Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) (5 page)

Exhaustion finally hit Avery at close to six forty-five in the
evening, on the elevator ride up to the second floor of the police station. All
the energy and impetus she’d received from the morning revelations had
culminated in a day well spent, but a night with countless unanswered questions.
Her light skin was partially burned from the sun, her hair a mess, the jacket
she’d worn earlier strung over her arm. Her shirt: dirty and untucked. Ramirez,
on the other hand, appeared even more refreshed than he had in the morning:
hair slicked back, suit almost perfectly pressed, eyes sharp and only a dab of
sweat on his forehead.

“How can you possibly look so good?” she asked.

“It’s my Spanish-Mexican bloodline,” he proudly explained. “I can
go twenty-four, forty-eight hours and still keep this shine.”

A quick, squeamish glance at Avery and he moaned: “Yeah. You look
like shit.”

Respect filled his eyes.

“But you did it.”

The second floor was only half full at night, with most of the
officers either at home or working the streets. The conference room lights were
on. Dylan Connelly paced around inside, obviously upset. At the sight of them,
he threw open the door.

“Where the hell have you been?!” he snapped. “I wanted a report on
my desk at five o’clock. It’s almost seven. You turned off your walkie-talkies.
Both
of you,” he pointed out. “I might expect that from you, Black, but
not you, Ramirez. No one called me. No one answered their
phones. The
captain is pissed too, so don’t go crying to him. Do you have any idea what’s
been happening around here? What the hell were you thinking?”

Ramirez raised his palms.

“We called,” he said, “I left you a message.”

“You called twenty minutes ago,” Dylan snapped. “I’ve been calling
every half hour since
four thirty
. Did someone die? Were you chasing
down the killer? Did God Almighty come down from Heaven to help you out on this
case? Because those are the only acceptable answers for your blatant
insubordination. I should take both of you off this case right now.”

He pointed to the conference room.

“Get in there
.
”

Angry threats were lost on Avery. Dylan’s fury was background
noise that she could easily filter out. She’d learned the skill long ago, back
in Ohio, when she had to listen to her father scream and yell at her mother
almost nightly. Back then, she’d held her ears tight and sang songs and dreamed
about the day she would finally be free. Now, there were more important matters
to hold her attention.

The afternoon paper lay on the table.

A picture of Avery Black was on the cover, looking startled that
someone had just shoved a camera in her face. The headline read “Murder in
Lederman Park: Serial Killer’s Defense Attorney on the Case!” Beside the
full-page image was a smaller picture of Howard Randall, the old and withered
serial killer from Avery’s nightmares with Coke-bottle glasses and a smiling
face. The heading over his photo said: “Trust No One: Attorney Or Police.”

“Have you seen this?” Connelly growled.

He picked up the paper and slapped it back down.

“
You’re on the front page!
First day on Homicide and you’re
front page news—
again
. Do you realize how unprofessional this is? No,
no,” he said at Ramirez’s expression, “don’t even try to speak right now. You
both screwed up. I don’t know who you talked to this morning, but you stirred
up a shitstorm. How did Harvard get wind of Cindy Jenkins’ death? There’s a
memorial for her on Kappa Kappa Gamma’s website.”

“Lucky guess?” Avery said.

“
Fuck you, Black! You’re off the case. You hear me!?
”

Captain O’Malley eased into the room.

“Wait,” Ramirez complained. “You can’t do that. You don’t know
what we’ve got.”

“I don’t care what you’ve got,” Dylan roared. “I’m not finished
yet. It just gets better and better. The Mayor called an hour ago. Apparently,
he used to play golf with Jenkins’ father, and he wanted to know why a has-been
defense attorney—who got a serial killer released from prison—is dealing with
the murder of a close friend’s daughter.”

“Calm down,” O’Malley said.

Dylan spun around, red-faced and mouth open. At the sight of his
captain—who was smaller and quiet but seemed coiled and ready to explode—he
eased back.

