Cavanaugh Cold Case (13 page)

Malloy nodded. “She called me this morning, saying that maybe Zoe Roberts was another one of the killer's victims because Zoe and Abby were pretty close, and after Abby disappeared, Zoe tried to find out what happened to her.”

This was definitely good news. It could get them one step closer to finding out who was responsible for the murders, but at the same time, Kristin could feel her stomach turning in protest. “Let me guess, Zoe went missing, too.”

“I pulled her flyer,” Malloy said, producing the photocopy he made off the database. He handed it to Kristin. “Now all you need to do is see if you can match her dental records to one of the eleven skulls you have left.” He saw the stunned, somewhat dazed expression on Kristin's face as she reacted to his news. “What's the matter?”

Looking away from the flyer, she raised her eyes to his. “Didn't you notice?”

“What? That she and Abby looked enough alike to be sisters? Yeah, I noticed.” But there was more to it than just an unexpected coincidence. It meant that the killer had been going after a certain type. “It's not all that unusual,” he told her. “Lots of serial killers have a ‘type.'”

“And we just found his,” Kristin said excitedly. She looked at him again. “This is a real breakthrough, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” For a moment, he allowed himself to absorb the genuine excitement he saw on her face. The look transformed her, made her appear softer and even more appealing than she already was.

The next moment, he shook himself free of that train of thought. There was a serial killer to find and other young women to identify and finally lay to rest. His reaction to Kristin was just going to have to be put on hold for now.

“I'd better go back to my desk and start pulling all the twenty-to twenty-five-year-old missing persons flyers for twentysomething blue-eyed blondes.” He laughed dryly at the thought. “This being California, I've got a feeling that's still going to be a sizable pile.”

“But less than before,” she told him.

The comment had him looking at her. “Are you turning optimistic on me?” he asked, amused.

“No, I'm being scientific—or, more to the point, mathematical,” she said, a bit defensively. “Bring me half the pile once you're done pulling flyers.”

Now she really had his attention. This seemed like a turning point for their association. “Are you offering to help?”

Maybe she'd gone too far. Kristin retreated. “You said you're working alone, that your partner's out on sick leave. I thought you could use the help. If you don't want it—”

“I never said that,” he interrupted quickly, honestly glad of the offer. Granted, the woman was exceptionally easy on the eyes, and this gave him more of a legitimate excuse to be around her, but he actually could use the assistance and told her so. “I need all the help I can get.”

The comment made her laugh. “You said it, I didn't.”

He cocked his head ever so slightly, as if that helped him absorb the sound better.

“You've got a nice laugh, Doc.”

“Go.” She waved him away. “I've got work to do.”

But as she heard him walk out of the morgue and into the hallway, Kristin smiled to herself for no definite reason.

* * *

“It's a match!” Kristin declared excitedly, making the announcement to the skeletal remains on the exam table.

She had just matched Zoe Roberts's dental X-rays to the dental impressions she made of one of the remaining eleven skulls. It had been her sixth try with as many different skulls.

Malloy had picked that moment to walk back into the morgue carrying a stack of some forty-three missing persons flyers under his arm.

“What's a match?” he asked, immediately caught up in Kristin's uninhibited exclamation of triumph.

Startled, she swung around to face him. She was so excited, she forgave Malloy for scaring her half to death. “I just found Zoe Roberts, or what's left of her, thanks to these dental X-rays her dentist faxed over. Actually, it was the dentist who took the original dentist's place, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is that we've got our second victim's name.

“Oh, Lord, we've got our second victim's name,” Kristin repeated in a voice that was far more subdued and shaken.

“Mixed feelings?” Malloy guessed, reading between the lines.

“If they were any more mixed, I'd be pouring them straight out of a blender,” she admitted. Kristin looked up at him as she suddenly remembered something. “You'll take me with you, right? When you go to break the news to her family, you'll still take me with you?”

Why would she think that he'd change course now? “Why wouldn't I? A deal's a deal.”

