No One Heard Her Scream

'You are a striking woman, Detective Rebecca Montgomery. But I suppose you hear that a lot.'

'Oh, I don't know. I find a man says just about anything to a woman with a gun.' She smiled. 'But in my line of work, it's hard to gauge sincerity without a lie detector.'

'Well, unfortunately, I've found honesty is a rare commodity these days. Wouldn't you agree?'

His face remained stoic, unreadable. But he coerced a smile from her again. Cavanaugh had either seen through her strained cordiality or the man had informed her that he rarely told the truth.

'I must say you were a little cryptic on the phone. What is this about, Detective?'

'I do appreciate you seeing me like this, Mr. Cavanaugh. I'd like to ask you a few questions about the Imperial Theatre.'

'I was disturbed to hear it burned down. Pity. But I'm afraid I no longer own the building. Sometime back, I donated it to charity as a historical site.' He smiled and sipped his coffee.

'Yes, I remember reading about that in the paper a year or so ago. As a young girl, I visited the theater. Magnificent original architecture. Who handled the last renovation design work?'

For an instant, she glanced toward Diego. Becca hadn't intended to do it, but like a compass compelled to point north, she caught herself drawn to the man. Diego narrowed his eyes, seeing through her subterfuge. Idle chitchat had never been her forte.

'Hans Muller, a local architect. He gained national recognition for that renovation project, I'm proud to say.' And with a wink, he added, 'For specialty work, I hire it done.'

You hire out specialty work, as in murder? Becca got the distinct impression Cavanaugh was toying with her. The man was in his element, feeling cocksure. Could he be hinting at a truth only he knew, daring her to find it? And were Diego and 'No Neck Boy' nothing more than hired thugs? Becca's gut twisted, her cop instincts on the blitz.

After a sip of her coffee, she asked, 'And did Muller handle all the renovation work?'

'Yes, he did. Of course.' He leaned toward her. 'Why all the interest in architecture, Detective?'

'Actually, I loved that old building. When, specifically, did you relinquish ownership of it, sir?'

He gave her a date she already knew. Becca kept her eyes on him, watching for a change in body language. Up until now, they had chatted, idle conversation to establish a 'baseline' of his normal behavior. Enough time for her to get a read on his mannerisms, his voice, his thought processes. Now she'd hit him with the real reason for her visit.

'I'm sorry to say that we are investigating more than a fire at the Imperial. It seems that seven years ago, a body was buried in a wall during the last renovation.'

'What? I don't understand.'

'Skeletal remains were found after the fire, Mr. Cavanaugh. And I'm sure you'd like to get to the bottom of this as much as I would.'

Slick as black ice, the man tried to suppress his reaction, but Becca caught something all the same. His eyes were jumpy, like a suspect's. With a man like Cavanaugh, the best she might get is a slip-up on his part, a careless word that would give her a clue to chase. But the man salvaged his composure in two seconds flat.

'How dreadful,' he said. 'Do you happen to know the identity of this poor individual?'

'We're working on it. But in the meantime, when was the last time you saw this young woman?'

Becca handed Isabel's photo to Cavanaugh. The way she posed the question, she made it appear as if Cavanaugh already knew the girl. A deliberate ploy.

'Sorry, can't help you. I don't recognize her at all.'

Cavanaugh waved a hand and gestured for his men to come over. 'No Neck' shook his head and shrugged. A cold response. He hadn't even glanced at the photo of Isabel for more than two seconds. Becca suspected the guy would react the same way if someone asked if he were lactose intolerant. Talk about a poker face. A dead girl would hold no more significance to this whack job than that bloated feeling after eating dairy.

But Diego had been a different story. He stared at her, his eyes narrowed in question, suggesting a hint of concern and compassion. Well, what do ya know? Becca took a deep breath, resisting the urge to read too much into this man. With her life being a complete wreck, she couldn't deal with a potential disappointment named Diego Galvan.

'Do you suspect it is this young woman's body in the theater, Detective?'

'Too soon to tell, sir.'

'Well, certainly, I'm sympathetic, but what does this have to do with me?' Cavanaugh asked.

Becca hated that question. Had heard it many times before. She took a deep breath and held back her resentment. Murder was a crime against humanity, a depraved act that diminished mankind as a whole. But Cavanaugh viewed the world with him at its center. End of story. She would get nowhere explaining her belief to a man like him.

'I have to investigate all the angles. And you owned the property at the time.' She set her coffee cup down on its saucer. 'What motive would someone have to select your theater for a body dump?'

'I have no idea.' He answered way too fast.

No outrage. No questions. The man didn't even seem curious. In her experience, an innocent person might mull over the question, maybe speculate on an answer. But someone with something to hide would answer without thinking, like Cavanaugh. She decided to try a different tactic.

'Play along with me here, Mr. Cavanaugh. 'Cause I tell you, I can use all the help I can get on a case this old. Why would someone kill and leave a body buried in a wall of your theater?' she pressed.

If she read him right, Cavanaugh looked like a man who relished being in charge. Stroking his intellect seemed like a natural choice. Given the man's ego, he might have the audacity to reveal certain elements of the truth, throwing them in her face. A man like Cavanaugh might believe he was above the law and smarter than the police. It wasn't up to Becca to prove him wrong. Her only objective, at this point, was to keep him talking. If she was any judge of character, his ego would do the rest.

But from the corner of her eye, she saw Diego shift his weight. Becca resisted the urge to look over. His deliberate move triggered his words of warning about his 'benefactor.' They replayed in her head. Just make sure you bring your A-game with this guy. He's powerful and as nasty as they come. Suddenly, her lowly Columbo routine didn't feel adequate for the challenge.

When she looked at Cavanaugh, the man smiled, ingratiating and perverse. Her skin crawled at the sight.

'Hypothetically speaking, you say?' the man asked. When she nodded, Cavanaugh gazed across the room and made a good show of playing along. 'Well, let's presume this unnamed body is the beautiful young woman in the photograph, shall we?'

He waited for her to acknowledge his clever deduction before he continued, 'Perhaps it was a crime of passion, the stuff of Edgar Allan Poe. A jilted lover buries her alive, the sound of her beating heart still resounding in his ear. What better place for high drama than an old theater?'

'With all due respect, Mr. Cavanaugh, I didn't say the victim was buried alive. But please go on. Your thoughts interest me.'

He fell silent for an instant, considering her observation.

'No, I guess you didn't.' He smirked. 'But Poe wouldn't have had it any other way.'

Cavanaugh raised his chin and spoke in a raspy whisper.

'I didn't know the girl, but perhaps she wasn't entirely innocent. Maybe this girl had a secret life no one knew about. Is that the type of speculation you mean?'

For an awkward moment, he turned his gaze on her like a weapon. She blinked. The intensity of his ice blue eyes took her breath. And even though he asked questions, his conjecture sounded an awful lot like statements of fact.

Witnessing her uneasiness, Cavanaugh leaned toward her, closing the gap of her comfort zone. His voice low and intimate, he brushed a finger across the petal of the white rose on her lapel.

'An older man can offer a younger woman so many things. Maybe unwittingly, she became the moth to a very dangerous flame.'

Becca held her ground, not backing off. Breathe, damn it. She returned his unblinking stare, resisting the urge to bolt. Her creep barometer had hit the red zone. Yesterday, Father Victor suggested Isabel had a relationship with an older man, one who had money.