Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) (4 page)

Avery had a name: Cindy Jenkins. She knew the sorority: Kappa
Kappa Gamma. And she was fully aware of Harvard University. The ivy league
school had rejected her as an incoming freshman, but she’d still found a way to
soak in Harvard life throughout her own college career, as she’d dated two boys
from the school.

Unlike other colleges, the sororities and fraternities of Harvard
weren’t officially acknowledged. No Greek houses existed on or off campus.
Partying, however, happened regularly at multiple off-campus houses or
apartment complexes under the name of “organizations” or specialized “clubs.”
Avery had witnessed firsthand the paradox of college life during her own
college tenure. Everyone pretended to be solely focused on grades until the sun
went down and they transformed into a bunch of wild, partying animals.

At a red light, Avery performed a quick Internet search to
discover that Kappa Kappa Gamma rented two areas on the same block in
Cambridge: Church Street. One of the locations was for events, the other for
meetings and socializing.

She drove over Longfellow Bridge, past MIT, and hung a right onto
Massachusetts Avenue. Harvard Yard appeared on her right with its magnificent
red brick buildings set among a forest of trees and paved pathways.

A parking spot opened on Church Street.

Avery parked, locked the car door, and lifted her face to the sun.
It was a warm day, with temperatures in the high seventies. She checked the
time: ten thirty.

The Kappa building was a long, two-story structure with a brick
facade. The first floor housed a number of clothing shops. The second floor,
Avery guessed, was reserved for office space and sorority operations. The only
designation next to the second-floor buzzer was the blue fleur-de-lis symbol of
Harvard; she pressed it.

A scratchy female voice came on the intercom system.

“Yeah?”

“Police,” she growled, “open up.”

Silence for a moment.

“Seriously,” the voice replied, “who is this?”

“It’s the police,” she said in earnest. “Everything is fine. No
one is in trouble. I just need to speak with someone in Kappa Kappa Gamma.”

The door buzzed open.

At the top of the steps, Avery was greeted by a sleepy, haggard
girl in an oversized gray sweatshirt and white sweatpants. Dark-haired, she
appeared hard-partying. Wisps of hair hid most of her face. There were dark
circles under her eyes, and the body that she normally took so much pride in
accentuating appeared thick and formless.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Calm down,” Avery offered. “This has nothing to do with sorority
activities. I’m just here to ask a few questions.”

“Can I see some identification?”

Avery flashed her badge.

She sized up Avery, inspected the badge, and stood back.

The space for Kappa Kappa Gamma was large and bright. The ceiling
was high. A number of comfortable tan couches and blue bean bags littered the
area. Walls had been painted dark blue. There was a bar, a sound system, and a
huge, flat-screen TV. The windows were nearly floor to ceiling. Across the
street, Avery could see the top of another short apartment complex, and then
the sky. A few clouds rolled by.

She guessed her college experience was a lot different from that
of most of the girls in Kappa Kappa Gamma. For one, she had paid for school
herself. Every day after classes she went to a local law firm and worked her way
up from a secretary to an honored paralegal. She also rarely drank in school.
Her father had been a raging alcoholic. Most college nights, she was either the
designated driver or in the dorm studying.

A burst of hope flashed on the girl’s face.

“Is this about Cindy?” she asked.

“Is Cindy a friend of yours?”

“Yeah, my
best
friend,” she said. “Please, tell me she’s
all right?”

“What’s your name?”

“Rachel Strauss.”

“Are you the one that called the police?”

“That’s right. Cindy left our party pretty drunk on Saturday
night. No one has seen her since. That’s not like her.” She rolled her eyes and
offered a slight smile when she added, “She’s usually very predictable. She’s
just like, Ms. Perfect, you know? Always to bed at the same time, same schedule
that never changes—needs like, five years’ notice for any changes. Saturday she
was crazy. Drinking. Dancing. Threw the clock away for a while. It was nice to
see.”

A distant gaze took Rachel for a moment.

“She was just, really happy, you know?”

“Any particular reason?” Avery wondered.

“I don’t know, top of her class. Has a job lined up for the fall.”

“What job?”

“Devante? They’re like, the
best
firm in Boston. She was an
accounting major. So boring, I know, but she was a genius when it came to
numbers.”

“Can you tell me about Saturday night?”

Tears came to Rachel’s eyes.