“For whatever reason,” O’Malley said in an even voice, “this case
just blew up. Therefore, I’d like to know what you’ve been doing all day, if
that’s OK with you, Dylan?”

Connelly muttered something under his breath and turned away.

The captain nodded to Avery.

“Explain yourself.”

“I never told anyone the victim’s name,” Avery said, “but, I did
interview a girl from Kappa Kappa, Cindy Jenkins’ best friend, Rachel Strauss.
She must have put two and two together. I’m sorry about that,” she said with a
genuinely apologetic look to Dylan. “Small talk isn’t my strong suit. I was
looking for answers, and I got them.”

“Tell them,” Ramirez urged.

Avery moved around the conference table.

“We’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

“
Oh come on!
” Dylan lamented. “How can she possibly know
that? She’s been on the case for a day. We have
one
dead girl. There’s
no way.”

“
Will you shut up?
” O’Malley yelled.

Dylan bit down on his lower lip.

“This is no ordinary murder,” Avery said. “You told me as much
yourself, Captain, and you must have seen it too,” she said to Dylan. “The
victim was made to look alive. Our killer worshipped her. No bruises on her
body, no forced entry, so we can rule out gangs or domestic violence. Forensics
confirmed that she was drugged with a powerful, probably a natural anesthetic
the killer might have created himself, flower extracts that would have
instantly paralyzed, and slowly killed. Assuming he keeps these plants underground,
he’d needs lights, a water system, and food. I made some calls to find out how
these seeds are imported, where they’re sold, and how to get my hands on the
equipment. He also wanted the victim alive, at least for a little while. I
wasn’t sure why, until we caught him on surveillance.”

“What?” O’Malley whispered.

“We got him,” Ramirez said. “Don’t get too excited. The images are
grainy and hard to see, but the entire abduction can be seen from two separate
cameras. Jenkins left the party a little after two thirty on Sunday morning to
go to her boyfriend’s house. He lives about five blocks from the Kappa Kappa
Gamma suite. Avery took the same walk she assumed Jenkins took. She noticed an
alley. Who knows what possessed her to do it, but on a hunch, she checked a
surveillance camera at a nearby smoke shop.”

“You need a warrant for that,” Dylan cut in.

“Only if someone asks for it,” Avery replied. “And sometimes a
friendly smile and engaging conversation go a long way. That shop has been
vandalized about ten times in the last year,” she went on. “They recently had
an outside camera installed. Now, the store is on the opposite side as the
alley, and it’s about half a block down, but you can clearly see a girl—and I
believed it was Cindy Jenkins—get accosted under some trees.”

“That’s when she called me,” Ramirez took over. “Now, I thought
she was crazy. Seriously. I saw the video and I wouldn’t have blinked twice.
Black, on the other hand, had me call forensics and bring in the whole team
over this shit. As you can imagine, I was pissed. But,” he said with excited
eyes, “she was right. There’s another camera at a loading dock in the back of
the alley. We asked the company to let us see what was on it. They agreed and
boom,” he said and opened his arms wide. “A man comes out of the alley holding
our victim. Same dress. Same shoes. He’s slight of frame, shorter than Cindy,
and dancing. He was actually holding her and dancing. She was clearly drugged.
Feet dangling and everything. At one point, he even looks in the camera. That
sick fuck was taunting us. He puts her in the front seat of a minivan and just drove
away like it was nothing. The car is a Chrysler, dark blue.”

“License plate?” Dylan asked.

“It’s a fake. I already ran it. Must have had a dummy plate on.
I’m compiling a list of all the Chrysler minivans in that color sold in the
last five years within a five-county radius. It will take a while, but maybe we
can narrow down the list with more information. Also, he had to be wearing a
disguise. You could barely see his face. Wore a moustache, possible wig,
glasses. All we can gauge is the height—around five-five or five-six—and maybe
skin color: white.”

“Where are the tapes?” O’Malley asked.

