Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) (8 page)

“I talked to a drug supplier I know,” Avery said. “Asked who would
be stupid enough to sell just the poppy seeds and have their heroin sales go
down the drain. Waiting to hear back. I was hoping you had some other leads.
I’m nowhere on LED lights and gardening supplies. You can get them anywhere.”

“Looking at fibers right now taken off the girl’s body,” Randy
said. “One of them is definitely cat, maybe a tabby? I think our killer likes
animals. Hopefully, he doesn’t just stuff them for show. There are dirt specks,
too. Typical garden variety. I’d say you’re looking for a green thumb, and
someone that has plants, animals, a real garden nut.”

Avery couldn’t fit the pieces together.

George Fine had no plants and no cats.

Maybe it’s at his other location, she thought. But wouldn’t there
have been
some
evidence of that in his dorm? Books on botanicals, drugs?

“All right,” Avery said. “Call me if you find anything else.”

* * *

Later in the afternoon, Avery knocked on Ramirez’s door and
entered.

Ramirez waved her in with his arms high and a smile.

“Look who it is,” he called. “My savior.”

“Not really,” Avery replied. “What did I do?”

“You kept your cool,” Ramirez pointed out, “and you acted like a
real cop with a suspect in there, not some stupid rookie like me. It’s all
good, though,” he scowled, “I’ll be out of here in no time. Doctor said I can
leave tomorrow. I’ll be back at the desk by Friday.”

“That’s not what I hear,” Avery said. “Doctor said you need at
least two weeks to heal. He wants you off your feet.”

“What?” Ramirez complained. “You better not tell the captain about
that. Don’t make me go home and sit on my ass. You don’t know what my home life
is like.”

“What’s your home life like?” she wondered.

Ramirez was an enigma to her: good-looking, in great shape,
perfectly dressed, and seemingly bothered by nothing. The attack by George had
shown another side: a bit careless, angry, and no real defensive training to
have dealt with George’s speed and surprise. At first, he’d reminded Avery of
all the men she’d had random one-night stands with a few years back. They, too,
had been shiny on the outside, but once she’d peeled back a layer or two, they
were a mess. She hoped that wouldn’t be the case with her new partner.

“Aw, man, you really want me to dispel the mystery?” he said. “OK,
why not. I
am
in a hospital bed. I know I come off like Superman, but
honestly? I’m just a normal guy on the inside, Black. I love the job but I
don’t like to sweat, so I’m rarely in the gym and I’m definitely not the most
deadly man on the force. You see this amazing physique? I was born with it.”

“Anybody at home?” Avery asked.

“Used to have a girlfriend. Six years. She left me a while back.
Said I had too much trouble committing. Come on, Black! Let’s be honest. Why
would a man as fine as myself commit to one woman, when there are millions out
there?”

Lots of reasons, Avery thought.

She remembered Jack, her ex-husband. Although they hadn’t spoken
in a long time, the urge to marry him had been strong when she was younger.
He’d offered stability, kindness, love, and support. No matter how intense or
aloof Avery had become, he was always there, waiting and eager to give her a
hug.

“I guess people commit because they want to feel safe,” she said.

“That’s no reason to commit,” he said. “Gotta be for love.”

Avery had never really understood the concept of love until her
daughter Rose was born. As a young college student, she thought she’d loved
Jack. The feelings were there and she missed him when he wasn’t around, but if
she’d really been in love, she wouldn’t have taken him for granted so much, or
left.

She had Rose when she was barely twenty. Jack had wanted to start
a family early, but when Rose was born, Avery had felt trapped—no more time
alone with Jack, no more time for herself, no more life, career. It had been a
mess.
She’d
been a mess, and it had showed—the end of her marriage, the
end of her being a mother. But even though she and Rose were still estranged,
she knew, now, she knew.

“What do you know about love?” she asked.

“I know it means I have to make my woman feel good.” He smiled
with a sheepish, seductive stare.