“This
is
about Cindy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Avery said. “Maybe we can sit down?”

Rachel crashed on the couch and cried.

Through sobs, she tried to speak.

“Is she all right? Where is she?”

It was the part of the job Avery hated the most—talking to
relatives and friends. There was only so much she was allowed to discuss. The
more people learned about a case, the more they talked, and that talk had a way
of getting back to the perpetrators of crimes. No one ever understood that or
cared in the moment: they were too distressed. All they wanted were answers.

Avery sat beside her.

“We’re really glad you called,” she said. “You did the right
thing. I’m afraid I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation. What I
can
tell you is that I’m doing everything in my power to find out what happened to
Cindy that night. I can’t do it alone,  I need your help.”

Rachel nodded and wiped her eyes.

“I can help,” she said, “I can help.”

“I’d like to know everything you remember about that night, and
Cindy. Who was she talking to? Was there anything that stood out in your mind?
Comments she made? People that took an interest in her? Anything about when she
left?”

Rachel broke down completely.

Eventually, she raised a hand and nodded and pulled herself
together.

“Yeah,” she said, “sure.”

“Where is everyone else?” Avery asked as a distraction. “I thought
sorority houses were supposed to be packed with hungover girls in Kappa gear.”

“They’re at class,” Rachel said and wiped her eyes. “A couple of
girls went out to get breakfast. By the way,” she added, “we’re not technically
a sorority house. This is just a place we rent to crash when we don’t want to
go back to our dorm. Cindy never stayed here. Too modern for her. She has more
of a ‘homey’ air.”

“Where does she live?”

“Student housing not far from here,” Rachel said. “But she wasn’t
headed home on Saturday night. She was supposed to meet up with her boyfriend.”

Avery’s senses heightened.

“Boyfriend?”

Rachel nodded.

“Winston Graves, big-time senior, rower, asshole. None of us ever
understood why she dated him. Well, I guess I did. He’s handsome and comes from
tons of money. Cindy never had any money. I think, when you don’t come from
money, it’s really appealing.”

Yeah, Avery thought, I know. She remembered how the money and
prestige and power of her previous law firm job had made her believe she was
somehow different from that scared and determined young girl who had left Ohio.

“Where does Winston live?” she asked.

“In Winthrop Square. It’s really close to here. But Cindy never
made it. Winston came over early on Sunday morning looking for her. He assumed
she’d just forgotten about their plans and passed out. So we went to her house
together. She wasn’t there, either. That’s when I called the police.”

“Would she have gone anywhere else?”

“No way,” Rachel said. “That’s not like Cindy at all.”

“So when she left here, you’re sure she was headed over to
Winston’s house.”

“Absolutely.”

“Was there anything that might have changed those plans? Anything
that happened to her early in the evening, or even at the end?”

Rachel shook her head.

“No, well,” she realized, “there was
something
. I’m sure
it’s nothing, but there’s this boy that’s had a crush on Cindy for years. His
name is George Fine. He’s handsome, tough-looking, a loner, but a little weird,
if you know what I mean? Works out and jogs around campus a lot. I had a class
with him once last year. One of our jokes was that he’s been in a class with
Cindy nearly every semester since freshman year. He’s been obsessed with her.
He was here Saturday, and the crazy thing is, Cindy was dancing with him, and
they even kissed. Totally not like Cindy. I mean, she’s dating Winston—not that
they have the perfect relationship—but she was really drunk, and raging. They
kissed, danced, and then she left.”

“Did George follow her out?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Honestly. I don’t remember seeing him
after Cindy left, but that might be because I was totally wasted.”

“Do you remember what time she left?”

“Yeah,” she said, “at exactly two forty-five. Saturday was our
annual April Fool’s Night party, and we’re supposed to play this great joke,
but everyone was having so much fun we forgot about it until Cindy left.”

Rachel lowered her head. Emptiness filled the air for a while.

“Well look,” Avery said, “this has been really helpful. Thank you.
Here’s my card. If you can remember anything else, or if your sorority sisters
have something to add, I’d love to hear about it. This is an open
investigation, so even the smallest detail might give us a lead.”

Rachel faced her then with tears in her eyes. And as the tears
began to roll down her cheeks, her voice remained calm and steady.

“She’s dead,” she said, “isn’t she?”

“Rachel, I can’t.”

