Cause to Save

by Blake Pierce

  She heard him whistling it even then, remembering it all. It made the hospital room seem all the more enclosed and depressing.

  She slept fitfully, waking on occasion and checking on Ramirez. He was sleeping peacefully, even snoring a bit. When she woke up at 5:45, she knew there was no further hope of sleep. Ramirez, meanwhile, was still dozing deeply.

  She knew she needed to make a call, but it was too early to do so. She filled her time with grabbing a cup of coffee and walking around the fourth floor to stretch her legs. She checked her phone as she did so. A text message from Sawyer informed her that Rose was fine and that they would be swapping out with another pair of cops for the night shift, to return in the morning around eight or so.

  It was driving her crazy to not have access to her files, sitting in a box at Ramirez’s apartment. She thought about calling a cab to go retrieve them but thought better of it. She was pretty sure she’d have to sneak around later in the day, away from any of Connelly’s surveillance. No sense in pushing things.

  She went back to Ramirez’s room and found him still sleeping. She turned the TV on, muted it, and watched the morning news scroll by. From what she could tell, the news of Howard Randall was brief—a rehash of news they already knew. She was surprised yet relieved to find that there was no footage from her apartment, the broken window highlighted by some overly dramatic headline.

  As she watched it, Ramirez’s voice broke her concentration. “Still here?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t do that. Go home. Or to the A1. Or to Rose. I feel like I’m holding you hostage.”

  “I’m probably going to leave soon,” she said. She looked at her watch and saw that she had another five minutes before eight o’clock—when the office she needed to call would open.

  “Hot on a trail?” he asked with a sleepy smile.

  “Sort of. How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” he said. “I’d really like to talk to a doctor about trying to go to the bathroom like a normal human being today, though.”

  She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see what I can do to get someone to come talk to you when I step out to make a call in a second.”

  “Hey, Avery? Look…I appreciate you being here with me.” His eyes seemed to wander around the room, as if searching for something.

  I wonder if he’s trying to figure out where the ring is, she thought. Maybe I should tell him the nurse found it and gave it to me…

  “No problem,” she said.

  “I love you, Avery,” he said. “You know that, right?”

  She nodded. “I love you, too.”

  She kissed him again, on the corner of the mouth. Her heart felt like it was swelling when she pulled away and looked down at him.

  A knock on the door broke the moment. She turned and saw Ramirez’s primary doctor stepping in. “Sorry,” he said, realizing he had just interrupted something.

  “No worries,” Avery said, stepping back and still a little overcome with emotion. “He was just telling me how much he’d like to pee like a real man today.”

  The doctor chuckled as he approached the bedside. “Great. I was coming to talk about that very thing.”

  “On that note,” Avery said, nodding toward the door. “I’ll be back soon,” she said.

  Ramirez waved her off, but there was a softness to his eyes she had never seen before.

  He just told me he loved me, she said. And I shot it right back. Something is different now—something great and unexpected.

  She smiled at him and left the room. She grabbed another coffee from the nurses’ station and then headed to the waiting room. It was still mostly quiet, only occupied by two people, one of whom was asleep. Avery sat down in the far corner and placed the call she’d been thinking about since last night.

  She had to Google the number but found it quickly—the number for the Department of Corrections. After being ping-ponged between a few people, she finally came to the line she was looking for.

  “This is Detective Avery White, with the A1 Division,” she said. “I’m looking for some information on an inmate’s sentence.”

  “What’s the inmate’s name?” a robotic-like woman asked from the other end.

  “Ronald Biel.”

  Avery listened to the clicking and clacking from the woman’s end, but it did not last long. The woman was back ten seconds later with results.

  “Ronald Biel was sentenced to seven years,” the woman said. “The sentence was reduced, however, due to exemplary behavior.”

  “What?” Avery said, flabbergasted. “Shortened by how much?”

  “A little less than a year. He was released three weeks ago.”

  Avery nearly dropped her phone in shock.

  A ghost…haunting me…

  As if on cue, she heard that damned whistling—Biel, whistling the solo from “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.”

  “Thank you,” she said dryly into the phone.

  Although the shock to her system was deep, Avery instantly got to her feet and headed for the elevators, rushing as if there were a literal ghost on her heels.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  She decided when she stepped out into the street that she was done with catching cabs. She wasn’t sure Connelly would go so far as to have officers on the lookout for her car so she decided to take the risk. She hailed a cab and directed the driver to head to her apartment. As she made her way into the building, she pulled out her phone and placed a call that she did not want to make.

  But she had to try, at least.

  Connelly’s phone rang five times before voice mail picked it up. She decided not to leave a message, opting instead to call O’Malley. O’Malley answered on the second ring, probably at his usual station in the A1 headquarters by the coffee and donuts at such an early hour.

  “O’Malley, I’m going to tell you something and I really need you to trust me.”

  “Shit,” O’Malley said. “What are you getting into now?”

