Cavanaugh Cold Case by Marie Ferrarella Page A

scrubbed his hands over his stubbled face. “Oh, God, all this time I’ve been hoping, praying that she was all right and that she’d come around eventually. And all this time, she was in the ground—lost to us.” His voice hitched.
    â€œIf you’re up to it, Mr. Sullivan, we’d like to ask you a few more questions,” Malloy prompted as gently as he could.
    â€œAnything,” Henry Sullivan said. “Ask me anything. I don’t have anything to live for except catching the bastard who did this to my little girl.” He grabbed hold of Malloy’s arm. “You will catch him, right?”
    â€œWe’ll catch him,” Malloy promised.

Chapter 8
    â€œW hy did you tell that man you were going to catch whoever killed his daughter?” Kristin demanded in a hushed whisper when they walked out of Henry Sullivan’s house nearly an hour later. “You can’t make a promise like that in good conscience.”
    â€œI damn well am going to try to catch whoever killed his daughter,” Malloy told her, and then his mood lightened just a little as, approaching his vehicle, he asked her, “Why are you whispering? Sullivan’s inside the house. He can’t hear you from there.”
    Kristin realized that she’d overreacted. She shrugged, feeling somewhat foolish. “For a minute, I thought he might come out and follow us.”
    She hadn’t really thought that, but it was a good enough excuse to give the detective.
    Opening the door on the passenger side, Kristin got in. “That poor man’s been through so much. He clearly holds himself responsible in some way for his daughter’s death.”
    â€œLots of girls have arguments with their fathers and they don’t go running away—or wind up dead.” Malloy got in on his side. “Besides, he said she was going back to college after summer break. It’s very possible that whatever happened to her might have happened either on the way back, or after she got to school.”
    â€œHer father said he never spoke to her again,” she reminded Malloy.
    He put his key into the ignition and started up the car. “Typical teenage stuff. She held a grudge, didn’t want to talk to him until she cooled off—or Sullivan apologized. Either way, that doesn’t point to her running away.”
    â€œWhat makes you such an expert on teenage girls?” she challenged.
    â€œThree sisters—and I have the scars to prove it,” he added with a grin.
    Kristin deliberately looked out through the windshield, avoiding eye contact for the moment. He had a way about him that was getting to her, and she really didn’t want that happening.
    â€œMaybe you should look up some of the teachers she had at the time. One of them might be able to give you some insight into what her on-campus life was like.”
    He glanced at her with amused admiration. “You know, if you set your mind to it, you might make a pretty good detective, Doc.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I’m not one already?” she said, forgetting her promise to herself, and glared at Malloy. “You put together crime-scene clues. I put together the clues that a dead body gives me.”
    Instead of offering an argument, Malloy nodded. “You have a point.”
    Kristin frowned. That wasn’t the response she’d expected from him.
    â€œStop being so agreeable,” she told him. “It makes it hard for me not to like you.”
    â€œGood, because that’s one of my goals,” he told her amicably. “To get you to like me.”
    She wasn’t about to ask him about his other goals, and she definitely wasn’t going to let him get to her, Kristin thought. She wasn’t about to become just another name in a long list of women in his past. “Don’t get any ideas, Detective.”
    â€œIt’s Malloy, remember? And it’s too late,” he told her.