Cavanaugh on Duty - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,24

on the other end of the body, peering down at the victim’s chest.

Kari circumvented the body, coming over to stand next to her partner. “Make of what?” she wanted to know.

“This.” Esteban pointed to the front of the dead man’s pullover sport shirt.

She squinted, trying to see exactly what it was that had caught her partner’s eye, other than the massive bloodstain that had soaked through the entire front of what looked to have been a light green shirt. The deceased had a large neck, and all three buttons at his neckline were open.

She didn’t notice anything until she looked down a second time. Staring at the shirt, she began to make out what looked like a crude drawing that had been stenciled in with a black laundry marker.

A message from the killer?

“If I had to make a wild guess, I’d say that looks like the scales of justice.”

She looked up at her partner, waiting to hear if he concurred with her or made out some other kind of symbol. The drawing looked almost primitive, but if it had indeed been left by the killer, maybe he’d been interrupted before he could finish his artwork.

Rather than agree or disagree with her guess, Esteban looked over to the head of the crime lab for his assessment. “Chief?”

Sean studied the stained drawing for a moment. “Scales of justice gets my vote. Whoever did that definitely needs to brush up on their technique,” he added.

“Let’s hope he does it on a canvas and not a person,” Kari quipped. “Let me—let us,” she corrected herself, not wanting her new partner to think she was trying to slight him, “know if you find out anything interesting in the autopsy.”

She’d stopped herself just short of saying “Dad” at the end of her request. For the most part, she kept her professional life separate from her private one, but there were times when it was far too easy just to slip up when she was dealing with her family.

And now it had become that much more difficult with the vast increase of family members.

Sean nodded absently in response, his mind already moving on to another part of the procedure. But just as Kari began to leave the storage unit, he remembered to remind her about something.

“See you Sunday,” he called out.

Walking quickly out of the unit in an effort to once again leave the awful smell behind, she caught herself waiting for Esteban to ask about the reminder. When he didn’t, she decided that her new partner didn’t possess a shred of normal curiosity.

She decided to volunteer the information anyway. “He means Sunday dinner.”

Esteban merely nodded. “I kind of figured,” he said offhandedly.

She knew someone else would have just dropped it, but someone else most likely wouldn’t mind dealing with the silent treatment. She, however, did. Habitual silences had always been an indication of awkwardness as far as she as concerned. And if you felt awkward around someone, you definitely didn’t feel as if they had your six, which in turn went to trust. Trust, she had found, even in her young career, was the most important part of police work. If you didn’t have trust, you didn’t have confidence...and if you didn’t have confidence, you were nothing more than a walking target, waiting to be taken down.

“Seems that the former chief of police, Andrew Cavanaugh—now one of my two brand-new uncles— likes to have the family over on Sundays. He goes all out—cooks a huge meal. He throws his doors open to welcome as much of the family as can turn up.

“And I hear that when everyone shows up, there’re too many people to fit into the house all at the same time.” She looked at her partner as they reached the car. He hadn’t so much as grunted in response to what she’d just said. “You’re not listening to any of this, are you?” As far as she was concerned, it was really a rhetorical question.

Rather than answer yes or no, Esteban had a question of his own.

“Would it matter?” he asked her. “You seem to like to talk, and I’ve got a pulse.” He looked at her over the hood of the car before getting in. “I figure that’s about all you require.”

Kari got in behind the steering wheel and buckled up, snapping the metal tongue into the slot. “You are a cynical son of a gun, aren’t you?”

“What I am, Hyphen, is a survivor,” Esteban told her.

Kari put the key into the ignition