Brianna knew that the man believed in being hands-on when it came to investigations, and he made it a point to be aware of everything that was going on in a case, no matter how many the precinct was juggling.
“Yes, sir, it is,” she answered.
Jackson broke it down for the chief. “Fourteen of those victims have been dead around three decades, and four met their deaths far more recently.”
“I know,” Brian replied. Folding his hands on his desk, he leaned forward slightly. “I also know that there are certain people who are suggesting that we stop wasting precious police resources and drop the case.”
This was the first she’d heard of that. “Certain people?” Brianna questioned. “Who?”
Brian smiled. There were detectives under his command who wouldn’t think of voicing that question. They merely took orders, obeying to the letter whatever was said. But he preferred having detectives who thought for themselves—he always had.
“The mayor,” Brian answered after a long moment had passed. “And certain members of the city council. They’re afraid this investigation might offend the Aurora family. And that, in turn, might make the family close its coffers the next time the city finds itself needing extra money—and the city always seems to need extra money.”
Brianna stared at the man. His expression was difficult to read. She knew what she wanted it to say, but wishing didn’t make it so, and she needed to be sure.
“Are you saying you want us to stop the investigation?” Brianna asked.
“I’m saying that if there’s any possible way for you to do this, I want you—” his eyes swept over his niece as well as the detective working with her “—to find out who’s responsible for these murders.
“I don’t care if most of the crimes are over thirty years old. People were deprived of their lives and sealed inside those walls. That kind of thing belongs in an Edgar Allan Poe story, not in my city,” he said with passion. “Whatever you need, you’ll get. Just find who did this. And if the answer winds up making waves for the Aurora family, well, that can’t be helped. I won’t have the truth buried in order to spare anyone embarrassment. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” Brianna and Jackson said the word almost in unison.
Brian smiled, satisfied he’d made his point. “Good,” he pronounced. “Now find the killer,” he instructed. “Oh,” he suddenly remembered just before they reached the door. “One more thing.”
Brianna turned back around first, followed a second later by Jackson. They both remained where they were, waiting.
His almost grim look gave way to a far more sunny expression. “It seems that my older brother, Andrew, feels we all need a respite, especially in light of this gruesome case.”
Brianna knew what the man seated on the other side of the desk was getting at before he said another word, but because this was his office, and because Jackson was most likely unfamiliar with the social habits of her extended family, she quietly waited for Brian to continue what he was about to say.
“He’s having a gathering Saturday, at his place. Everyone’s invited, as usual. And if you’re unclear about what I am saying, this also means you, Detective Muldare,” he told the man standing just behind Brianna. “All right,” he told them. “Now you can go.”
For a moment, Jackson made no comment as they left the chief of Ds’ office.
And then, just as Brianna was about to ask him if he’d understood what her uncle had just said, Jackson looked at her, astonished. “He was kidding, right?”
“Which part?” Brianna asked innocently.
“You know damn well which part,” Jackson bit off. “The part where I’m supposed to turn up at a so-called gathering.” He jabbed the down button with his index finger.
“No, he wasn’t kidding about that,” she informed Jackson calmly, her tone directly in contrast to his. “He was serious.” She paused for a moment, letting her words sink in before she added, “And, since he asked you in person, you really do need to show up.”
Jackson didn’t like being backed into a corner, especially since there was so much in his life that he wasn’t able to control.
“Why?” he asked. “Why would it matter to him one way or another?”
She lifted her shoulders, then let them drop again. “Maybe he feels you need to socialize a little with your fellow cops.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You talked to him about me, didn’t you?”
“Nope. Not a word,” Brianna answered, elaborately crossing her heart.
“The man’s got a hell of a lot of people under his command. How would he even know that I need to socialize?”
Brianna spread her hands wide as they got off the elevator.
“He’s the chief of Ds. He knows everything.” She said it so seriously, for a minute, Jackson found himself almost believing her.
“Then he knows I won’t come,” Jackson concluded, thinking that was finally the end of it.
One look at Brianna’s face as they went outside told him that it wasn’t.
“No,” she contradicted. “He knows that you will.” Brianna told him that with such calm certainty, he could have sworn he heard the jaws of a trap snapping shut around him.
“It’s not as bad as you think,” Brianna assured him as they continued walking toward his vehicle. “It’ll only be for a few hours.” She was lying about that, but he didn’t need to know. “Think of it as on-the-job training.”
About to get into the driver’s seat, he stopped to glare at her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? What kind of training?”
She smiled as she got into the car on the other side. “Mingling with your fellow officers and detectives without snarling.”
“Aren’t these things supposed to be for the family?” he asked. Maybe she was just putting him on about having to show up no matter what.