Rachel nodded, and then she cupped her face in her hands and
completely broke down. Avery leaned over and hugged her tight.

Outside, Avery turned her face to the sun and breathed out a heavy
sigh.

Church Street was busy, and there were numerous storefront cameras.
Even in the middle of the night, she couldn’t believe it was where the
abduction had taken place.

Where did you go? she wondered.

A quick check on her phone revealed the easiest route to Winthrop
Square. She took a stroll up Church and turned left on Brattle. Brattle Street
was wider than Church, with just as many shops. Across the street, she noticed
the Brattle Theatre. A small alley was on one side of the building, buttressed
by a coffee house. Trees hid the area in shadows. Curious, Avery crossed over
and entered the narrow strip between buildings.

She moved out onto Brattle again and checked every storefront
within a one-block radius on both sides of Church Street. There were at least
two stores with cameras outside.

She headed into a small smoke shop.

The bell on the door clanged.

“Can I help you?” said an old, white hippie with dreadlocked hair.

“Yeah,” Avery said, “I notice you have a camera out front. What
kind of range do you get on that thing?”

“The whole block,” he said, “both directions. Had to install it
two years ago. Goddamn college students. Everyone thinks these Harvard kids are
so special, but they’re just a bunch of assholes like everyone else. For years
they’ve been smashing my windows. Some kind of college prank, right? Not for me.
You know how much those windows cost?”

“Sorry to hear that. Listen, I don’t have a warrant,” she said and
flashed her badge, “but some of those idiot kids might have caused a
disturbance right up your street. No cameras there. Any way I can take a look?
I know the time. Shouldn’t take too long.”

He frowned and mumbled to himself.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve got to watch the shop. I’m the only
one here.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” She smiled. “How about fifty
bucks.”

Without a word, he lowered his head, walked around the counter,
and turned the sign on the door from “open” to “closed.”

“Fifty bucks?” he said. “Come on in!”

The back of the shop was cluttered and dark. Hidden among boxes
and spare supplies, the man uncovered a small television set. Above the set—on
a higher shelf—was a series of electronic equipment attached to the TV.

“Don’t really use it that often,” he said, “only when there’s
trouble. Tapes get erased every week on Monday night. When was your little
incident?”

“Saturday night,” she said.

“All right, then, you’re in luck.”

He turned on the set.

The black-and-white image was from right outside the shop. Avery
could clearly see the entrance to the store, as well as the opposite side of
the street and right up Brattle. The area she specifically wanted to
investigate was about fifty yards away. The image was grainier, and it was
nearly impossible to make out shapes in front of the alley.

A small mouse was used to scan backwards.

“What time did you say?” he asked.

“Two forty-five,” she said, “but I’ll need to check some other
times as well. Do you mind if I just sit down and look for myself? You can get
back to the shop.”

A suspicious brow greeted her.

“Are you going to steal anything?”

“I’m a cop,” she said. “That goes against my motto.”

“Then you’re not like any cop
I
know,” he laughed.

Avery pulled out a small black chair. She wiped off the dust and
took a seat. A quick review of the equipment and she was able to easily scan
forward and back.

At two forty-five, a few people walked up and down Brattle Street.

At two fifty, the street appeared empty.

By two-fifty two, someone—a girl by the hair and dress—came into
view from the direction of Church. She walked across Brattle and turned left.
Once she passed the coffee shop, a dark image from under the trees merged with
hers, and they both disappeared. For a moment, Avery could only see the
indecipherable motion of various shades of black. As the scene continued, the
tree shapes took on their original form. The girl never reappeared.

“Shit,” Avery whispered.

She unclipped a sleek, modern walkie-talkie from the back of her
belt.

“Ramirez,” she said. “Where are you?”

“Who is this?” came a crackling voice.

“You know who this is. Your new partner.”

“I’m still at Lederman. Almost finished here. They just took away
the body.”

“I need you down here, now,” she said and gave him the location.
“I think I know where Cindy Jenkins was abducted.”

* * *

An hour later, Avery had the alleyway blocked off on both sides by
yellow tape. On Brattle Street, a police car and the forensics van were pulled
up onto the sidewalk. One officer had been stationed to discourage visitors.

