reasons—was that Ethan Chandler was a prick.
Downtown Chicago
Cronan drove across a few intersections to hit the right block of a one-way street as they searched for Ethan Chandler’s residence. The lunch hour traffic had made the drive longer than Angel had expected. She’d called the cell phone number for the violinist, but when no one picked up, she decided against leaving a message.
“ No answer. The guy’s not big on phones.” She pocketed her cell as her partner parked down the street.
“ A man I can understand,” he said as he got out of the Crown Vic.
It didn’t take a detective to figure out where Ethan Chandler lived. Reporters and camera crews were camped in front of an exclusive residential building. Cronan shoved through the line, repeating “no comment” as he dodged microphones. A doorman stood on the other side of the secured front entrance. After they showed ID, the man escorted them through the foyer and made introductions to the onsite property manager.
“ I bet the residents really love all the media attention,” he whispered to Angel as they walked behind the doorman.
No doubt residents valued their privacy at an address that was so exclusive it only had a street number on the outside door. No fancy property name. But flashing their badges had given them all the reason they’d need to pay a visit to Ethan Chandler. The property manager made the call to Chandler’s suite and got permission to send them up.
Angel knocked on the door of the musician’s residence, and a familiar face greeted them.
“ You must have made a beeline here, Ms. Blevins,” Cronan said as he walked into the suite after Angel. “Are you always this…hands on with your clients?”
“ Ethan’s special.” Rachel Blevins raised an eyebrow. “With Olivia’s murder hitting the news today, you can see the rabble out front. I didn’t want him walking into those vultures before he’d heard the news. I thought it best that he hears about Olivia from a friend.”
“ And just to clarify, that would be you?” Cronan said.
This time Angel noticed that the woman didn’t bother to answer. She’d learned to dodge her partner’s sarcasm.
“Please, follow me.” After she led them into a living room, the publicist asked them to wait and left the room. That gave them opportunity to snoop.
“ Well, what do you know? Ethan Chandler’s a simple guy like you, Gabe.” Angel walked around the room and checked out the minimalist decor.
“ Yeah, this fiddle player and me, we’re gonna be real tight. I can feel it.” Gabe smirked.
Ethan Chandler’s home had been professionally decorated. A masculine design of blacks, grays, and silver tones with splashes of vivid color—colors a blind man would not be able to appreciate. The sleek furnishings were modern with clean designs that emphasized function. The typical clutter of everyday life was absent. Everything had its place. Simplicity must have appealed to the man who called this place home.
Natural light would have come in from the windows, but the shades had been drawn. The room would have been dark except for the dim glow coming from two lamp fixtures. Angel wondered if it mattered to Ethan if light ever came in the room. Did he only flip the switch for guests? Imagining him oblivious to the dark and living his entire life that way made her sad.
“ Hey, check this out,” Gabe said. “The guy has his own recording studio.”
A small glassed-in room had a high-tech control panel, musical instruments, and casual seating. A tasteful, blood red sofa caught Angel’s eye. It had a distinctive shape that she liked. Very modern.
“He can record there, but he mainly uses it to practice whenever he feels like it.” The voice of Rachel Blevins interrupted them. “He often uses it at night when he can’t sleep. It’s sound proof so the neighbors can’t complain.”
Angel turned to see that the woman wasn’t alone.
“Ethan? This is Detective
Downtown Chicago
Cronan drove across a few intersections to hit the right block of a one-way street as they searched for Ethan Chandler’s residence. The lunch hour traffic had made the drive longer than Angel had expected. She’d called the cell phone number for the violinist, but when no one picked up, she decided against leaving a message.
“ No answer. The guy’s not big on phones.” She pocketed her cell as her partner parked down the street.
“ A man I can understand,” he said as he got out of the Crown Vic.
It didn’t take a detective to figure out where Ethan Chandler lived. Reporters and camera crews were camped in front of an exclusive residential building. Cronan shoved through the line, repeating “no comment” as he dodged microphones. A doorman stood on the other side of the secured front entrance. After they showed ID, the man escorted them through the foyer and made introductions to the onsite property manager.
“ I bet the residents really love all the media attention,” he whispered to Angel as they walked behind the doorman.
No doubt residents valued their privacy at an address that was so exclusive it only had a street number on the outside door. No fancy property name. But flashing their badges had given them all the reason they’d need to pay a visit to Ethan Chandler. The property manager made the call to Chandler’s suite and got permission to send them up.
Angel knocked on the door of the musician’s residence, and a familiar face greeted them.
“ You must have made a beeline here, Ms. Blevins,” Cronan said as he walked into the suite after Angel. “Are you always this…hands on with your clients?”
“ Ethan’s special.” Rachel Blevins raised an eyebrow. “With Olivia’s murder hitting the news today, you can see the rabble out front. I didn’t want him walking into those vultures before he’d heard the news. I thought it best that he hears about Olivia from a friend.”
“ And just to clarify, that would be you?” Cronan said.
This time Angel noticed that the woman didn’t bother to answer. She’d learned to dodge her partner’s sarcasm.
“Please, follow me.” After she led them into a living room, the publicist asked them to wait and left the room. That gave them opportunity to snoop.
“ Well, what do you know? Ethan Chandler’s a simple guy like you, Gabe.” Angel walked around the room and checked out the minimalist decor.
“ Yeah, this fiddle player and me, we’re gonna be real tight. I can feel it.” Gabe smirked.
Ethan Chandler’s home had been professionally decorated. A masculine design of blacks, grays, and silver tones with splashes of vivid color—colors a blind man would not be able to appreciate. The sleek furnishings were modern with clean designs that emphasized function. The typical clutter of everyday life was absent. Everything had its place. Simplicity must have appealed to the man who called this place home.
Natural light would have come in from the windows, but the shades had been drawn. The room would have been dark except for the dim glow coming from two lamp fixtures. Angel wondered if it mattered to Ethan if light ever came in the room. Did he only flip the switch for guests? Imagining him oblivious to the dark and living his entire life that way made her sad.
“ Hey, check this out,” Gabe said. “The guy has his own recording studio.”
A small glassed-in room had a high-tech control panel, musical instruments, and casual seating. A tasteful, blood red sofa caught Angel’s eye. It had a distinctive shape that she liked. Very modern.
“He can record there, but he mainly uses it to practice whenever he feels like it.” The voice of Rachel Blevins interrupted them. “He often uses it at night when he can’t sleep. It’s sound proof so the neighbors can’t complain.”
Angel turned to see that the woman wasn’t alone.
“Ethan? This is Detective
Similar Books
