Cavanaugh on Duty

chapter 9



“That’s not hers.”

Tears flowing freely, the woman propped up in the hospital bed pushed away the photograph that Kari and Esteban were showing her.

Kari held the photo of the charm in front of Anne Daniels again, not entirely convinced that the woman was thinking clearly.

“You’re sure?” she pressed. “Look at the picture carefully.”

“I don’t have to. My grandmother didn’t like jewelry.” The young woman angrily pushed the photograph away again. “She didn’t own any. She thought it was a waste of money that could be spent in better ways, like supporting children’s charities.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “She was always doing things like that...volunteering her time to help mentor kids from underprivileged neighborhoods, starting up food drives and collecting toys around the holidays. People are really going to miss her.” Anne pressed her lips together to keep a sob back as fresh tears fell.

When she was in control again, the bereaved woman nodded at the photograph and asked, “Where did you find that?”

“The charm was clutched in your grandmother’s hand,” Esteban explained, stepping up beside Kari to make his presence known

Confusion crept across Anne’s features as she looked from one detective to the other. “That doesn’t make any sense.” And then a possible explanation seemed to dawn on her. “Maybe the killer was wearing it and she managed to snatch it from him while she was struggling. Oh, God.” She covered her mouth as she tried to stifle a fresh wave of sobs.

“Maybe,” Kari allowed. That could be one theory, she supposed. As good as any other so far.

A hopeful look entered the woman’s brown eyes. It was obvious she wanted nothing more than to find her grandmother’s killer. “Then that makes the charm a clue, right?”

“We can hope,” Kari told the other woman as gently as she could.

Taking the bull by the horns, Esteban had some questions of his own to ask the victim’s granddaughter. “Do you know if anyone ever threatened your grandmother? Vowed to get even with her for some slight they thought she had committed against them?”

Anne vehemently shook her head to each question, and then insisted, “No, no. My grandmother went out of her way to be nice to everyone. Everyone loved her,” she repeated. Unable to stop the tears that kept coming, she wiped them away with the edge of her sheet.

“Not everyone,” Esteban pointed out bluntly.

That brought on even more tears of anguish.

Appalled by his insensitivity, Kari glared at Esteban. His expression remained stoic. She knew it was his way of creating a barrier between himself and the rest of the world, but he was merely making a bad situation worse. And since they clearly weren’t getting anywhere with the victim’s granddaughter, Kari decided they needed to back off and let her grieve in peace.

“If you think of anything else—or just need to talk—you can reach me at this number anytime,” Kari said, indicating the bottom number on the card that she’d just placed on the bed beside Anne Daniels.

The woman pressed her lips together, obviously too choked up to talk. Picking up the card, she nodded silently, looking as if her whole world had shattered.

“You keep handing those cards out like that, you’re going to wind up holding shrink sessions in the back of your car,” Esteban commented as they walked through the hospital lobby, headed for the exit and the parking lots beyond the eight-story building.

Kari didn’t see it that way. “People need to feel that they’re not alone.”

Was she really that naive? he wondered. Or just some cockeyed optimist who didn’t know which end was up? Either way, she needed to be set straight.

“People are alone,” he told her firmly.

“Maybe so,” she conceded, because she didn’t want to get sucked into a philosophical argument neither side intended to lose. Instead, she emphasized, “But they don’t have to feel that way.”

Esteban laughed shortly. “So you’re going to kiss their hurts, put Band-Aids on them and make them all better?”

He was baiting her, she thought, which was why she managed to remain unfazed. “If it helps, I can be there to listen.”

“And if you’re so busy ‘listening,’ when are you going to do your job? Or don’t you intend to ever sleep?” he asked.

“I’ve learned how to catnap,” she countered, keeping her own expression unreadable.

Kari paused for a moment as they got into the car. She knew she was going to be treading on dangerous ground, but she was never going to find any answers by keeping quiet.

“What you said before,” she began. “About people being alone...is that how you really feel?”

He didn’t appreciate her probing him. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” he bit off.

“Do you feel alone?” she pressed.

How many different ways did she want him to say it? He was beginning to think that saying anything at all had been a huge mistake.

“Back off, Hyphen,” he warned, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t need a shrink.”

