of anything that’s missing as soon as possible. Your insurance company will need it.”
They turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, and Gemma nearly burst into tears of relief at the sight of Brady striding across the lawn.
“You all right, Gemma?” Brady gave her an assessing once-over and ignored Doug entirely.
“I’m fine.”
He hunkered down briefly to scratch Nikki’s ear, pat her side. “I’ve worked with one of these guys before, and I want to talk to him for a minute. I’ll be right back. You’re welcome to wait in the car, if you’d like? It will be a lot more comfortable. There’s plenty of room in back for Nikki.”
“This is becoming a habit,” Doug said as Brady strode away. “What is he doing here, Gemma?” Doug glared over at Brady, who was listening to one of the policemen as he watched the interplay between Doug and Gemma with dark, sardonic eyes. “What do you really know about this guy? I know your brother trusts him, but are you sure you can? He was certainly Johnny-on-the-spot. Where was he when this happened?”
Gemma took an exasperated breath and half whispered, “Cut it out, Doug.”
Brady finished talking to the patrolman and walked back to where Gemma and Doug were standing. “I need to look around. You want to wait in the car?” he asked her again.
Gemma shook her head. “I need to see it.”
But as they moved through the house, picking their way over upended furniture and scattered pictures, papers, linens, she began to regret her decision to come along.
This time the house had been trashed. The computer was gone, along with disks, CDs and the old family audiotapes. Entire boxes of her work files had been taken. Scrapbook binders lay broken and gaping obscenely, their contents littered and trampled. Books lay heaped in odd corners and sprawled on their open edges, as though the pages had been fanned before they were tossed away.
Doug hovered behind her, taking her elbow to help her over or around items on floor. He had no business here, she thought with growing irritation, and she didn’t feel like dealing with his oppressive solicitude. She wished he would just leave, but couldn’t think of a way to tell him so, without starting a row. Grief, confusion and an intense sense of violation had been building into a sodden lump below her breastbone. She swallowed hard. When they made it to the kitchen and she saw the overturned canisters, the contents of the refrigerator dumped onto the floor, even the little china garlic keeper shattered, it all burst into outrage.
“Damn them! This is totally over the top. Why can’t they just leave me alone?”
Doug said, “It looks like they were searching for something, Gemma. Do you have any idea what it might have been?”
She remembered the key she’d found and shook her head, suddenly afraid her hesitation might have given something away.
Gemma averted her eyes—not fast enough. Doug missed it, but she saw a flicker as Brady caught it, and cut in, “Whatever it was, they didn’t find it on the computer the other night, so they came back to do a more thorough job. Whoever did this was very stupid, very angry. This is a tantrum.” He looked thoughtful. “Or it’s been made to look like one.”
* * *
“I’d like you to tell me what happened tonight,” Brady said. “Want to go back outside?”
Gemma shook her head. “I already told the police.”
“What were you saying about the computer?” Doug asked.
Brady ignored him and picked up from Gemma’s last statement. “Okay. Now tell me.”
She clenched her teeth and glared at him.
“Leave her alone,” Doug snapped, anger edging his voice now. “Can’t you see she’s had enough of all this?”
“It’s all right, Doug. Really. He’s just doing his job.”
“Fine. Let him do it somewhere else. You shouldn’t have to put up with this kind of imposition from the hired help.”
Doug’s drawl would have seriously pissed Brady off if it hadn’t meant he was winning.
“From the top,” Brady said, continuing to ignore him.
“Doug picked me up at seven. We drove downtown—”
“Via I-5?”
“Using the 520 bridge. We parked—”
“Using the valet?”
She l
ifted one eyebrow. “Of course,” she said in the snottiest tone he’d heard from her yet.
He grinned.
“We had reservations for seven thirty—our table wasn’t ready.”
Details often gave up the vital puzzle piece that led or at least pointed to the answers. Brady scrambled to keep the questions coming, keep her focused on trivia.