“Right.” And then, still riding the emotional roller coaster she was on, Kristin allowed herself another moment of triumph. She felt almost giddy. “We've put a name to our second victim!”

She was overcome with a real sense of elation and triumph at the same time that she was battling a wave of sadness over the fact that a family would be grieving all over again for a final time once the news was broken to them. Kristin found herself turning toward Malloy and throwing her arms around him, half in celebration and half because she felt a sudden, overwhelming need for human contact and comfort at the same time.

And what happened next took her even more by surprise.

Chapter 12

I
t felt like the entire world had shrunk down to the very small, intense sphere that contained just the two of them.

Kristin was exceedingly aware of every single nuance that made up the man she had so spontaneously thrown her arms around. Aware of his hard chest, his muscular biceps, his warm breath along her face and very, very aware of the way he looked at her.

As if she were the last woman on earth and he was glad of it.

She was aware, too, that there was nothing more on this earth that she wanted to do at this moment than to kiss him and be kissed by him.

Her heart hammered wildly in her chest.

* * *

Desire lanced all through him, permeating every single space—large and small—of his being. The thought traveled through Malloy's head that this was neither the time nor the place for this.

It was a first for him.

Ordinarily,
anytime, anyplace
was the right time and place for him to kiss a willing woman, to hold her and make her his before the actual act ever took place. For as far back as he could remember, Malloy had thrived on stolen moments, stolen kisses and, most of all, on stolen trysts.

But not this time.

Not with this woman.

As the thoughts played themselves across his mind, he felt that he had to be losing either his grip or his mind, possibly both.

This wasn't like him.

But then, she wasn't like any other woman he'd ever encountered.

She was special, even though, if pressed, he couldn't quite define exactly why.

So, rather than leaping in and making the most of the opportunity that had just presented itself to him, Malloy forced himself to loosen his hold on her. And then he dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back from quite possibly the most tender trap that had ever tempted him.

Struggling for some semblance of control, not to mention normalcy, he said casually, “I guess we make a pretty good team at that.”

Oh, God, what had she almost allowed herself to do?

In a moment of complete insanity, she'd all but thrown herself at him, and the only thing that had saved her was
him
. Not any feelings of self-preservation on her part, not her own common sense, but
him.

Up was down and down was up, and now that she thought about it, there was a very good chance that she might very well never get her bearings again.

Braced, Kristin looked into the cocky detective's eyes, waiting for him to taunt her or at least tease her about what had almost happened.

She held her breath.

Okay, in the scheme of things, a kiss was no big deal, but
she
would have been the one doing the kissing—this after she had let Malloy know exactly what she thought of his happy-go-lucky, carefree-bachelor attitude—and of him, neither of which was flattering.

Shaken, she had no choice but to clutch to the line Malloy had just tossed out to her about their so-called “teamwork.”

“I guess we do,” she agreed in a stilted voice. Clearing her throat, wishing fervently that she could clear away the haze in her mind as easily, or better yet, just disappear, Kristin forced herself to focus on the case. Maybe it would distract him and make him forget about what had almost happened.

And complicating everything was the nagging little question:
Why
hadn't he kissed her? Didn't he find her attractive? The man had a reputation of romancing every woman under eighty, yet when the opportunity to kiss her had presented itself, he hadn't.

Why?

C'mon, Kris, back to the case. Don't let him mess with your head. That's probably exactly what he's trying to do.

“I guess this confirms it then,” she said, doing her best to block out every other stray thought. “Our killer did have a type. He definitely went after blue-eyed blondes.”

“Now all we have to do is figure out why,” Malloy concluded.

“What do you mean, why?” She didn't understand where he was going with this.

“Well, did she remind him of a girlfriend who'd jilted him—or who he thought had jilted him? Did she remind him of his mother or maybe an aunt who tortured him as a child? The more we know, the more we can figure out why he targeted who he did and, with luck, it'll lead us to him.”

When Kristin groaned, he laughed. “Nobody said this was going to be easy.” He watched her for a long moment, temporarily regretting his more chivalrous instincts. “None of it.”