  “Nothing. But I did remember something. A killer I represented as an attorney, a guy named Ronald Biel. I need you to look up his files. Look at those murders. He was never convicted of them, but it was him. I always knew it. I represented him poorly just so he’d go to jail.”

  “Not very ethical—”

  “Just look them up,” she said. “O’Malley…I’m pretty certain he’s our killer.”

  “You just said he was in jail.”

  “He was released on good behavior three weeks ago.”

  O’Malley sighed. “Fine. I’ll look them up. But just so you know…if Mayor Greenwald knows I’m doing anything you ask, he’ll hang us both in a very public place.”

  “Even if it leads us to catching a killer?”

  “Probably. But I’ll look into it. If I think there’s some sort of connection, I’ll put it in front of Connelly.”

  Avery ended the call and did a very quick freshening up process: a quick shower, brushing her teeth, combing her hair. With a fresh change of clothes, she was out of her apartment within fifteen minutes. As she left, pulling the door closed behind her, she looked back at the broken window. It had been covered with a clear sheet of plastic, but the memory of the brick crashing through while Rose had been sitting close to it was fresh.

  A dead cat. A brick through the window. Seems very much like something Ronald Biel would have done. So why the hell did I not make the connection?

  Some other inner thought answered her own question. Because you thought he was in jail. And, like everyone else in this city, you apparently had Howard Randall on the brain.

  With one last look at the shattered window, Avery closed the door behind her and headed for her next stop.

  ***

  It felt like ages had passed since the last time she had stepped foot into the law offices of Seymour and Fitch. Now it was she who felt like a ghost, stepping out of one world to haunt the hallways of another. When she entered, she saw a new face
in the reception area—a young blonde girl, clearly straight out of college.

  “Can I help you?” the girl asked.

  “Yes. I need to speak with Ms. Seymour. It’s very urgent. Tell her Avery Black is here to see her.”

  The girl looked at her quizzically for a moment, as if the name Avery Black had rung some bells in the back of her head. Avery waited as patiently as she could, sending a quick text to Rose to occupy her time.

  How you doing? she sent.

  She was starting to feel guilty. Rose had a job and a life of her own. Yet here she was, under police surveillance because of several different branches of her mother’s life. Avery knew that Rose was taking this all as well as possible, not freaking out or blaming her for the current awful state of her life.

  When it was evident that she was not going to get an instant response from Rose, Avery pocketed her phone. A few seconds later, the young girl appeared from down the hallway to the left. Behind her, Jane Seymour also entered the room. She was clearly older than the last time Avery had seen her but she still had the sort of charm and confidence that seemed to command the attention of an entire room. Her strawberry blonde hair had been cut shoulder-length, at least six inches shorter than she had worn it when Avery worked there. She had also finally caved in and started to use bifocals rather than contacts.

  “My goodness,” Jane said. “Avery Black, as I live and breathe!”

  “It’s good to see you, Jane,” she said.

  The two women met in the middle of the room and hugged in the way that people who had once known each other quite well tended to do after a long absence.

  “What brings you here?” Jane asked.

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid. Could I borrow a few minutes of your time in private?”

  “Of course,” Jane said, wasting no time in leading the way back to her office.

  As they passed through the hallways Avery had once known like the back of her hand, the sense of being a ghost intensified. She felt like an outsider, like she had no business here. It made her want to get the visit over with as quickly as she could without being rude.

  She was temporarily taken aback when they stepped into Jane’s office. It was huge and looked exactly the same as it had on Avery’s last day with the firm. Rather than sit behind her desk, Jane went to the small conference table at the back of the office. Avery joined her there and got right to the point, dashing any hopes of formalities and small talk without being overly pushy.

  “I hate to do it,” Avery said, “but I am in a rush and this could potentially be an urgent matter. Are you okay if I ask you some questions about an old case?”

  “Of course. As long as it doesn’t breach client confidentiality.”

  “I don’t believe it will. Did you know that Ronald Biel had been released early due to good behavior?”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “How did you find out?”

  “A phone call with the Department of Corrections. Look…I’m here to confess, I suppose. That, and to hope you might be able to provide some information.”

  “Confess?” Jane asked. “Confess what?”

  “I threw that case,” Avery said. “I knew the evidence was weak and if I really pushed it, he’d get off with just a slap on the wrist. But I knew he was guilty. He all but told me; it was the way he handled himself and reacted when we weren’t in the courtroom. He was guilty as hell and I wanted to see him go to jail. So I half-assed it. And now he’s out of prison and there’s a good chance he’s taunting me.”

  “How’s that?” Jane asked.

  Avery took the next few minutes to tell Jane about the cat and the dummy—about the girl who had been killed with the nail gun. She was now convinced that the girl probably didn’t even have a connection to Biel. He had just used it as a way to taunt her…to let her know that he was free.

  It wasn’t Howard Randall boasting about how he had escaped at all, she thought as she wrapped up the description for Jane. It was Biel, letting me know he was out. He’s using Howard’s recent escape as a cover.