The alley opened into a wide, darkened street about halfway into
the block. One side of the street housed a glass real estate building and a
loading dock. On the other side were housing complexes. There was a parking lot
that could support four cars. Another police car, along with more yellow tape,
was at the end of the alley.

Avery stood in front of the loading dock.

“There,” she said and pointed to a high camera. “We need that
footage. It probably belongs to the real estate company. Let’s get in there and
see what we can find.”

Ramirez shook his head.

“You’re crazy,” he said. “That tape didn’t show shit.”

“Cindy Jenkins had no reason to walk down this alley,” Avery said.
“Her boyfriend lives in the opposite direction.”

“Maybe she wanted to go for a walk,” he argued. “All I’m saying
is, this is a lot of manpower for a hunch.”

“It’s no hunch. You saw the tape.”

“I saw a bunch of black blurs I couldn’t understand!” He fought.
“Why would the killer attack here? There are cameras everywhere. He’d have to
be a complete idiot.”

“Let’s go find out,” she said.

Top Real Estate Company owned the glass building and the loading
dock.

After a brief discussion with front desk security, Avery and
Ramirez were told to wait on the plush leather couches for someone of higher
authority to arrive. Ten minutes later, the head of security and the president
of the company appeared.

Avery flashed her best smile and shook hands.

“Thanks for seeing us,” she said. “We’d like to access the camera
right above your loading dock. We don’t have a warrant,” she frowned, “but what
we do have is a dead girl that was abducted on Saturday night, most likely
right outside your back door. Unless something comes up, we should be in and
out in twenty minutes.”

“And if something comes up?” the president asked.

“Then you made the right choice to assist the police in an
extremely timely and delicate matter. A warrant could take an entire day. The
body of that girl has already been dead for two days. She can’t talk anymore.
She can’t help us. But you can. Please help. Every second we waste, the trail
gets cold.”

The president nodded to himself and turned to his guard.

“Davis,” he said, “show them up. Give them whatever they need. If
there are any problems,” he said to Avery, “please come and find me.”

When they were on their way, Ramirez whistled to himself.

“What a charmer,” he said.

“Whatever it takes,” Avery whispered.

The security office at Top Real Estate was a buzzing room filled
with over twenty television screens. The guard sat down at the black table and
keyboard.

“OK,” he said. “Time and place?”

“Loading dock. About two fifty-two and then let’s move forward.”

Ramirez shook his head.

“We’re not going to find nothing.”

The real estate cameras were of a much higher quality than the
smoke shop, and in color. Most of the viewing screens were of a similar size,
but one in particular was large. The guard put the loading-dock camera on the
larger screen and then spun the image backwards.

“There,” Avery called. “Stop.”

The image halted at two-fifty. The camera showed a panoramic view
of the parking lot directly across from the loading dock, as well as left,
toward the dead-end sign and the street beyond. There was only a partial view
of the alley that led toward Brattle. A single car was parked in the lot: a
minivan that appeared to be dark blue.

“That car’s not supposed to be there,” the guard pointed.

“Can you make out the license?” Avery wondered.

“Yeah, I got it,” Ramirez said.

All three of them waited. For a while, the only motion came from
cars on the perpendicular street, and the motion from trees.

At two-fifty-three, two people came into view.

They might have been lovers.

One was a smaller man, wiry and short, with thick, bushy hair, a
moustache, and glasses. The other was a girl, taller with long hair. She wore a
light summer dress and sandals. They appeared to be dancing. He held one of her
hands and spun her around from the waist.

“Holy shit,” Ramirez said, “that’s Jenkins.”

“Same dress,” Avery said, “shoes, hair.”

“She’s drugged,” he said. “Look at her. Feet are dragging.”

They watched the killer open the passenger door and place her
inside. Then, as he turned and walked around to the driver’s side, he looked
directly into the loading-dock camera, bowed in a theatrical way, and twirled
to the driver’s side door.

“Holy
shit
!” Ramirez howled. “Motherfucker is playing with
us.”

“I want everyone on this,” Avery said. “Thompson and Jones are
full-time surveillance from now on. Thompson can stay at the park. Tell him
about the minivan. That will narrow down his search. We need to know what
direction that car was heading. Jones has a harder job. He needs to get over here
now and follow that van. I don’t care how he does it. Tell him to track down
any cameras that can help him along the way.”

She turned to Ramirez, who stared back, shocked and impressed.

“We’ve got our killer.”