Right now, he wanted—okay, never mind what he wanted. Gemma needed something else to put her energy into right now. Her shoulders were beginning to roll inward, and she had wrapped her arms protectively around her core. She had to be right on the edge of losing it entirely, and who could blame her? Still, she was fighting to stay in control. Her courage moved him more deeply than her dismay or the display of temper. That flash of fury in the kitchen was unexpected. But if anger would help her hold it together, he would keep pissing her off as long as possible.
“You said Thai Phya?”
“Yes. Traffic was light, and we were early, so we sat in the bar and had a martini before dinner. I had pad thai,” she said, while Brady was drawing breath to ask. “Four stars. Doug doesn’t eat spicy food, so he had angel shrimp—”
“He doesn’t eat spicy food. Really?” He flicked a curious glance in Doug’s direction. “Is he allergic?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad. He’s missing a lot.”
She looked as if she wanted to spit at him, Brady thought. Good.
“We shared a coconut custard for dessert,” she added, her tone defiant.
“Charming.” Brady managed to sound dismissive. “So. Martinis, pad thai four stars, angel shrimp, coconut custard—one dish, two spoons. I miss anything?”
“Irish Mist, two snifters.”
He grinned at her again. “What time did you leave?”
“I don’t know. Nine-ish, I guess. We had dinner, dessert, brandy. So, around nine. Dammit, you wanted to hear all of this. Aren’t you going to write any of it down?”
He ignored the question. “So, let’s see. You left right after drinks, dinner, dessert and brandy because you’re in mourning.”
Her color rose. “Because I was wiped out.” Gem put her fists on her hips. “How many damn times do I have to freaking tell you?” It wasn’t a bloody date.”
Brady caught Doug’s reaction out of the corner of his vision—a slight flinch of the eye muscles, tightening of the jaw. He almost felt sorry for the arrogant prick.
He could hear the fatigue and stress in her voice. She must be dragging in her reserve energy, he thought, but still giving as good as she got. “Don’t get your Irish up.”
She started to sputter, caught herself, and took a deep breath through her nose and stuck her chin out. “We came straight home. I’m not sure of the route because I fell asleep in the car. I assume it was the same as when we went.”
“Okay.”
“We pulled into the driveway. I started to go in, and Doug saw the mess inside and tried to hold me back. I went in after Nikki. Doug called 911. I called Mike. And got you, lucky me.”
“How long were you gone, all together?”
She shook her head slowly.
“Estimate.”
“Two hours. No, three. Almost three.”
Brady stood silently, his eyes flat, scanning the area a quarter at a time. “That means someone either knew you were going to be out of the house, or was watching for an opportunity.”
Gemma snorted and moved her hand as if she were pushing something away. “I can’t believe no one saw anything. You can’t sneeze in these overpriced cracker boxes without five other people saying gesundheit.”
“Can I take you someplace, Gemma?” Doug asked, turning his back to Brady. “Do you want to go to your brother’s?”
She shook her head. “I need to see what I can do here.”
“Leave it until tomorrow. I’ll send cleaners over in the morning to clear this all up.”
Gemma took an exasperated breath. “Thanks, Doug, but I need to do this. And I know you need to get ready for your case tomorrow. You don’t have to stay—Brady will be here.”
Doug started to speak again, but shut his mouth and clenched his jaw. “Whatever you say. It’s your decision. You do what you have to.” Then his voice changed pitch. “I’m sorry, Gemma. I’m worried, afraid for your safety—”
Brady moved closer. “We’ve got it, counselor.”
Gemma interrupted. “Stop it! Stop it, dammit! Both of you.”
Doug backed off, but he met Brady’s eyes in a furious glare over her head. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, Gemma, and make sure you’re all right.”
* * *
Brady scanned the living room. He’d need to check the rest of the house, but the pattern the searchers had followed was clear enough. The boxes that weren’t destroyed were all labeled. Some labeled boxes had been torn open, the contents dumped, as if someone wanted to make sure that the labels were accurate. The furniture that wasn’t trashed was un-upholstered. Even then, drawers were dumped on the floor, the little antique roll top desk lay tipped on its side, its drawer turned upside down and propped over a rubble pile that looked to have been from Ned’s CD collection, liners ripped and rumpled among shards of discs and smashed cases.