“That’s not love,” Avery said. “Love is when you’re willing to
give up something you care about for someone else. It’s when you care more
about the other person than your own desires, and you act on it—that’s love. It
has nothing to do with sex.”

Ramirez raised his brows in respect.

“Whoa,” he said. “That’s deep, Black.”

The memories were painful for Avery to recall. Instead, she tried
to stay focused on the task at hand: a killer on the loose and a suspect in
custody.

“I gotta go,” she said. “Just wanted to make sure you were going
to be all right. All I need is another dead partner on my hands.”

“Go, go,” Ramirez said. “Where’s our Navy Seal?”

“In custody. And you’re actually not that far off. He’s army
reserve. Very good with his hands. I already lambasted the dean for withholding
information about a possible lethal weapon. Thompson is over at the dorm now.” 

“You think he’s our killer?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What’s the hesitation?”

Pieces, she thought. Puzzle pieces that didn’t fit.

“He could be our guy,” she said. “Let’s see what happens.”

An hour later, Avery stood in a small, dark side chamber with
O’Malley and Connelly. Ahead of them, through one-way glass, sat George Fine.
His hands were handcuffed to a metal table and he had bandages on his shoulders
and legs from the gunshot wounds. He was lucky, Avery realized, that she had
just grazed him. Her aim had been true.

Every so often he muttered something under his breath, or twitched.
Blank eyes sought out nothing but seemed deep in thought.

In her hand, Avery held a picture that displayed six different
black-and-white interpretations of a man’s face, based off the surveillance
videos of the killer. Each picture showed a Caucasian perpetrator with a narrow
chin, high cheekbones, small eyes, and a high forehead. In three of the photos,
the wig, glasses, and moustache had been removed, and the artist had given the
killer various hairstyles and facial hair. The last three images maintained at
least one aspect of the disguise in case it
wasn’t
a disguise.

Avery took time to absorb every photo.

The face she’d seen on the cameras was embedded in her mind, and
now, with a bunch of clear sketches, she was able to infer other looks: a wider
chin, lower cheekbones, a bald head, larger eyes, glasses, and multiple colors
for the eyes.

Every so often, she looked up Fine. There were similarities:
Caucasian, high cheeks… He seemed to have a leaner frame, but they were both
light on their feet. The graceful movements Avery had seen on camera were a lot
like the ones she’d observed when George overtook Dan. Still, Avery wasn’t
sure. There were the plants and animals. Also, the killer on camera had a
fiendishness about him, a spritely humor that was lacking in George. Would
George Fine have bowed to a camera?

As if Connelly could mentally hear her doubts, he pointed at the
window and said: “This is our guy. I’m sure of it. Look at him. He’s barely
said two words since he came here. Can you believe he wants a lawyer?
No
way.
He gets nothing. We need a confession.”

O’Malley had on a dark suit and red tie. He pulled at his lips and
frowned and said: “I might have to agree with Connelly on this one. You said
you found pictures of Jenkins in his room. He attacked and nearly killed a cop.
 He also fits the profile. Those sketches are a near match. What’s the
hesitation?”

“The pieces don’t all add up,” she said. “Where did he take Cindy
after the abduction? How did he learn how to embalm? Randy Johnson said those
hairs on Jenkins’ dress were from a cat. Fine doesn’t own a cat. What he does
have is a lot of Internet searches for porn and relationship advice. Does that
sound like a killer?”

“Listen, Black, this is a courtesy here,” Connelly said with
finality. “As far as I’m concerned, this case is over. We got him. He must have
a safe house somewhere. That’s where we’ll find the cat and the minivan and the
murder weapon. Your job is to find that house. Jeez, why do you always have to
act like you’re so much better than everyone else?”

“I just want to get it right.”

“Yeah? Well, that wasn’t always the case, was it?”

A feral energy pulsed from Connelly, cheeks red, eyes bloodshot as
if he’d been drinking or had a rough night. He was busting out of his shirt, as
usual, and he appeared ready to punch someone in the face.

She addressed O’Malley.

“Let me talk to him.”

