Part 19 (1/2)
”Yes.”
Angel knew she should have asked why he'd called her cell this time of night. He was still a suspect in his girlfriend's murder. She should have insisted he stop reaching out to her like this, but the truth was...she liked it.
Chapter 14.
Grand Central Police Station The next morning Cronan had heard from the chief that Charles Davenport wanted face time to hear the latest on his daughter's murder case, but that wasn't the only reason he was coming to the city. Olivia's body had been released for the family to make burial arrangements for their only daughter.
Angel was on her commute to the station when Davenport showed early. After Cronan got a message that he had a visitor, he left his partner a message on her desk, telling her where they'd be. Olivia's father paced the waiting area. Dressed in a sport coat, polo s.h.i.+rt, and slacks, he looked more suited to a country club than a police station. Cronan greeted the man and escorted him to a quiet interview room where they could talk.
”Can I get you coffee?” he asked and waved a hand for Mr. Davenport to sit across from him.
”No, thank you. I'd rather get this over with.”
Cronan didn't have the heart to tell him that it would never be over. He knew that firsthand. The violent death of a loved one was a stigma that never went away.
”I had to come, to see what progress you've made on your investigation. Are you getting any closer to finding Olivia's killer?”
Charles Davenport looked out of place in the homicide interview room. His eyes darted from the observation window to the door. Cronan thought the quiet room would give them privacy for a grieving father to ask hard questions, but simply being at a police station made Davenport look uncomfortable. Cronan couldn't blame him.
”We're working through the evidence and looking into Olivia's life to give us insight,” he told him what he could, but for an active case, he couldn't say much.
Rumors of McFarland's death being a possible suicide had hit the media. The only reason it got much play is because of where he had died-in Ethan Chandler's building where reporters were already camped out. Cronan thought that the reason Charles Davenport pushed for an update on Olivia's case had been due to hearing about McFarland. He expected the man to press him on how the death of Chandler's neighbor was linked to Olivia's murder, but when that hadn't been the man's first question, Cronan decided to see where the conversation went. With his theories on McFarland still fresh and unsubstantiated, he thought it was a good idea not to share his speculations with Olivia's father.
”Have you thought of anything else that would help us?” Cronan asked. ”Tell me about your relations.h.i.+p with your daughter.”
Gabe found it hard to read the man's eyes. They had a dead quality to them. Maybe that's how grief manifested in him. Either way, that made it difficult to read between his lines.
”Olivia and I had been close when she was a girl. We did everything together, but after she moved out, she cut me out of her life.”
”Why do you think she did that?”
”I can be rather opinionated, I suppose.” The man shook his head and avoided his eyes. ”I've always treated Olivia as if she were my own child.”
”Wait. She's not yours?”
”Not biologically speaking. I adopted her when she was a baby. Her real father died in a car accident. I met Elizabeth when Olivia was a toddler, and we were married a year later. I adopted her to solidify the family.”
Cronan thought it strange that Charles Davenport talked about the adoption as if it were a business merger, until he said...
”But I always loved her...” Davenport said. ”...as if she were mine.”
Cronan had no doubt the man was close to Olivia. He'd seen the many pictures of their travels together, but those photos brought up different questions. His cop instincts pushed him to go down a path he hadn't been prepared for.
”Was Olivia close to her mother?”
Mr. Davenport stopped short, fixed his eyes on Cronan, and said, ”Why do you ask?”
”The photos I've seen of your family. It looked like you and Olivia shared similar interests, but your wife didn't appear to feel the same. I wondered how that affected their relations.h.i.+p.”
”Are you implying something?” The man looked insulted.
”No. Just curious.”
It took a long moment for Charles Davenport to answer, but Cronan waited without a word. He'd learned that in any interview, silence could be used as a tool. People often filled the void in conversation, even when it was in their best interest to keep their mouth shut.
”Elizabeth didn't share our enthusiasm for hunting and travel. It strained our relations.h.i.+p as a couple.”
”How's that?”
”Olivia saw her mother as...a cliche. Whatever she could do to shock her sensibilities, she often did, until Elizabeth had enough. She asked me to stop giving Olivia money...to subsidize her...excessive lifestyle, as she put it.”
”Did you?”
Charles heaved a sigh. Cronan knew what his answer would be before he even opened his mouth.
”No. I couldn't. I saw too much of my spirited and adventurous influence in her. That made it hard to say no.”
”Do you think your wife knew that you kept the financial support going?”
Gabe balanced his cop push for answers, anywhere he could find them, against his strong impulse to console the father of a murder victim. The puzzle of Olivia's life, and the feeling that he didn't understand something, forced him to dig in directions that seemed unlikely. How far would the Davenports go to protect their social standing from a daughter who pushed the boundaries on scandal?
”No. I made sure...” the man stopped. ”Why are you asking about our relations.h.i.+p with Olivia?”
From the look in the man's eyes, Cronan didn't have to spell it out for him. Charles Davenport's jaw clenched, and his face grew stern.
”You must work in a vile dirty world, Detective. I can only a.s.sume you're asking these questions because you're trying to determine if we had anything to do with the death of our only child.”
Davenport was right. His natural progression in questions would've led to him ask if Charles and Elizabeth had alibis for the night of their daughter's murder. Everything he'd seen in photographs and heard of Olivia's life from her parents and others made him question any close relations.h.i.+p she had. He hadn't planned on pus.h.i.+ng in that direction when he sat with Mr. Davenport today, but he let his gut feelings guide him.
Cronan had faced angry and offended family members before. It was never easy to turn off his natural compa.s.sion to look on the dark side of human nature. He had a job to do-investigating murders, building a solid case of evidence, and taking killers off the streets. Often his tactics looked callous to those outside the job.
If he could turn off the sympathetic side of his nature, it would make aspects of his work easier, but that wasn't who he'd become. That side of his personality wasn't what made him good at his job. After years of investigating countless murders and being exposed to the darkest of motives, Cronan had developed a thick skin and learned ways to insulate him from that kind of depravity.
He had to remain objective, for the sake of his victims, but that didn't mean he was immune to feeling like c.r.a.p when he crossed the line.
”FBI statistics show over fifty percent of victims knew their killers,” he told Davenport, keeping his voice low and steady. ”That means friends, loved ones, co-workers...people they should've been able to trust. Your daughter became my responsibility when someone took her life. She's in my hands now, and I won't let her down, but that also means if you had anything to do with her murder, I won't have blinders on because you're her father. I hope you understand.”
Davenport blinked and sat back in his chair, staring at Cronan. Eventually he gave him what he needed to know, without Cronan having to ask. He made note of the alibi, a charity fundraiser held at the Navy Pier on the waterfront, where Elizabeth and Charles were invited patrons. Cronan would have to confirm their alibi with the organizers of the event and find credible witnesses who remembered seeing them there, but in his *vile dirty world,' it wouldn't be hard to slip out of a large function without anyone knowing. Oz Park wasn't a long drive from the Navy Pier.
Imagining a big game hunter like Charles Davenport using a knife to kill his adopted daughter made Cronan sick, but he'd seen the dark drama of a parent killing a child played out many times before. Cronan couldn't imagine being anything other than a homicide cop. What had happened to his parents had driven him to it, but he stayed in it because he loved the rush. What did that say about him?
After Davenport left the interview room, Cronan sat in his chair and stared down at his notepad. He felt a presence in the room and looked up to see Angel gazing at him with her arms crossed. He had a hard time reading her expression, except he felt sure she had heard the interview from the observation window. Before she said anything, he got up to head back to his desk.
As he pushed by her, he said, ”Everyone's a suspect until they get ruled out. That's how it is.”