“Well, yeah.” Brennan appeared to think that was rather self-evident. “There are a number of security cameras around here.” He pointed at stores on both sides of the wide street. “Not to mention the one mounted over the intersection.”
Declan exchanged glances with Charley. He could see she was thinking the same thing.
Gotcha!
“Where did you say the shooter was standing?” Declan asked.
“When I heard the chief’s tires squealing, he was trying to miss someone who was standing in the middle of the road.”
“Had to be the shooter,” Charley declared. There was no other conclusion to be reached. “After the windshield was shot out, which way did—”
She didn’t get to finish her question. The DEA agent pointed directly behind her. “I saw the shooter running in that direction. I would have followed, but it was either that or saving the chief. I went with saving the chief.”
“And we’re all glad you did,” she agreed.
Declan was already striding back to the crime-scene investigators. “Get the names of all the stores on either side of the road and find out if they have working security cameras. If they do, I want all the footage subpoenaed,” he told the lead investigator.
“What about the one over the intersection?” Brennan asked. “Seems to me that would give you the best view.”
“That,” Charley told him, “we have back at the station.” Right in their own backyard, she thought. And they’d missed it.
But they were going to get their hands on it the minute they got back. Their first decent lead—thanks to the police chief.
Charley fervently hoped that the man would live long enough to appreciate the irony of the situation.
Finished giving his instructions to the lead CSI, Declan caught her eye and motioned for her to head toward her car. They needed to get back to the police station stat.
As he got into Charley’s vehicle, Declan’s phone rang. “Cavanaugh,” he snapped, yanking at his seat belt with the opposite hand. Buckling up was awkward at best.
“Tell Charley she was right,” Bobby Yu said. “We found that woman she was looking for on the restaurant footage and it’s the same one who worked at the middle school where our second victim turned up.”
“You’re sure?” Declan pressed.
“I’m looking at her likeness right now. It’s her, all right. Or her identical twin sister,” the detective threw in cavalierly.
“We’re coming in,” Declan said. Ending the call, he tucked the cell phone back into his pocket. Because he was seated, it wasn’t easy.
“Who was that?” Charley asked.
Glancing down at the speedometer, she forced herself to ease her foot off the gas pedal. Tension and anticipation were causing her to press down harder. She’d already gone over the speed limit twice and although there was no traffic at this time and they were conducting a murder investigation, none of that mattered if she plowed into another vehicle or lost control of her own.
She drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves.
“Detective Yu,” Declan answered her, shoving his cell phone back into his pocket for a second time. When it refused to retreat and stay put, he gave up and held it in his hand. “You were right.”
Charley nodded as if she expected to hear as much. “Good to know.” Then, when he didn’t elaborate, she prodded, “About?”
“That teacher who was on the scene when the second victim turned up. Yu just confirmed she was on the tape, entering the restaurant where the fourth victim was found in the alley, next to the Dumpster. Correct me if I’m wrong,” Declan mused, “but didn’t she say that her husband had been a cop?”
So he remembered that, too. She wasn’t imagining things. “That she did,” Charley agreed.
Declan glanced at the speedometer. “You’re going over the speed limit again,” he pointed out.
Charley had a hard time not laughing. He was lucky they weren’t flying. “You let me off with a warning, Officer, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
Declan pretended to take umbrage. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
Charley grinned at him. She was feeling really good about this. They were closing in on the killer—once brought in, they could all stop looking over their shoulder and second-guessing their every move.
“Yup.”
He nodded, as if that was all he wanted to hear. “Okay, as long as I know.”
Charley didn’t bother stifling her laugh.
* * *
They arrived at the station, and then the squad room, a few minutes later. Yu was surprised to see them there, given that they’d been all the way across town when he’d called Declan.
“What’d you two do, fly?” he marveled, looking from Declan to Charley.
Declan slanted a glance at his partner. “Pretty much,” he replied. “You got this woman’s address for us?” he asked.
“Address, phone number, back history, anything you want,” Yu told him proudly. He’d worked quickly, sensing they were on to something. “By the way, she’s not married to a cop,” he said, pausing dramatically before clarifying, “She was married to a cop.”
“That’s right, she’d said she was a widow. How did her husband die?” Charley asked.
She could feel herself growing more excited about the trail they were on. The case was gelling and could very well be wrapped up by the middle of the day.
“I looked up his file on the database,” Bobby answered. “It said that his death was an accident, but I’ve got my doubts. Miller was being let go because someone accused him of accepting kickbacks to look the other way. There was a prostitution ring operating somewhere in the area,” the detective elaborated.
“What happened to the charges?” Declan asked.
“They were dropped when Miller died—but his wife still wasn’t entitled to get his pension because of the accusation.”
“Which would explain why she was still working,” Declan concluded.
“And why she’s so angry,” Charley added.
“She didn’t seem angry to me,” Declan said.