“Uncle Andrew is the one who initially began having these gatherings years back, right after he took early retirement in order to raise his kids. Before he did that, he was the chief of police. And as the chief of police, he regarded everyone under his command as family. So,” she told him as he started the car, “like it or not, you, Detective Jackson Muldare, are family, as far as Andrew Cavanaugh is concerned. And between you and me, the chief of Ds likes to keep his older brother happy. Long story short—”
“It’s too late for that,” Jackson told her dourly as a dark expression descended over his face.
Brianna didn’t pay any attention to him. Instead, she concluded what she was trying to tell him. “Long story short, you’re coming to the gathering.”
Chapter 12
Jackson was in no mood to be trapped in his car, listening to Brianna go on and on about his so-called mandatory attendance at something he had no desire or intention of attending.
“Do you mind if we table this discussion about going to your uncle’s gathering for the duration of this road trip?” he asked crisply.
“Sure,” Brianna readily agreed. “It can wait until we get back. I’m easy.”
Slanting her a quick look, Jackson murmured more to himself than to his partner, “Well, that answers that question.”
She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she finally asked, “What question is that?”
“If your nose grows when you tell a lie,” he said matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t.”
Brianna didn’t take any offense. She didn’t think of herself as being small-minded or petty. But she did feel that she needed to set him straight.
“I don’t lie, Muldare.”
Jackson found it hard not to laugh at that. “You’re also not easy to get along with.”
“I’ll refrain from pointing out that that’s like the pot calling the kettle black,” she informed him. The man was definitely a challenge, but she did enjoy a challenge. “
Just get your mind back on the case.”
“Gladly.” Jackson counted to ten—slowly—in his mind. Then, just as Brianna reached over to turn the radio on in an effort to terminate the almost suffocating silence in the car, he asked, “You really think this woman we’re traveling all this way to see is going to be able to tell us anything useful?”
“I don’t know,” Brianna replied honestly. “I’m hoping she’ll say something that might trigger something else. Half of all crimes wind up being solved by accident.”
A frown darkened his handsome, chiseled face. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“Oh, but it is,” she contradicted, “because accidents happen all the time, and in the end, it really doesn’t matter just how you figured something out as long as you did.”
He shook his head. She was just spouting a bunch of rhetoric, most likely because the woman liked hearing herself talk. It could be worse. She could have a voice that sounded like nails dragging along a chalkboard.
“Still say this is a wild-goose chase. After all, all the other people we’ve interviewed in the last few days didn’t enlighten us,” he reminded her.
She studied his profile. The man could have been chiseled out of granite. “You’ve always been a pessimist, haven’t you?”
He didn’t even have to think about his answer. The path he was on had been set years ago. “Pretty much. Although I’m not a pessimist,” he corrected. “I’m a realist.”
“Reality can be pretty nice at times.”
They might both be police detectives, but they came from totally different worlds. Hers was made up of roses, his was the thorns. “Not from my point of view,” he answered.
Sympathy filled her. “Hard life right from the beginning?”
All right, he’d been polite enough, Jackson thought. “This is a car, O’Bannon, not some shrink’s couch. Stop trying to act like one,” he warned sharply.
“I’m not trying to shrink you, Jackson,” she protested, because she really wasn’t trying to do that. “I’m trying to be your friend.”
“I don’t remember advertising for one,” he told her shortly. He caught himself before his temper erupted. “Look, you’ve got your view of the world, and it seems to be working for you. I’m happy for you, but don’t try to tell me that life’s all sunshine and roses, because it’s not,” he said with emphasis. “Not when your mother walks out on you and your old man tries to drown the pain every night in a sea of alcohol while your little brother tries to find his peace in any drug he can get his hands on.
“Damn it,” he cursed, angry with her, angrier with himself, “why do you keep pushing like this?” Jackson snapped. He hadn’t meant to tell Brianna anything, least of all what he’d just allowed to spill out. But somehow, despite his resolve to keep everything to himself, the words had come pouring out of their own accord.
“Because once it’s all out, then you can deal with it. We can deal with it,” she emphasized.
There was fury in his eyes when he glared at her. “There is no we,” he told her coldly.
But Brianna had been raised holding her own against three brothers and, on occasion, her sister as well. She wasn’t about to back off.
“There are two people in this car,” she pointed out very calmly. “Two people form ‘we.’”
Jackson blew out a breath, trying his best to hang on to his temper. Trying not to tell Brianna off or curse at her for invading his life like some sort of insidious virus. Most of all, he wanted her to keep her distance from him because the woman was getting to him in ways he was trying very hard to resist. Damn it, why didn’t she have the kind of face that stopped clocks instead of his heart?
“Why hasn’t anyone strangled you yet?” he asked.
He heard her laugh, as if his comment really amused her. It wasn’t meant to. “I’m very fast on my feet.”
“I’d keep my running shoes on if I were you.”
Brianna nodded. “Duly noted.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. The woman really was one of a kind.
Jackson drove faster.
* * *
“You’ve got company, Irene,” the tall, muscular aide at the residential senior-care facility said.