  “Jesus, Avery, that’s terrible,” Jane said. “But listen to me. As far as your little confession, don’t even worry about that. I would have done the same thing. Hell, I have done the same thing a few times, just not quite as drastically. So don’t waste your time feeling guilty about that.”

  “Jane…look. If he’s after me or even just taunting me, it’s behavior that hints at a vengeful mindset. And if he’s after me, he might come for you, too. You own the firm, after all, and you were there in the courtroom a lot of the time during his trial.”

  “Oh, honey…I’m around psychos all day. It’s a job hazard. And besides…from the sound of it, if this guy wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”

  “Not if he gets a thrill out of teasing me,” she said. “Anyway, the other reason I’m here is to see if you happen to have any files related to that case. I need to find something that has Biel’s handwriting on it. Something as basic as a signature would do.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I have something like that somewhere,” Jane said. “When do you need it?”

  “The sooner the better. Right away would be great.”

  “Give me an hour. Can you wait, or do I need to email it to you?”

  She considered it for a moment and then shook her head. She had to see Rose. She wanted to check in on her, to let her know about Ramirez and to fill her in on this latest breakthrough.

  “Email it to me, would you?” she asked. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”

  “I can do that,” Jane said. She then gave Avery a sad sort of smile. “Damn, it’s nice to see you again, Avery. But please forgive me for saying that you look absolutely exhausted.”

  “I’m sure I do,” she said. “And no offense taken.”

  She got up to take her leave when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She assumed it was Rose, finally responding to her text as she fished in her pocket for it. Instead, she saw that she was getting a call from O’Malley.

  “Hey,” she said, answering the call. “You find something in Biel’s history that convinced you?”

  “No,” he said. “I haven’t had time. I’ve been at a murder scene. Looks like it might he Randall again. Or whoever the hell you think is behind it.”

  “Where?”

  O’Malley hesitated before answering. “Listen closely to me. I want you here. Connelly does, too—though he won’t admit it as openly as I will. Together, he and I can keep this one away from the mayor for at least an hour. Can you make it out here right away?”

  “What’s the address?” she asked.

  He gave it to her and she responded that she knew exactly where it was. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  She ended the call and looked apologetically at Jane. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “But thanks in advance for your help.”

  “Any time. And Avery…please take care of yourself.”

  Avery only nodded as she took her leave. A small part of her wanted to slow down as she left the building, to take in the sights and smells of the place that had, in many ways, defined her. This was the place where she had first learned to handle just how driven she was, the place where she had learned volumes about victory and defeat.

  But that felt like a lifetime ago. She barely knew that woman at all anymore.

  But apparently, Ronald Biel remembered her just fine.

  Maybe it’s time I reintroduce myself, then, Avery thought as she got into her car and drove off to meet O’Malley.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The crime scene was at a private residence in Winchester. When she arrived, she saw that O’Malley hadn’t been kidding; they were doing everything they could to keep the murder under wraps. O’Malley’s car was parked in the driveway. There were houses on both sides of the residence, as well as across the street. But no one seemed to be looking on, apparently having left for work or holed up inside and totally unaware.

  A single police car was parked along the
curb. Avery parked behind the police car and hurried up the nicely kept lawn. O’Malley met her at the front door, his face tight and grim.

  “How’s Ramirez?” he asked.

  “He’s doing very well,” she said. “And the fact that you’re leading with small talk makes me think things are bad inside.”

  “You’d be correct,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “It’s pretty grisly.”

  Avery stepped off of the front stoop and into a modest middle-class home. The front door led into a small foyer where a shoe mat sat in the corner. The living room sat directly in front of her and she could see blood right away, splattered almost artistically on the walls. A TV situated in the center of the room was on, showing a rerun of M*A*S*H.

  She made her way into the living room, preparing herself for the worst. As she drew closer, she saw more and more blood as new elements of the living room were revealed to her. There was blood on the couch, on the overturned coffee table, and all over the carpet in thick sections, some of which were still wet.

  And then there was the body, sprawled in a heap that was barely recognizable as a human form. It sat between the couch and the overturned coffee table.

  O’Malley came up behind her, speaking softly, as if in respect and disgust at the same time. As he did, two other officers entered the room from a hallway to the right. They looked like they were both shaken.

  “Mitch Brennan,” O’Malley said. “Single, thank God. Fifty-six years of age. Worked as a parole officer. And um…shit. You were right, Avery. Partially, anyway.”

  “Right about what?”

  “Ronald Biel. Mr. Brennan was his parole officer. I just had it confirmed about two minutes before you arrived.”

  Sadly, the admission from O’Malley was not as sweet as it should have been. It was tainted by the sight before her.

  Just to Mitch Brennan’s left, there was a sledgehammer. The head of it was coated in blood and gore. She looked at the body and did her best to make sense of it. There was blood and there were broken bones. There was what had once been a head, but the top of the skull no longer took any definite shape. A few teeth lay in a pool of blood about two feet away from the body. The right shoulder was basically nonexistent, the arm hanging loosely at a sick angle.