same eyes had caught him by surprise when she’d first looked at him, back at headquarters. Sure, he’d studied the photo in her file: he’d stared at it for the past five weeks—a newspaper clipping taken from the Baltimore Sun two years ago when she’d been presented with the Maryland Officer of the Year award.
The faded black-and-white photo hadn’t done justice to the vibrant golden highlights in her hair or the glow of her perfect skin. But in the picture, Claudia had been smiling, and in the weeks he had studied her file, Gavin had imagined seeing that lush smile in person. Instead, there was concern on her face; it furrowed lines across her forehead and tightened her mouth as she gazed up at him.
“What is it?” she asked.
“This guy Silver. You know him?”
“I told you, yes.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be here then.”
“If it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about, Gavin, forget it. I met the man a couple of times, but haven’t seen him since January. He was an acquaintance at best.”
Gavin wondered if the subtle twitch at the corner of her right eye indicated a lie. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Now are you coming in or do I have to conduct your investigation?”
She slipped her arm from his grasp, and her trench coat whirled in the air behind her as she turned once more. Gavin watched her and wondered how it was that someone who stood barely five foot five in heels could command such presence.
It shouldn’t have surprised him though, he thought. After all, her file was chock-full of commendations and an endless stream of laudatory reviews from her sergeants, past and present. And besides the award, there had been the bronze star four years ago. Gavin had been impressed from the moment his lieutenant had handed him her file back in the Internal Affairs offices.
“Okay, guys, what have we got?” Claudia’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
He watched her pull a notepad and pen from her pocket and then just as quickly shove them back in, obviously remembering her role as the secondary detective on the scene.
“This is Detective Monaghan.” She gestured an introduction. “He’s the primary, so any details you’ve got go to him.”
She wasn’t liking this one bit, Gavin decided. It wasn’t her case, she wasn’t in control, and she hated that fact. Frustration appeared to stiffen her stance.
But when she stood over the victim, Claudia’s expression softened. In his years on patrol, then in Narcotics and finally Internal Affairs, Gavin had seen his share of violent deaths. It struck him now, however, that he’d never worked one with a woman. As Claudia studied the body of James Silver, a look of compassion seemed to wash over her face. It was a look rarely seen on the faces of seasoned detectives, and Gavin couldn’t help wondering if there was, in fact, more to her relationship with Silver than she’d admitted.
She hadn’t clarified the context in which she knew the private investigator. And then, as Gavin scanned the PI’s office, he saw the Baltimore Police cap on one bookshelf and the framed academy diploma on the wall.
He joined her, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Tell me how you know this guy.”
“This isn’t the time, Gavin.” Her response was barely audible, her focus never leaving the body crumpled in the corner amid a scattering of files.
“He was a cop. Did you work with him?”
She didn’t respond.
“Because if you worked with him, you know Sarge will have to take you off—”
She turned on him, a flare of impatience in her eyes as her whisper sharpened. “I told you, I hardly knew him. Now, are you going to take charge here, or do I have to?”
“Fine.” He withdrew his own notebook from his pocket, flipped to a fresh page and clicked his pen. “I want you to start by getting the report from the responding officer, and then arrange for an initial canvass of the area. After that, I need you to interview the custodial staff. Talk to whoever found him, see what they know about his hours, if they saw or heard anything. Do you think you can handle that, Detective Parrish?”
It was clear Claudia hadn’t expected him to take such swift authority. She stared at him for a moment, and Gavin wondered if it was a smile that tugged at the corner of her lips instead of the indignation he’d expected.
Then she gave him a subtle nod. “That’s more like it, Detective Monaghan.”
THE MEDICAL EXAMINER HAD removed Silver’s body at six o’clock, and by seven the crime-scene technicians appeared to have breakfast in mind as they hurried to wrap up their work. She and Gavin had been on the scene for close to two hours now, and throughout Claudia had watched him. She couldn’t deny that she was impressed.
Gavin’s command of the scene had been almost immediate. As Claudia had spoken to the responding officer and waited for him to write up his report, Gavin had stood over Silver’s body for the longest time, both hands buried deep in the pockets of his trench coat. At first, Claudia had wondered if perhaps he’d forgotten his past work. Then she’d seen how carefully his gaze scrutinized the area, locking on details, assessing the surroundings, studying the position and condition of the body, until he’d finally moved on to talk to the ME at length.
Obviously a one-year stint chauffeuring the brass around had not robbed him of his experience. The investigation was in capable hands. And yet, if there had been any way for her to take the case, Claudia would have jumped at the opportunity.
From the moment she’d heard James Silver’s name, she’d wanted this one. She hadn’t lied to Gavin about knowing James Silver, about meeting him. It had been only twice, but Silver had been more than the “acquaintance” she’d told Gavin he was. He’d been a good friend of Frank’s, and his partner on patrol years ago in the Eastern District. It had been a decade since Silver had worn a uniform, yet his friendship with Frank had remained loyal.
She knew enough about James Silver to know he’d been a good man, a good cop, and a good friend to Frank. So good, that he was the one person who may never have been convinced by the evidence indicating Frank’s suicide. She hadn’t spoken with Silver since three weeks after Frank’s death. It had been a brief phone call, and they’d done nothing but argue: Claudia explaining the evidence, and Silver determined to dispute it.
Seeing Silver now—shot dead in his own office, lying behind his desk, his chair toppled, and his files and drawers rifled through as though his death was only an inconsequential result of a burglary gone awry—Claudia regretted that last contact with the PI.
Maybe she should have listened to his theories. But at the time, she’d been attempting to resign herself to the truth and come to terms with her loss of Frank. Silver’s disbelief had been more than she’d been able to bear. Now she would always wonder what theories Silver had concerning Frank’s death. And she would wonder if he’d ever given up.
“How’s the canvass going?” Gavin came to her side, flipping his notebook closed and lifting a hand to loosen his tie a notch.
“Nothing yet. Half the row homes across the street are vacant. And with the few that aren’t, it’s not looking as if anyone heard
