Cavanaugh on Duty - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,22

expression on his face told her she’d guessed right.

“What is it?” she asked him, her eyes all but nailing him to his chair.

Jennings squirmed uncomfortably. He evidently didn’t like being read like a book. “William Reynolds,” he answered, not without a trace of reluctance.

“And what’s the late Mr. Reynolds’s address?” she wanted to know.

A nervously defiant look came over his face. “That’s confidential,” Jennings informed her. “I can’t go around giving out our customers’ addresses.”

Esteban leaned over the thin, gouged beige counter that separated the man’s office from the small space in front of the outer door.

“We’re not asking for ‘addresses,’ we’re asking for an address,” he told the manager, “and the information’s not ‘confidential’ unless you’re a priest and it was given to you while taking Reynolds’s confession.” Esteban spoke softly, but each word he uttered carried weight and, strung together, they came very close to sounding as if there was a threat waiting in the wings.

Beginning to sweat, Jennings sucked in his breath and then hit a series of keys on the keyboard.

“There!” he declared, gesturing at the screen. “Satisfied?” His derisive question was intended for both of the detectives who’d so vexingly invaded his minor domain.

Kari raised her cell phone and took a quick picture of the information on the monitor. She caught the quizzical look on her partner’s face.

“It beats writing,” she told him. “Besides, I’ve got pretty terrible handwriting,” she added.

It was the kind that, unless she actually remembered what it was that she’d jotted down earlier, she had difficulty deciphering.

“You should work on that,” Esteban commented.

Maybe she liked him better when he didn’t talk, she thought, not quite sure if he was being serious or sarcastic. In either case, she didn’t welcome the unsolicited advice.

Turning her attention back to the less than cooperative storage-facility manager, she asked one final question. “Is there anything you can tell us about the deceased?”

Jennings was still guarded. “Like what?” he replied.

She couldn’t decide if the man was hiding something or was just uncooperative with the law in general. “Like did you hear him arguing with anyone? Did he look upset in the last week or so?”

He raised and lowered his shoulders in a vague, dismissive manner. “I only saw him maybe a couple of times.”

“Recently?” Esteban growled out the word, issuing it like a challenge.

“N-no,” Jennings stammered, clearly uncomfortable when Esteban addressed him. The manager thought for a moment, then said, “He paid his bill on time and never gave me any trouble.”

She supposed that was something—or a non-something. Nonetheless, she said thank-you as she took out one of her business cards. “If you do happen to think of something else, you can reach me at this number.” She placed the card on his desk.

Jennings picked it up and looked down at the number imprinted on the face of the off-white business card. “If I call this number, I’ll just get you?” he asked, raising one eyebrow as he looked up at her.

There was no way she was going to have the man thinking this was about anything but the murder. “That’s the precinct number for both of us,” she informed him in a clipped voice.

“Oh.” Suddenly disinterested, Jennings tossed the card onto the side of the desk just as they began to walk out.

“Looks like you just blew your chances for a date,” Esteban quipped. The smallest hint of a grin accompanied his wry observation.

Kari narrowed her eyes at him as she banked down her surprise. “You have a sense of humor. Reassuring,” she commented. “As for your remark, I’d rather eat dirt.”

If he was going to comment on her unappetizing choice of entrée, the words died unspoken as both he and Kari saw the Aurora Police Department’s white CSI van pull up onto the storage facility’s grounds.

“That way,” Kari called out to the driver, who was none other than her father. She pointed in the general direction of Reynolds’s storage unit.

Rather than say anything, Sean Cavanaugh briefly stuck his hand out the driver’s-side window and gave a quick wave in response before continuing on his way. Kari followed quickly behind the vehicle.

She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder to see if Fernandez had opted to wait for her in the car or to follow her lead.

Now that the scene was going to be thoroughly documented, she wanted to get at the body wrapped up in the rug. There could be something on the torso that could help them figure out who killed Reynolds and why.

Sean Cavanaugh