Irene Jessop slid her hand primly over the housedress covering her lap, as if pressing the wrinkles with her palm would somehow make her garment—and thus her—more presentable. Looking up through her bifocals, she blinked several times before earnestly asking, “Do I know you?”
Brianna sat down on the bed next to Irene’s wheelchair. “We’re from Aurora. I’m Detective O’Bannon, and this is Detective Muldare. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
The woman’s eyes brightened. “I remember Aurora,” Irene said. “I think I’m from there.”
“You are,” Brianna told her kindly.
Irene nodded, absorbing the information. Her eyes took on a sparkle as she gazed at Jackson. She appeared far more interested in the tall, good-looking man standing next to the person asking her questions.
She flashed a smile at him. “You want to ask me any questions, honey?”
Brianna knew when to take advantage of a situation. Rising from the bed, she silently gestured for Jackson to take her place. With a resigned expression, he did.
“Of course he does,” she told Irene. “Detective Muldare always welcomes a chance to talk to an attractive woman.”
Irene preened visibly at the endorsement, although she never took her eyes off Jackson. “What’s your name, honey?” she asked Jackson.
“Detective Muldare,” he told her, even though Brianna had just identified him.
“No, your first name, honey,” Irene emphasized, looking for all the world like a cat waiting to pounce.
“It’s Jackson, ma’am.”
Irene beamed as if he had just shared a precious secret. “Like the president.”
“Right,” he agreed. “Like the president.”
“You can ask me anything you want, Jackson,” the woman told him, sounding almost breathless as she practically devoured Jackson with her eyes.
Tamping down her amusement, Brianna mouthed, “Go for it,” and crossed her fingers that this was going to be the break they were hoping for.
Irene reached over and took Jackson’s hand in hers. For a woman in her eighties, she had a remarkably strong grip.
“I’m waiting, Jackson,” Irene coaxed.
Jackson got started.
* * *
Irene Jessop talked for close to two hours, giving her visitors the impression that she very possibly could go on talking forever. But as she continued talking, it was becoming painfully apparent that none of what she was telling them was leading to anything substantial.
As the second hour elapsed, Brianna decided that it was time to save her partner and wrap the interview up. The aide had brought her a chair to sit on, and she rose to her feet.
Relieved, Jackson quickly took the cue and did the same. Irene’s hand had slackened, so he took the opportunity to free himself of her hold.
Irene appeared distressed. “Oh, but you’re not leaving, are you?” Her question was directed at Jackson.
Coming to his rescue, Brianna told the woman, “We’ve taken enough of your time.”
“No, no, you haven’t,” the woman protested. As she reached for Jackson, he heard the sound of a lawn mower revving up somewhere on the property. Irene jumped, her hand flying over her heart.
The lawn-mower noise made carrying on a normal conversation impossible. About to use the noise as an excuse to leave, Brianna saw the old woman’s growing agitation.
Jackson bent over the old woman. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
She seemed clearly distressed as she said to him, “Can’t get away from it anywhere, can I?”
“Get
away from what?” Jackson asked her. “The noise?”
The woman bobbed her silver-gray head up and down. “Yes, noise. Always noise. Just like at the hotel,” she complained.
Brianna and Jackson exchanged looks.
“There was noise at the hotel?” she asked the woman. “What kind of noise?”
“Noise,” she insisted, frowning. The memory obviously agitated her. “They were always building, building, building. Just when you thought they were finally finished, they’d start up again. Adding more rooms, putting in more walls.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Brianna asked.
But Irene appeared oblivious, not hearing the question. Her attention was still focused completely on Jackson.
“Who’s the ‘they’ you’re talking about, Irene?” Jackson asked her.
Irene lifted her thin shoulders up and then let them drop in a hapless shrug. “I don’t know. People. Builders building.”
Jackson tried again. “Did you recognize any of them?” he pressed.
Irene’s eyes seemed to lose their focus. “Faces. Lot of faces,” she told him, then repeated, “Lot of faces. I finally had to move. A person can’t sleep with all that noise going on. Hardly anyone left at the hotel,” she told her visitors. “Didn’t make sense to keep building. But I couldn’t take it. I had to move,” she mumbled. “I miss it,” she lamented. “Miss the hotel.”
And then, midword, the old woman stopped talking and her head fell forward.
Alarmed, Brianna crossed over closer to Irene. Jackson was checking her pulse. “She’s not—”
“No, she’s not dead,” Jackson reassured her. “She’s just asleep.”
He looked at Irene Jessop thoughtfully. As he gently placed her hand back down, Irene began to snore quietly. Jackson took the throw that was on the end of her bed and spread it out over her lap and shoulders to cover her.
When he saw Brianna watching him, he murmured self-consciously, “Old people get cold faster than we do.”
You do have a heart in there, Jackson Muldare, Brianna thought, pleased. It took effort not to grin at him. She knew that would set him off.
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