Another wave of warmth suddenly undulated through her.

The case, think about the case.

“That woman who told you about Zoe. Did she have anything else to add, maybe another name?”

“No, but I told her I'd get back to her if we could confirm that one of the victims turns out to be Zoe. Maybe she'll remember something by then,” he added hopefully.

“Don't you have to notify the next of kin first before you tell a victim's friend?” Kristin asked. She was only vaguely aware of the proper protocol.

“Haven't found any yet,” he told her. “But I just did a cursory search. I figured I'd do a more thorough one once I get back from the funeral.”

“Funeral?” Kristin questioned. Ordinarily, she didn't ask personal questions, didn't pry into the lives of the people she worked with. But this, this had been different right from the start, and she heard herself asking him, “Whose?”

“Abby Sullivan's.” In wanting to maintain contact with the man who had connected him with his daughter after all this time, Henry Sullivan had called him at the precinct to let him know where and when the funeral was being held. “I feel that since we were the ones to break the news to him, it's only right that I attend the funeral.”

This was definitely going over and above what she thought Malloy was capable of. She looked at him as if she'd never seen him before.

“You really are sensitive, aren't you?” she asked, part of her still waiting for him to say or do something that would negate what she'd just said.

“Only partially,” he told her. “I'm also going in case, for some perverted reason, her killer turns up to watch the ceremony. Serial killers are a weird bunch, and they all have their odd quirks that in some way enhance their kills. Who knows? This one might need to see the grieving faces and know that he was responsible for putting them there.”

“The bodies have all been in the ground at least twenty years. You don't think he's stopped killing?”

“There are a lot of reasons why he might have stopped for a period of time—for instance, he could have been in prison—or a mental hospital all this time. Or maybe he just went to another state to satisfy his bloodlust, and nobody's made the connection. In either case, he's been damn lucky and not gotten caught.”

“So you do think he's still alive?” she asked, trying to pin down his mind-set.

“Let's just say I don't want to arbitrarily rule it out,” he told her. “And if he's out there, I want to catch him.”

“You really think, if he is alive, that he'll show up?”

The possibility filled her with horror, and yet, Malloy was right. If there was the tiniest chance that the man was alive and brazen enough to watch the funeral play out, he had to be apprehended.

“Tiny chance,” Malloy admitted. “But even if he doesn't show up for one reason or another, maybe one of the mourners might be able to tell me something that'll lead to our next identification.” He glanced at his watch. He still had a couple of things to do first. “I have to get going if I'm going to be leaving on time.”

“What time's the funeral?” she asked.

“One o'clock,” he answered, wondering why she'd want to know.

Kristin nodded. There had been a shooting early this morning, and she had promised Sean Cavanaugh that she'd perform the autopsy as soon as she could. She was going to have to get cracking herself if she was going to finish up before she left.

“Come by and get me at twelve fifteen. We'll go together.”

To him, funerals were something to be avoided if at all possible. He didn't want her to feel obligated to attend just because he was going. “There's no need for you to go, too.”

“Cavanaugh, I'm the one who decides what I need or don't need. Now, are you going to pick me up, or do I go by myself?”

She really was the most stubborn woman he had ever encountered, Malloy thought.

“I haven't told you where it's being held,” he reminded her, curious as to what she'd say.

Kristin shrugged indifferently. “I can find out,” she replied.

For a second, he leaned against the exam table that was between them, studying her. “Okay, got another question for you. Why would you
want
to go?”

“Out of respect for Mr. Sullivan's loss and his grief. The man waited over twenty years to find out what happened to his daughter. The way I see it, he can use as much emotional support as he can get. I don't know if he has a large family or not, but I got the impression of loneliness when we were at his house.”

“Good enough for me,” Malloy said with a shrug. “Okay, I'll pick you up at twelve fifteen,” he told her. “As long as you clear it with Uncle Sean. Don't want him thinking you've run off to play hooky with me,” he said teasingly.