Gemma lifted a case and a liner. “The police said it was quick-in-smash-and-grab,” she said, “but this took time. They weren’t in a hurry.”
“No. They were selectively thorough. Even the drawers are upside down to check for taped papers, or photos, maybe. Somebody thinks you have something. Whatever it is, they want it enough to break into your house, rip into everything, dump out every box, every drawer. First, they thought it would be in the computer. So at least part of it is information. If they’d gotten what they needed, they wouldn’t have come back tonight for another pass.” He gave her a straight look. “Did you tell anyone about the break-in night before last?”
She nodded. “I told the police yesterday when Mike and I went to Seattle. Can I start cleaning up?”
“Go ahead. They’re not going to take any more prints.”
He watched her look over the wreckage. He could see the moment she decided where to start. “What’s first?” he asked.
“Let’s get the empty boxes out of the way, and we’ll be able to see better what’s up.”
Gemma began dragging boxes over closer to the foyer, and Brady set to work breaking them down and stacking them. It only took a few minutes, but the difference was significant.
“Okay,” Gemma said. “That’s better. Not a lot better, but some. Like we’ve been hit with a 6.5 instead of an 8.0.”
“Just how long did you live in San Diego, Gemma?” Brady asked.
Her laugh was short and humorless. “Long enough. It was good to get back to Seattle. We just missed the Nisqually quake. Perfect timing.”
She reached down and righted a tipped-over packing box and cried out.
“What’s wrong?” Brady asked, coming immediately to her side.
She didn’t answer him. Beneath the oversized carton, broken chunks of wood and shards of shattered glass surrounded and mingled with the brass inner workings of an antique regulator clock. Gemma picked up a carved bird’s wing and stroked her fingers over the delicate detail.
Gemma’s birthday clock. Years ago Mike had told him how much it meant to her. Odd that he could remember so clearly. Mike had been feeling homesick, wishing he could be home for Gemma’s birthday. What year was that? They’d been on the Kennedy, heading somewhere or other. Brady didn’t really get the whole birthday thing. His dad had been the only one who even remembered them. Once he was gone, Brady had just let it all slip under the radar. Mike was telling him how important they were in his family, and started talking about that clock. It had belonged to their great grandma Eileen, and she had given it to Gemma as a
fourteenth birthday present.
Thirty inches long and topped by a fearsome screaming falcon, it had been carved from dark oak in the depths of some German forest a hundred or more years before. It had come to Donegal soon after the Great War, there to be purchased as a gift for Gemma’s great-grandparents’ wedding. Brady couldn’t imagine why the vandals had destroyed it, except out of sheer malice. Or maybe checking to see if anything had been hidden inside.
* * *
Gemma felt as if her heart was breaking. The clock was always the first thing put up in a new home. In houses, apartments, on-base duplexes on four continents, Gemma’s clock had chimed the hours of her life. As teenagers, Gemma and Mike had spent hours working and reading in whatever room the clock was hung, reassured by the hollow tonk, tonk of its brass and white enamel pendulum and by its soft, resonant chime.
“Gemma?”
“This was my grandmother’s and my great-grandmother’s—it was mine. There’s this space between two of the big front windows in the new house that was just the right size for it. I was going to take it over there and hang it tomorrow.” She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.
Brady knelt beside her and took her in his arms. She snuggled close to his warmth and strength and shuddered. He stroked her hair, holding her firmly, as if she were a frightened animal. “Breathe, Gemma,” he told her, and she did as he said, breathing in the scent of him.
Spice, male, warm skin. Gradually her shuddering stopped, changed. She caught a breath. “They didn’t have to destroy something so beautiful.” She gave a prodigious sniffle.
He wiped a tear off her cheek with the back of one index finger. “They were probably making a point before they went on to other, de rigueur vandal-y tasks.”
In spite of her grief, she felt a distant spark of amusement. “De rigueur vandal-y tasks?”
“Like rooting through your lingerie and dumping cornmeal all over the kitchen.” His arm tightened around her in a quick hug and then he stood up and offered her a hand. “Look, why not leave all this stuff and let me take you back to Mike’s?”
Now You See It Page 11