“The woman on that restaurant surveillance tape was not running for Miss Congeniality,” Charley pointed out.
Right now, they were waiting on another surveillance tape. The one from the camera feedback that was periodically amassed in the traffic surveillance room. Declan had sent Sanchez down to get it. All the major traffic intersections had a corresponding monitor that was displaying what was going on at that specific intersection.
During the day, there were several officers seated in the room, monitoring the traffic and on the alert for any accidents and blatant traffic violations. But during the evening, there might be just one officer in the room, or, at times, none.
Such had to be the case last night, Declan surmised. But at least they had the tape.
Clearly having used the stairs and run all the way, Sanchez breathlessly presented the DVD to him.
They lost no time in loading it onto a computer.
* * *
“Son of a gun, there’s the shooter,” Charley cried less than ten minutes later, after having sped up the recording twice. She looked to Bobby. “Can you enlarge this?” she asked.
“Piece of cake,” he told her. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
He did it in one.
“It’s her, all right,” Charley cried, looking at the monitor.
“Find me an ADA who can get a warrant for us to search this woman’s house,” Declan ordered Callaghan. The detective was halfway to the door when Declan called after him, “Go see Janelle. She’s the daughter of the chief of Ds. She won’t ask you a hundred questions, she’ll just get a judge to sign off on it.”
“Do we have to wait for that warrant?” Charl
ey asked, wanting desperately to go out and corner the woman on the tape.
As she looked back, there had been something off about the woman when they’d questioned her, but she’d chalked it up to the teacher being acquainted with the second victim.
It had all been there, in plain sight, and she’d missed it, Charley upbraided herself. She wanted to get going. There was no telling what the woman was up to at this point. She could have taken off to save herself—or she could be planning one last huge hit.
“Hell no,” Declan assured her. “We’re paying that docile schoolmarm a visit. Now.”
* * *
They brought backup with them, but Declan instructed the officers to stay back until he gave the order. If this was their killer, he didn’t want anything spooking her until they had her in their sights—preferably in custody, as well.
Driving up to the woman’s house, Declan parked Charley’s car at the curb. “You ready?” he asked Charley before he opened his door.
So ready that it was unbelievable, she thought. “Try and make me stay away,” she dared him.
“Not on your life,” he laughed grimly. “I know better than to get between you and something you’ve set your sights on.”
Together they approached the front door and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, Declan tried again. When there was still no answer, he knocked. Or, more accurately, he pounded.
“Mrs. Miller,” Declan called out. “Open the door. This is the Aurora P.D. We have a few more questions to ask you.”
The door finally opened and the tall, gray-haired, heavyset woman with the round, jovial face looked from Declan to Charley.
“I talked to you before,” she told them, as if that should be the end of it.
“Yes, you did,” Charley agreed brightly, doing her best to put the woman at ease. People could be tripped up more easily if they were at ease. “But we need to ask you a few more questions.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know about that poor officer,” Donna Miller protested.
Watching the woman’s face carefully, Charley said, “This is about your husband.”
Suspicion immediately entered the small, close-set brown eyes. “What about him?”
Charley had taken over this segment. Declan let her, hoping it would built up some sort of rapport. “We’re here to clear up a few things that we found on his record.”
The last of the smile faded from the woman’s face as she opened the door farther. “Come on in,” she said flatly.
When they did, the woman surprised them by suddenly grabbing Charley and pulling her over, using her as a human shield. Donna Miller had a small but lethal pistol in her hand that she’d pulled out of her skirt pocket. She pressed the muzzle against Charley’s temple, her intent very clear.
Declan instantly pulled out his own weapon, aiming it at the middle-school teacher.
“Drop your gun, Detective,” Donna Miller snapped. “Drop it or I’ll blow a hole in her head this minute.”
“You don’t want to do that,” Declan said, keeping his voice low, calm.
“Oh, but I do,” Mrs. Miller contradicted. “I want to blow a hole into every damn cop in this city. You killed my Howard and it’s only right that you pay for it. That you all pay for it. All he ever wanted was to be one of you,” she accused. “You took that away from him. He was so depressed, he killed himself. That was your fault,” she screamed wildly, then temporarily regained control over herself. “It’s only right that you pay for it. Now put your gun down—or watch her die right in front of you! Your choice,” she concluded malevolently.
“Don’t do it, Declan,” Charley cried, her eyes riveted to the weapon in his hand. “You put your gun down, she’ll kill us both.”
“You’re probably right,” he agreed. “But I can’t risk it.” His eyes shifted to the woman’s. “I’m putting it down,” he told her, slowly lowering his weapon. “Let her go.”
“God, but you are stupid,” Donna Miller laughed, shifting the muzzle away from Charley’s temple and pointing it straight at Declan. “You should have listened to your girlfriend here.”
Charley knew she had only a split second before the teacher fired. With a wild yell to throw the other woman off, Charley drove her elbow into the woman’s considerable rib cage as hard as she could.