Not every psychiatrist turned out to be helpful, and she knew without being told that her partner was not the sort who would ever seek help to begin with. “No, but maybe you need a friend.”

“What I need,” he emphasized, “is a partner—if I have to have one—who doesn’t talk so much.”

She smiled. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to understand him—at least a little. It allowed her to say, “Well, there I’m afraid that you’re out of luck.”

Esteban slanted a long look in her direction, then faced forward, gazing out the windshield without really seeing anything.

“Don’t count on it,” he told her.

She took a deep breath, summoned her courage and forced herself to ask, “What happened between high school and here?”

“Life,” was all he said. He made the single word sound ominous and volatile. He also didn’t trust himself to say more.

Turning the key, she started up the car and backed out of the space. “What—?”

“Drop it, Hyphen,” he ordered. His voice left no room for any give-and-take. That part of the game was over.

She’d pushed him as far as he’d go today, Kari realized. There was always tomorrow, but in order to get to tomorrow, she had to remain his partner today.

She backed off.

“You in the mood for Mexican or Chinese?” Kari asked cheerfully, thinking of the two best take-out places between the hospital and the police station.

He’d never been ruled by his taste buds and he shrugged now in answer to her question. “Doesn’t matter,” he told her.

“You don’t have a preference?” Kari asked, clearly surprised.

When he was hungry, he ate what was in front of him. “Not worth the time picking one over the other,” he said, then added, “You pick.”

“Okay,” she answered after a beat. “I will.”

* * *

Esteban stared at the chopsticks his partner held out to him. Served him right for abdicating control. “What makes you think I want to spear my food like some backward hunter?”

“Pretty limited hunting grounds,” she pointed out. “Besides, I thought maybe you knew how to use them.” Everyone she knew was fairly proficient with chopsticks, so she’d just assumed he was, too.

She should have known better, she upbraided herself.

“I suppose you do.” The way he said it was almost an accusation—if not an indictment.

She refused to let him make her feel guilty because she knew how to do something he didn’t. “It’s really not that hard once you pick it up.”

“Well, I didn’t pick it up—and I don’t intend to,” he added stubbornly. If he had a pet peeve—and he absolutely hated that term—it was people who tried to change him to suit their needs.

As Kari nodded, she opened up a side drawer and took out a wrapped, white plastic utensil. “How do you feel about a plastic fork?”

“I don’t have feelings about utensils,” he informed her crisply, nonetheless taking the white plastic fork she offered.

Kari shook her head. It was hard to reconcile this rough-spoken man with the laughing, jovial senior she remembered. “Boy, if Marnie Wilson could only see you now.”

Esteban looked up from his lunch, a scowl furrowing his brow. “Who’s Marnie Wilson?”

She hadn’t really expected him to remember the name. “She was one of the adoring females who had a mad crush on you in high school. She was sure that you walked on water on a regular basis.”

He gave her a disgruntled look. “I told you, I’m not this guy you’re talking about.”

Yes, he was. She would have been willing to bet her soul on that.

But because she didn’t feel like getting embroiled in yet another argument with him today, she merely nodded. “Whatever you say, Fernandez.”

“Finally,” he declared. “First agreeable thing I’ve heard you say all day.”

“Then you haven’t been listening,” she countered with a grin that was far too wide.

It was time to get back to work. Nibbling on the spring roll in her hand, she walked over to the bulletin board she had so painstakingly put together after they came back to the precinct.

“What is it that these two victims have in common that got under the killer’s skin?” she asked, the question directed more to herself than to her devilishly handsome partner.

“Okay.” It was obvious he’d been giving the matter a lot of thought, as well. “They’re both retired. By other people’s accounts, they both do volunteer work of some sort, although it sounds like she apparently did more than he did.” Esteban looked over at Kari, winding up his summary. “And they’re both dead.”

Kari sighed. “Besides that.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, thinking, completely oblivious to the fact that she looked damn sensual doing it.

But Esteban wasn’t oblivious to it, despite the fact that he wanted to be.

She ran down the list of possibilities. “Maybe they both go to the same church, the same club, the same supermarket.”

The last place sounded almost too ludicrous for consideration. “And what? A clerk decided to kill them for squeezing the produce too hard?” Esteban cracked.

Kari spared him a glare as she returned to her desk, frustrated. Picking up the carton of fried rice, she dove in. She was eating without tasting her food or being fully aware that she actually was eating.