“He’s your perp.” O’Malley shrugged. “You can do what you want.
But we think this is our guy. We’ve got a lot of people breathing down our
necks on this one. Unless you can prove something else, and quick, let’s wrap
this up, OK?”

She gave him the thumb’s-up.

“You got it, boss.”

The door to the interrogation room buzzed and Avery pushed
through. Everything was gray, including the steel table where the shooter sat,
and the mirror and walls.

George blew out a frustrated breath and lowered his head. He wore
the same tank top and sweats.

“You remember me?” Avery asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “you’re the bitch that pointed a gun in my face.”

“You tried to kill my partner.”

“Self-defense.” He shrugged. “You busted into my room. Everybody
knows Boston PD have itchy trigger-fingers. I was just trying to protect
myself.”

“You stabbed him.”

“Talk to my lawyer.”

Avery took a seat.

“Let me see if I can get this straight,” she said. “You’re an
economics major. Average student. Army reserve. No criminal record, well, at
least not before today. By all accounts, a quiet, harmless student. Only a few
friends.” She shrugged. “But I guess that’s what you get when you’re not a hard
partier in college. Successful parents. One lawyer. One doctor. No siblings,
but
,”
she noted with emphasis, “a history of hard crushes. Yeah,” she almost
apologized, “I talked to the dean and learned all about your crush on Tammy
Smith, the girl you followed from Scarsdale? Is she the reason you went to
Harvard, or was that just coincidence?”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, and looked her right in the eyes
with a determined, unrelenting gaze as if he dared her to say otherwise.

Nothing about the interview felt right to Avery.

Instinct told her she’d already made the correct assessment: he
was unstable and lonely, a teenager on the verge of a breakdown before the girl
of his dreams was suddenly murdered, and then he snapped. But a meticulous
murderer that drained bodies and put them in angelic, lifelike positions? She
had trouble believing it. There was just no solid proof.

“Do you like movies?” she asked.

He frowned, uncertain about her line of questioning.

“Can you tell me what’s currently playing at the Omni Theatre?”
she added. “The cinema across from Lederman Park?”

A blank expression greeted her.

“There are three movies playing there,” she answered. “Two of them
are 3D summer action flicks. I don’t really care about those,” she said with a
flick of her wrist. “The third is called
L’Amour Mes Amis
, a little
French film about three women who fall in love with each other. Have you ever
seen that movie?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Do you like foreign films?”

“Talk to my lawyer.”

“All right, all right,” she said. “How about this? One more
question. You give me an honest answer and I’ll leave here and get you a
lawyer. OK?”

He said nothing.

“No strings attached,” she added. “I’m serious.”

Avery took a moment to formulate her thoughts.

“You could be my killer,” she said. “You really could. We have a
lot of avenues to still explore but some of the pieces add up. Why else would
you attack a cop? Why is your room so clean? Makes me think you have another
place somewhere. Do you?”

An unreadable stare greeted her.

“Here’s my problem,” Avery said. “You could also just be a stupid
kid that was destroyed over the death of a crush. Maybe you were furious and
miserable, and obviously a little unstable because you attacked a cop. But,”
she emphasized and pointed to the two-way glass, “my supervising officer and my
captain both think you’re guilty of first-degree murder. They want to see you
burn. I’m going to give you a choice. Answer one question for me and I’ll
rethink my position and give you what you want. OK?”

She leaned forward and peered deep into his eyes.

“Why did you attack my partner?”

A complex set of emotions passed through George Fine. He frowned
and mulled over his words, and then he looked away and back at Avery.

A part of him seemed to be calculating a response, and figuring
out what that response would mean in a court of law. Finally, he settled on
something. He moved in closer, and although he tried to act tough, his eyes
were glassy.

“You all think you’re so big, so important. Well, I’m important too,”
he said. “My feelings matter. You can’t just say we’re friends and then ignore
me. That’s confusing. I’m important too. And when you kiss me, that means
you’re mine.
Do you understand?
”

His face cocked and tears rolled down his cheeks and he screamed:

“
That’s means you’re mine!
”