“Hooky?” Kristin echoed. “What are we, in high school circa 1960?” She laughed. And then she became serious. “Would you actually expect your uncle, my boss, to say no to my attending the funeral?” she asked incredulously. “Chief Cavanaugh has to be positively the sweetest, most understanding man on the face of the earth. He'd be the first one to appreciate why I'm attending. He might be surprised that I'm attending it with you,” she qualified, “but he'd definitely understand
why
I'm attending.”

“Okay then,” Malloy agreed. “Twelve fifteen.” He glanced at the body on the next table. Unlike what had been on all her exam tables recently, this body was still a unified whole. “I'll leave you to your work.”

With that, he left the morgue.

* * *

True to his word, Malloy returned to the morgue at twelve fifteen. He was dressed exactly the same as when he'd left her, one of the advantages of coming to work every day wearing a suit, he thought as he entered the building on the north side. Forgoing the elevator, he took the stairs and went down to the basement, where both the morgue and part of the crime scene investigation lab were located.

For once, Malloy knocked on the door before entering despite the fact that it was open. “Sure you want to do this?” he asked her as he crossed the room.

“Go to a funeral?” she asked. “No. Comfort that poor man? Yes. This funeral is all going to bring it home to him, you know. Just in case he doesn't have a friendly face in the crowd, he's going to need one.” She realized that he was grinning broadly. “You're laughing at me, why?”

“Medical examiner by day, comforting angel of mercy by night. Has a nice ring to it,” he told her. “And I'm not laughing at you, Doc,” he contradicted. “I'm laughing with you.”

“Which might make sense if I were laughing—but I'm not,” she pointed out. Shedding her lab coat, she placed it on the back of the leather office chair that was by her desk.

“Give it time,” he told her significantly. “It'll make sense to you.”

“If you say so.” Grabbing her purse, she closed her desk drawer. “Ready,” she announced.

His eyes met hers. “Me, too.”

As she left with him, Kristin couldn't shake the feeling that they were no longer talking about attending the funeral.

* * *

Abby Sullivan's funeral had a small turnout. Malloy deliberately remained in the background, doing his best not to call any attention to himself as he attended first the service at the church, then the ceremony at the gravesite.

Besides himself and Kristin, only a handful of people attended. The way they gathered around Henry Sullivan made Malloy think that the people at the services were either the man's friends or his family. No one at either location looked to be a contemporary of the deceased woman.

Apparently, Malloy thought, the woman who had called him, alerting him to Zoe Roberts, hadn't known about the service or had chosen not to attend.

Henry Sullivan remained standing beside his daughter's freshly dug grave after the others who had attended the service had left the area. It was around that time the man noticed Malloy as well as the young woman who had come with him. By the look on his lined face, he recognized them both. It was also obvious that he was surprised to see them.

The moment they came closer, he asked in a voice that was both eager and weary, “Did you come with any news, Detective? Did you find out who killed my little girl?”

“Not yet, sir,” Malloy replied. “We just came to pay our respects.”

A tired smile passed fleetingly over his thin lips. “Thank you for that. I know you have to be very busy.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “If it's all the same to you, I'd rather have the name of her killer than any words of respect.” Taking hold of Malloy's arm, he added urgently, “I need to know who did it. And I need to know—if I can't kill him with my bare hands—that he's made to pay for what he did.”

The way Sullivan said it, Malloy could see the man actually acting as the killer's executioner.

“As I told you, I won't rest until I find him, Professor Sullivan,” Malloy said in a quiet, firm voice.

There were tears in the man's eyes as he shook Malloy's hand again. “Thank you for that.” Sullivan shifted his cloudy brown eyes to the young woman standing beside the detective. “Thank you both,” Abby's father said, his voice breaking as he took Kristin's hand and shook it, as well.

Being here had vividly brought back her father's funeral to her. There had been a lot more people attending, but the pervasive feeling of sorrow was the same. In total empathy with the man, Kristin struggled not to let her own tears flow.