It was all part of her thinking process.

“No, but there has to be some common denominator that we’re not seeing. Slashing someone’s throat is a very particular way of killing them. Seems almost intimate. It has to mean something.”

Esteban found himself agreeing. “Whoever it is has assumed the role of judge, jury and executioner,” he speculated. When she raised a puzzled eyebrow, silently asking for an explanation, he obliged. “That’s why the killer drew the scales of justice on the first victim and left that charm in the second victim’s hand.”

“Why a charm?” she wanted to know. “He’d have to buy it and risk someone remembering him doing it.”

“Not if he got it online,” Esteban said. “There’re countless sites selling things like this.”

“Why go through the trouble of getting the charm in the first place?” she pressed, curious to see what he would come up with.

“So that he gets his point across,” Esteban insisted. “That first drawing on Reynolds wasn’t all that clear and the blood almost obliterated it. It could have easily been missed. He wants us to know he’s taking the law into his own hands and is dispensing justice because the law failed him somehow.”

She looked at him, nodding. He could actually be on to something there.

“Hey, you’re pretty good at this when you put your mind to it,” she complimented. “I’m impressed.”

He looked at her, less than thrilled. “I’m not trying to impress you, I’m trying to get this psycho off the street.”

Well, at least they were in agreement on that point, she thought. “Nevertheless, I’m impressed anyway,” she told him. “Consider it icing on the cake.”

The laugh was less than warm. Warmth came, though, when she looked into his eyes. “Icing rots your teeth,” he told her.

Kari shook her head. Roguishly good-looking or not, how was she supposed to survive this partnership? “God, but you are a downer.”

He saw the look in her eyes, saw another question all but bubbling on her lips. She was going to ask him again what had made him this way. The memory was far too painful to unearth.

“Leave it alone, Hyphen,” he warned in a low voice, “or you’ll be looking for a new partner.”

She raised her hands as if in surrender and glibly said, “Okay, this is me, leaving it alone.”

He snorted, knowing that this wasn’t the last of it. People like Kari got things in their head and kept after it no matter what. Approaching it at all different directions, all different angles, until the item finally cracked open and was theirs.

But at least he’d gotten her to drop the subject for now and that was all he was asking for. Just a few short hours of respite.

* * *

Kari debated what her next step should be. Not with the investigation—she knew what to do there—but to get to the bottom of what exactly had transformed the charismatic high school quarterback she remembered into the sullen, brooding man she’d been partnered up with.

She knew she could always go back to Brenda. But she’d already imposed on her enough. Granted that the woman was the Chief of Detectives’ daughter-in-law, which meant that she wasn’t going to get into any trouble on the force unless she killed someone. But she didn’t want to put Brenda on the spot by asking her to delve into closed files that were deemed to be secret and redacted.

Besides, she needed to save the savvy computer tech for bigger things. No, this time around she was going to have to find another venue to obtain her information.

Still chewing on the problem of Fernandez’s drastic transformation, she decided to approach the man who in her opinion had all the answers. If there was an answer to dispense, the call, one way or another, was ultimately his.

Squaring her shoulders and summoning her courage, Kari went to see the Chief of Detectives.

* * *

Brian Cavanaugh was about to finally call it a day. His wife was waiting for him at their favorite restaurant. It was his way of paying her back for putting up with all the long hours that he was on the job and away from home. But then, Lila understood.

He’d met Lila on the force years ago. Eventually, she became his partner and after almost dying in his arms when she was shot by an enraged gunman, Lila was assigned to a desk job. But even there she knew all about the demands that were made on a law enforcement officer, especially a high-ranking one.

In all the years they’d been together, he’d never once heard her complain. But that didn’t mean that there weren’t times when she was rightfully resentful of having to share him with an entire department of men and women—and usually getting the short end of the stick.

So when he saw his brother’s daughter, Kari, standing in the doorway of his office, Brian was surprised as well as somewhat impatient.

With effort he banked down the latter for the moment and said, “I’m on my way out, Kari. Is there something I can do for you?”

Talk about awful timing, she thought with dread.

“I can come back,” she volunteered.

“Is this something that I can handle quickly?” he wanted to know. He’d never liked putting things off if he could help it. He’d learned the hard way that regrets were often tied to procrastination.

