outdoors.
“ What’s this about?” Charles Davenport asked. His gaze shifted between them. “You’re with the police?”
“ I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, but your daughter Olivia—”
Before he finished, Elizabeth Davenport gasped and clutched the hand of her husband. “Oh, no. Please…no.”
“ Your daughter was found murdered,” he said.
The rest became a blur—for them and for him. Disbelief followed the initial shock. Angel helped him answer the many questions they had before an oppressive silence filled the room, broken only by a mother’s gut wrenching sobs.
“I don’t understand. Who would do such a thing?” Olivia’s mother said the same words again. “Not my baby girl. Not Olivia.”
“ That’s what we’re trying to find out, ma’am. I know this is hard, but can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Olivia?” Cronan asked. After they both shook their heads, he said, “It happened in Oz Park at the intersection of Lincoln and Webster. It’s in the suburbs of Lincoln Park. Do you know what she would be doing there last evening? There were shops and restaurants in the area.”
“ I’m sorry, but I don’t know. Olivia likes pretty clothes and nice things. Or she might have tried a restaurant, but I don’t…” Mrs. Davenport choked and cupped her hand over her mouth. She buried her face into the shoulder of her husband, and he put his arm around her.
“ Maybe our daughter had plans to meet someone for dinner,” he explained.
When he heard Olivia’s father guessing at her whereabouts, he decided to test how close the relationship was between parent and daughter.
“Was your daughter dating anyone special?” Cronan continued. “Someone named Ethan left several messages on her cell phone. I’m sorry, but we don’t have a last name yet. We were hoping you’d be able to help us. What can you tell us about him?”
“ The name doesn’t sound familiar, but Olivia didn’t talk to us about her dates,” Mr. Davenport said. “She’s headstrong, I’m afraid. She resents my…our interference in her personal life.”
Before Cronan asked another question, Mr. Davenport had one of his own.
“Was this Ethan the last person to see Olivia alive?” the man asked. “Do you think he had something to do with this?”
“ No, sir,” Cronan said. “I have no reason to believe he had anything to do with what happened to Olivia. We only want information on your daughter’s whereabouts last night, that’s all.” He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Can you give us contact information for some of your daughter’s friends? Maybe one of them can shed light on whoever she dated.”
Olivia’s father stared at him for a long moment. Eventually he let the subject of the mysterious Ethan drop and gave a couple of names for them to check out. Olivia’s friends.
“How did Olivia support herself?” Cronan asked.
“ She works for the Department of Cultural Affairs for the city, handling promotions. Musical events are her specialty. She loves music…and travel. That is, she did love it.” Mr. Davenport’s voice cracked after he realized he’d used present tense.
Cronan kept the questions coming to distract him, but when Olivia’s mother fixed her gaze on him, she asked the dark question troubling her.
“How did she die? Did she suffer?”
Without hesitation, he lied. “She was stabbed, one time. And no, I don’t believe she suffered. She lost too much blood. It would’ve been quick, like sleeping and not waking up. I doubt she even knew what happened.”
Mrs. Davenport nodded and avoided his eyes. Maybe she knew he had lied, but Angel changed the subject to make it easier for her.
“Do you have a recent photo of your daughter?” his partner asked. “We’ll make sure you get it back. We’ll scan it and use it when we canvass the neighborhood around the park to see if anyone remembers seeing her. We’re retracing her steps.”
After