A guttural scream of pain and anger pierced the air as the woman attacked Charley. They struggled for possession of the weapon amid a flood of curses the middle-school teacher heaped on her.
Declan ran to the fighting women, attempting to pull them apart. It was almost impossible at first, but he finally managed to pull the teacher off Charley at the same moment that Mrs. Miller’s pistol discharged.
The next moment, Declan wrenched the weapon away from her.
“Here, take this,” he told Charley, shoving the weapon into her hands. The next moment, before she could say anything to him, she watched in horror as Declan sank to his knees in front of her.
Blood was pouring out from his left side.
The teacher began to lunge toward her, wanting to seize her chance. Charley pointed the weapon at her. “One more move and I’ll shoot you dead right here.”
“You can’t do that, you’re a cop,” the teacher taunted.
“Want to bet your life on that one?” Charley challenged coldly. “Just take one more step. Please take one more step.”
For the first time, the teacher appeared to be terrified.
Grabbing the woman’s arms roughly, Charley handcuffed her hands behind her back, running the cuff’s link through a breakfront filled with knickknacks that were badly in need of a dusting.
Done, she quickly turned toward Declan. Charley frantically stripped off her shirt in order to have something to try to stem the flow of blood before he bled out at her feet.
Barely conscious and lying on the floor, Declan looked up at her and said weakly, “This...is no...place...to have...your way...with...me, Charley.”
Tears were streaming down her face and she didn’t try to wipe them away. Something far more important was happening for her to be worried about her vanity. One hand pressing down on his wound, with her shirt between his skin and her hand, Charley had her phone in the other.
“Officer down,” she cried into her cell when someone picked up on the other end. “Officer down! I need a bus sent to 15073 Magnolia. Now!” she fairly screamed into the phone.
She dropped the phone and used both hands to press down on his wound. Her shirt was now all but completely red.
“Stay with me, Declan. Stay with me!” she pleaded. “Open your eyes and stay with me!”
“You’re wasting your time,” the teacher laughed. “He’s dead.”
“The second he is, so are you,” Charley promised the woman just as Yu, Callaghan, Sanchez and the rest of the backup team broke in through the front door.
Charley barely heard them. She was far too busy begging Declan to open his eyes for her.
Chapter 18
She never let go of his hand.
When the paramedics arrived, Charley insisted on riding in the ambulance with him.
Though he was unconscious, she held Declan’s hand tightly the entire trip to the hospital, afraid that if she let go of his hand, he would let go of life.
So she held on.
And prayed.
The moment the paramedics pushed Declan’s gurney through the E.R. doors, the physician on duty took over. Though every fiber of her system resisted, she had to release Declan’s hand.
“We have to operate and you can’t be in the O.R.,” the nurse told her gently.
Nodding, Charley released his hand, but not before she bent over him, brushing a kiss to his forehead. “You come back to me, you hear? I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.
Never,” she repeated hoarsely.
“There’s a room right over there where you can wait for the surgeon to come out and talk to you,” the nurse told her, pointing to a room down the hall.
“I’ll wait right here,” Charley insisted, leaning against the wall some ten steps away from the swinging doors the orderly and physician had just gone through with Declan.
“A Cavanaugh tradition,” the nurse said with a weary sigh, apparently knowing that to argue with her was pointless. “You’ll fit right in.”
If Declan died, she would never fit in anywhere again, Charley couldn’t help thinking.
And then, before she realized what was happening, Charley found herself engulfed by off-duty police officers and detectives, all of whom shared her pain several dozen times over. Declan’s family, both immediate and extended, all congregated around her.
Still reeling from the shock of seeing Declan go down before her eyes, Charley looked at the people around her, stunned.
“Haven’t you gone home yet?” she asked, and then a cold chill ran down her back. “How’s the chief?” she asked Sean, the Cavanaugh standing closest to her.
Had the unthinkable happened? Had Andrew Cavanaugh become that damn serial killer’s latest and last victim? Was that why most of his family was still here at the hospital?
“Doctor said the surgery was a success and that that lucky son of a gun cheated death again. There’s every indication he’s going to be even better than new,” a very relieved Rose told her, joining her brother-in-law. “But why are you here?” Andrew’s wife asked. “And what are you doing wearing an orderly’s shirt?”
She’d forgotten that one of the paramedics had lent her an extra shirt that was in the rig. “I used mine to try to stop Declan from bleeding out. We got her, sir,” she said, turning toward the chief of detectives who had made his way to her.
“Her?” he repeated quizzically.
Charley nodded. “The killer turned out to be a woman,” she told him. “Donna Miller. Her husband killed himself after he was dismissed from the police department in disgrace—he was about to be investigated as a dirty cop. Something snapped inside of her and she started killing the people she felt were responsible for her husband’s termination.”
Cavanaugh Hero Page 18