“That depends on your answer,” she told him honestly, rather than giving a blanket yes so that he would feel obligated to help her, only to discover that the matter needed more time than he could accommodate.

“On my answer to what?” Brian asked as he sat down behind his desk again. He was prepared to allow her fifteen minutes, the same he would allow any other police officer who came to him. His goal ever since he’d taken on this position was to treat everyone fairly.

“What’s Detective Fernandez’s story?”

He looked at her for a long moment, trying to ascertain exactly what she meant by that. “Which part?”

She stated it as succinctly as she could. “The part that changed him from a popular high school jock who got along with everyone to the scowling, closemouthed man riding around in my car.”

Something Kari had just said caught his attention. “You knew Fernandez before you were introduced the other day?”

Before Esteban had first partnered up with her, she would have said yes immediately. Now she felt she had to qualify her answer just a little.

“I believe I did, yes. But when I knew him, he wasn’t anything like this, so it’s hard for me to be sure. And, with the investigation in full swing, I don’t have the luxury of time to find out if it is the same man.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “It looks like him and the name’s the same, but there’s a world of difference between the two. And if it is the same man, I just want to know what happened to change him so drastically.”

Brian nodded, taking in not only her words, but the expression on her face as she said them. “And wondering about this is interfering with your work?”

Was he telling her that it wasn’t any of her business and had no place on the job? She pushed ahead anyway. “Let’s just say I’m having trouble focusing a hundred and ten percent on the case.”

“Why don’t you just ask Fernandez?” he asked. It seemed like the simplest way to go, if somewhat awkward, a situation he was all too familiar with.

“I did,” she insisted. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Then maybe you should respect his wishes.”

There was more to it than that, and she wanted her uncle to understand that this wasn’t just idle curiosity on her part. “It’s hard to tread lightly when I don’t really know what subject I’m avoiding.”

“Fair enough,” Brian conceded. He didn’t have to look into the matter and get back to her later. He already knew the man’s history. He made it a point to know the backstory for all his law enforcement officers when he dealt with them. “When he was away at college, his younger brother, Julio, died of a drug overdose. His stepfather was so grief-stricken, he hunted the drug dealer down and shot him. The dealer’s boss retaliated by killing Fernandez’s mother. His stepfather was sent to prison.

“Esteban felt entirely helpless. The only way he could cope with what had happened was to go deep underground to bring the cartel down. But a week ago, as you know, his cover was blown so we had to pull him out. That didn’t sit too well with him.”

“That part I knew. The rest of it—” She blew out a long breath, shaking her head. “Wow. That seems like too much for one person to handle.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’m surprised that he didn’t just come apart at the seams.” He looked at her with a very intuitive expression on his face. “If anyone can help him come around, you can.”

She doubted it, despite the fact that the compliment felt good. “I think you have entirely too much faith in me, sir.”

“I don’t,” Brian countered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet a beautiful woman for dinner before she gets tired of waiting for me and goes home.”

Kari quickly vacated her seat. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, Chief,” she said, walking out with him.

“Anytime, Kari. Anytime.”

She felt he meant it. Backup, she thought, was a wonderful thing.

* * *

“What’s going on with you, Pop?” Andrew Cavanaugh asked his father as he came out to the patio carrying two bottles of chilled beer. He handed one to his father, then took a seat next to him. The teak rocker creaked a little as he sank down. Andrew made a mental note to oil the hinges with silicone later.

Shamus cocked a puzzled brow as he regarded his oldest son. Taking a long swig from the bottle first, he asked, “What d’you mean ‘what’s going on?’”

The question was just a little too innocent, his father’s attitude just a wee bit too defensive. He was right, Andrew thought. Something was up.

“You look a little off your game, Dad,” he told him, then took a guess at the cause. “The security business not exactly living up to your expectations? Maybe a little too tame for you?”

Shamus laughed as he studied the condensation on the side of the bottle. “I lived in a retirement community in Boca Raton for eight years, Andy. Anything’s more exciting than that.”

They’d take it slow, Andrew determined. His father never liked saying anything straight out. “Actually, I’m surprised you waited that long to strike out of that place.” Although, he had to admit that by the end of the seventh year, it looked as if his father had turned over a new leaf and decided that the quiet life was more to his liking.