“Downstairs with Sarah,” Avery responded. “She said it might take a
while but she’ll try to get sketch of the killer based on what she sees by
tomorrow. Once we have facial recognition, we can compare it to our suspects
and put it through the database to see what comes up.”

“Where are Jones and Thompson?” Dylan asked.

“Hopefully, still working,” Avery said. “Thompson is in charge of
surveillance at the park. Jones is trying to track that car from the alley.”

“By the time we left,” Ramirez added, “Jones had found at least
six different cameras within a ten-block radius from the alley that might be
able to help.”

“Even if lose the car,” Avery said, “we can at least narrow down
the direction. We know he turned north out of the alley. That, matched with
whatever Thompson finds at the park, and we can triangulate an area and go
house by house if we have to.”

“What about forensics?” O’Malley asked.

“Nothing in the alley,” Avery said.

“Is that it?”

“We’ve got some suspects, too. Cindy was at a party on the night
of her abduction. A guy named George Fine was there. He’s apparently been
following Cindy around for years: takes classes she takes, seems to randomly
bump into her at events. Kissed Cindy for the first time, danced with her all
night.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Not yet,” she said and looked right at Dylan. “I wanted your
approval before a potential shakedown at Harvard University.”

“It’s a good thing you have
some
sense of protocol,” Dylan
grumbled.

“There’s also the boyfriend,” she added to O’Malley. “Winston
Graves. Cindy was supposed to go to his house that night. Never showed up.”

“So we’ve got two potential suspects, footage of the event, and a
car to track down. I’m impressed. What about motive? Have you given that any
thought?”

Avery looked away.

The footage she’d seen, as well as the victim’s placement and
handling, all pointed to a man that loved his work. He’d done it before, and
he’d do it again. Some kind of power trip must have motivated him, because he
had little care for the police. The alleyway bow to the camera told her as
much. That took courage, or stupidity, and nothing about the body dump or the
abduction pointed to a lack in judgment.

“He’s toying with us,” she said. “He likes what he does, and he
wants to do it again. I’d say he’s got some kind of plan. This isn’t over yet.”

Dylan snorted and shook his head.

“Ridiculous,” he hissed.

“All right,” O’Malley said. “Avery, you’re clear to talk to your
suspects tomorrow. Dylan, contact Harvard and give them the head’s-up. I’ll
call the chief tonight and let him know what we’ve got. I can also see about getting
you some blanket warrants for cameras. Let’s keep Thompson and Jones on their
toes. Dan, I know you’ve been working all day. One more gig and you can call it
a night. Get the addresses of those two Harvard boys if you don’t have them
already. Roll by on your way home. Make sure they’re tucked in tight. I don’t
want anyone bolting.”

“I can do that,” Ramirez said.

“
OK
.” O’Malley clapped. “Get going. Great job to both of
you. You should be proud of yourselves. Avery and Dylan, hang out for a
minute.”

Ramirez pointed at Avery.

“Want me to pick you up in the morning? Eight? We’ll head over
together?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll keep on Sarah about that sketch. Maybe she’ll have
something.”

The sudden eagerness of a partner to help—on his own and without
prodding—was new for Avery. Everyone else she’d been paired up with since the
moment she’d joined the force had wanted to leave her dead in a ditch
somewhere.

“Sounds good,” she said.

Once Ramirez had gone, O’Malley made Dylan sit on one side of the
conference table and he had Avery sit on the other.

“Listen up you two,” he said in a quiet yet firm voice. “The chief
called me today and said he wanted to know what I was thinking, handing this
case over to a well-known and disgraced former criminal defense attorney. Avery,
I told him you were the right cop for the job and I stand by my decision. Your
work today proves I was right. However, it’s almost seven thirty and I’m still
here. I’ve got a wife and three kids waiting for me at home and I desperately
want to go and see them and forget about this miserable place for a while.
Obviously, neither one of you shares my concerns, so maybe you don’t understand
what I’m saying.”