“‘Strike out?’ Hell, boy, I ran away from there.” He grinned, pleased with himself and the action he’d taken in that respect. “Far as I know, those people who ran the place are still looking for me.”

If that was the case, then he would have already received a call from the woman who oversaw the community, asking if he’d seen his father. He had a feeling that the people in charge had breathed a sigh of relief when Shamus had left.

“You might want to go back there,” Andrew suggested, “clear things up, move out your things.”

“Anything of value I had I took with me. Far as I’m concerned, they can have the rest. I don’t intend to set foot in that place again.” For a moment, he paused, watching as the sun began to dip in the sky, preparing to set. Sunrises and sunsets always filled him with wonder. At his age, he was grateful to see each one. “Besides, I’ve got more important things on my mind.”

Now they were getting to it, Andrew thought. “Like what?”

Shamus took another pull from his bottle. “Andy, you ever think about expanding this security firm that you’ve set up?”

Well, he hadn’t seen this coming. “I already have. As the company got more clients, I hired on more guards, more software techs to monitor the security systems.”

“No, not that kind of expanding,” Shamus said with a touch of impatience as he shook his shaggy head.

His father had momentarily lost him. “What other kind is there?”

Warming to his topic, Shamus leaned forward, closer to his son. “Adding another wing to the business,” he said, mystified that Andrew couldn’t see that. “Like private investigations.”

“Are you talking about having private detectives, Pop?” Andrew asked.

Shamus’s face lit up. “Glad to see we’re on the same page,” he declared heartily.

Andrew held his hand up, as if to slow his father down for a bit. “I’m not on a page, Pop, I’m just looking at the title on top.” He’d begun the company with a certain focus in mind, providing decent, affordable security for the average family, and, as far as he was concerned, he was accomplishing that. “Why would I want to have private detectives?”

His father looked at him as if the answer was self-evident. “Well, most of the guys who work for you are retired cops. The way I see it, having a private detective section available to your clients would just be a natural progression of things.”

A hint of amusement played across Andrew’s face. “Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” Shamus affirmed with feeling.

Andrew felt as if he was back on the force, trying to draw reliable information out of a witness. “And just what kind of ‘things’ do you see us investigating?”

Shamus shrugged his wide shoulders, then took another long pull from his bottle.

He was stalling, Andrew thought. Why? For dramatic effect? Or because this was hard for him to talk about?

“Oh, I dunno,” Shamus finally said loftily. “Maybe specialize in locating lost family members, that kind of thing.”

It was time to get to the heart of the matter. His father, now that he thought about it, had the ability to dance around a topic all night. “What’s this really about, Pop?”

“Can’t a father look out for his son’s interest?” Shamus asked, growing defensive again.

“Sure he can,” Andrew responded soothingly. “And I appreciate it, I do.” He eyed his father as he continued. “He can also level with his son, which would be even more appreciated.”

Shamus laughed self-consciously. Andrew saw right through his roundabout approach. “Once a cop, always a cop, huh?”

“Something like that,” Andrew conceded. “Now give, Pop. What’s on your mind? Why do you need a private investigator? Investigating what?”

Shamus grew quiet, thoughtfully regarding the near empty bottle of beer. He tilted it to and fro, watching the remaining liquid inside move from one side of the bottle to the other. Finally, he asked, “You remember my telling you about your grandfather and grandmother?”

“You told me Grandpa was a homicide detective, that he liked to drink a little more than he should and that was why he and his wife split up.” People took a dim view of divorce back then, usually condemning the woman because it meant that she didn’t try hard enough to keep her marriage together. He knew his father hadn’t had an easy time of it, coming from a broken home. He’d turned out incredibly well-adjusted and kind, given what he’d had to endure.

There was no humor to the smile that was now on his lips. “Your grandfather used to like to drink a lot more than he should,” Shamus corrected. “My mother put up with it as long as she could, and then she just took off,” he said, his voice sounding as hollow as he’d felt at the time of his abandonment.

It was time to call him out, and then end this, Andrew decided. “Okay. Where’s this going, Pop?”

Each word he uttered left a bitter taste on his tongue. “Well, when she took off, my mother took my younger brother with her.”

Very few things surprised Andrew. At this point in his life, he’d seen and heard it all, far more than the average citizen. But this caught him completely off guard.

“You had a younger brother?” Andrew asked, stunned by the words his father had just uttered. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

At first it seemed as if his father hadn’t even heard his question. “At the time I was pretty hurt that she took Jonny and left me. I kept waiting, night after night, for her to come back, to say she’d made a mistake and meant to take me with her instead—or at least too. After a year, I decided she wasn’t coming back, that she’d left me with Dad on purpose because she didn’t want to have anything to do with either one of us.” He looked at Andrew, shame and sadness mingling in his eyes. “I didn’t tell you or your brothers about it because I was ashamed that your grandmother didn’t think I was worth taking with her.”

Andrew didn’t see it that way and it hurt to see how wounded his father was by this even after all these years. “Could have been a lot of reasons why she picked him over you,” he offered. “From what you said, your brother was younger. Maybe he was sickly.”

The shaggy head moved from side to side. “Nope.”

Andrew wasn’t about to give up. “Still could have been a logical reason why she chose him and left you. Maybe she thought you were strong enough to look after your dad because he needed someone to keep him from drinking himself to death.”

Shamus blew out a breath as he shook his head. “I doubt if she was being that thoughtful, but thanks for trying.”

“Does this have anything to do with you wanting to expand the security company?” Andrew asked, trying to tie the whole thing together and get his father talking about the present rather than just exclusively the past.

“Absolutely,” Shamus said with feeling. “I’m in my seventies, Andy. I don’t know just how much time I’ve got left—”

“About thirty years,” Andrew countered without even a hint of a smile. “If they don’t catch a bullet,” he continued, thinking of his late brother, Mike, who had died in the line of duty, “Cavanaughs are generally very long-lived.”

The key word here being “generally,” Shamus thought. “Yeah, well, until I find that carved in stone by the Big Guy,” he nodded toward the sky, “I’m going to move forward as if there’re no guarantees on that.”

For now, he tabled the discussion on how much time he had left. That wasn’t the important part. “Anyway, I want to have Jonny tracked down, see what happened to him, if he’s still alive. If he ever got married and had any kids. It’s been bothering me lately, not knowing,” Shamus confessed.

He could well understand that—and sympathize with it. “I don’t have to expand the company for that,” Andrew told his father.

“No, but it’s not a bad idea,” Shamus insisted, then pointed out, “That way, we’d have all these resources available to us twenty-four/seven. And the investigator would be on your clock, not someone else’s,” he pointed out. “People tend to do better for their own than for some stranger who hires them.”

“Worth thinking about,” Andrew agreed, then suggested, “Until then, though, why don’t you give me all the information you do have on this long lost brother of yours? That way, I can start looking into it for you.” He saw the skeptical look slipped over his father’s face. “Don’t give me that look, Pop. I tracked down Rose, remember? Everyone told me to give up, that she was dead and I was just torturing myself by not accepting it. But I refused to listen because we never found a body when Rose’s car went over the embankment.

“And,” he added triumphantly, “everyone else was wrong and I was right.”

“Right about what, dear?” Rose asked as she came out to the patio to join her husband and father-in-law. They’d been out here for a while now and dusk had settled in like a warm throw on a chilly autumn evening. It was time to find out what was going on.

“Right about saying that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Andrew volunteered, holding the bottle of beer aloft as he pulled her onto his lap with his other hand.

She knew when she was being kept in the dark. She also knew that it was never anything major, so for now, she played along.

“Can’t argue with that,” she said, giving her husband a quick kiss. And then she looked from her father-in-law to her husband. “But what are you two really talking about?”

“Expanding the company,” Andrew answered. For now, the fact that he might have an uncle floating out there would remain between his father and him. He had a feeling that his father wasn’t quite ready to share his secret with the rest of the family just yet.

Rose thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds like a good idea,” she agreed.

Shamus beamed. Leaning forward again, he gave his daughter-in-law’s hand a quick squeeze. “Always said I liked this girl.”

Rose laughed. “And I really like being called that,” she told her father-in-law.

Andrew watched the two interact, amused. But he never took even one moment he had with Rose for granted.

Even so, the wheels in his head were furiously turning as he considered the investigation he was about to undertake.

A long lost uncle, who would have ever thought it?