by Blake Pierce
“It’s not a problem,” Avery said, already heading for the office that had once belonged to her.
And just like that, she had an unofficial partner. She felt the sting of it trying to rise up, to remind her of the chemistry she and Ramirez had enjoyed. But she pushed it down as hard as she could. She was not going to let the ghosts of the past sneak up on her in the middle of this case. She could deal with them later in some other way but for now, she was busy getting her life back into some kind of familiar state.
But as she walked back into her old office and realized that she felt like a stranger inside of it, she wondered if it was going to be as easy as she had originally thought.
***
The truth of the matter was that Avery liked Kellaway. She knew this by the time they were in the car and she was driving them to the residence of Phyllis Lawnbrook. Avery rarely felt such a certainty about someone at first, but something about Kellaway simply clicked with her. She could imagine Kellaway several years before, perhaps Rose’s age. She’d probably had one of those thin nose rings. She probably had at least two tattoos hidden under her police uniform. In college, she’d probably listened to industrial music and experimented with acid.
All assumptions, of course. But there was something about Kellaway’s look that brought these images to Avery’s mind. And she was usually a pretty good judge of character.
“So what brings you from New York?” Avery asked.
“Family stuff,” Kellaway said. “My mother got sick. She’s in a long-term care facility down here now. I’m all she’s got left, so I just moved.”
“How long were you on the force in New York?”
“A year and a half,” Kellaway said. “I know…I’m still a rookie. So please believe me when I say that I feel very privileged to be working with you.”
“Thanks,” Avery said.
“No, I’m serious. There were a few of your cases that I heard about even when I was in New York. And then I get down here and some of the things they say about you—it’s like working with a legend, you know?”
The praise was starting to make Avery uncomfortable. She tried to remain polite and calm, though. Besides, she remembered what it was like being in her first few years, wanting to learn everything she could from those above her.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Kellaway said, “what was it like to revisit Howard Randall after busting him? I know the media gave you shit sometimes about going to him for tips, but I thought it was genius.”
Avery gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and focused straight ahead. She looked down to the GPS and saw that they had another eight minutes remaining. If she let Kellaway keep going on and on, it would be a very long eight minutes.
“At the risk of seeming like a veteran bitch,” Avery said, “let’s not go there. I’ve been back for not even a single day and I’d rather not dredge up my past cases. Especially not ones concerning Howard Randall.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I just can’t even imagine what it must have been like to sit down across from him and—”
“Stop it,” Avery said, her tone coming out much sharper than she had intended. There was a stinging feeling in her stomach, the familiar pangs of anger.
Kellaway snapped her mouth shut at once. She gave a sad little nod and then looked out the window. Avery regretted snapping at her at once but at the same time, felt she deserved the release. After all, she had come back to help with this case to lay the groundwork for her future—not rake up the old hurts of her past.
Maybe the past is not something you’re going to be able to get away from, she thought. Maybe it follows you until you’re dead. It was a depressing thought, but the image of Howard’s letter came to mind and she thought that it just might be true.
They rode on in silence as Avery’s thoughts once again crept back to Howard’s package and how he had found out where she was living.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Avery knocked on the door, Phyllis Lawnbrook answered it with a plate of lasagna in her hand. It was a peculiar thing to see at first glance, but then Avery took in the rest of the situation. Phyllis was a large woman, easily a hundred pounds overweight. She looked tired but in mostly good spirits.
After a quick round of introductions, Phyllis invited them inside. As she led them into the living room, Avery picked up enough details to understand why Phyllis had come to the door with a plate of food. There were empty bags of chips scattered around the house, several dirty dishes on the kitchen sink with crumbs and scraps of food. The place also smelled like fresh brownies. Apparently, Phyllis Lawnbrook was a stress eater.
“The others that came were just police officers,” Phyllis said as she sat down on a couch that was bent to catch her rotund form. “You say you’re a detective. Does that mean my son’s death is now a higher priority than it was five days ago?”
“No ma’am,” Avery said. “It’s always been a high priority. I was called in because they wanted a different approach. As of right now, we still have very few answers about who might have done this to your son. And I hope to change that.”
“Well, I already told the others everything I know,” Phyllis said. She forked in a mouthful of lasagna and looked at Avery and Kellaway as if she was waiting for them to start things off.
“Do you live alone, Mrs. Lawnbrook?” Avery asked.
“I do. My husband died of a heart attack four years ago. And now I’ve lost my only child.” She frowned and then took in more lasagna. She washed it down with a glass of what looked like sweet tea that was sitting on her coffee table.
“And how often did you see Alfred?”
“At least twice a week. He’d always come over for dinner on Friday night. Then he’d come over one more evening during the week, all depending on when his work schedule would allow.”
“And Alfred worked from home, correct?” Avery asked.
“He did. Something to do with designing booklets for mechanics.”
“And from what I understand, he didn’t really get out much. He wasn’t keen to be around other people, correct?”
“That’s right. He’d been like that ever since middle school when kids bullied him about his glasses and his lisp. He had friends, mind you, but not many. He was the kid that, in high school, was in the chess club and the debate team.”
“Do you know if he had any friends at the time of his death?” Avery asked. She was very aware of Kellaway standing beside her, listening intently.
“No one close,” Phyllis said. “The only people I ever really heard him talk at length about were some of the people he worked with. They had weekly Skype calls to go over stuff. I think the virtual workspace was good for him. He got to socialize without having to really be around people.”
“And did he ever speak negatively about the people he worked with?”
“From time to time, sure. His boss was strict and sometimes overbearing with deadlines. But Alfred was never overly mean about it, you know?”
“And how about the two of you?” Avery asked. “Did the two of you have a healthy relationship?”
“I suppose,” Phyllis said, setting her now-empty plate on the coffee table. “Alfred got even more closed off and private when his father passed away. So sometimes he’d come to me with issues a young man should go to his father about. It took us into some strange conversations for sure. So yes…I’d say we had a good relationship. The only arguments we ever had were when he would push me to start eating better.”
“And did he broach that topic out of concern or something else?” Avery posed.
“Genuine concern,” she said. “He was afraid of losing his other parent. And believe it or not, I didn’t always look like this. I started binge eating when my husband died and food has always been the thing that calms me.”
“Mrs. Lawnbrook, I have another question…a strange one, perhaps. I was wondering if you knew of any pets Alfred might have had in the last few years.”
“No, he never
had a pet. We had a cat here when he was young and it got out one day. A neighborhood dog pounced on it and pretty much devoured it right in front of Alfred. Ever since then, he’s refused to have another pet.”
“So then I take it he never would have had any reason to frequent any local pet stores?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”
“It all goes back to the spiders…trying to make sense of why they were used by the killer. Can you think of any link at all that your son might have had to spiders or insects?”
Before Phyllis responded, a thought came to Avery, It made her feel foolish and, for the first time since calling Connelly yesterday, like she maybe wasn’t ready to come back.
You were there and you missed your chance, she thought. It was obvious, right in front of you…and you missed it.
“I don’t know if it counts or not,” Phyllis said, “but he did go the museum quite a bit. The science museum. They’ve got that lovely butterfly garden, you know?”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Avery said. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone that Alfred might have gotten to know well while visiting the museum, do you?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, thank you for your time. Please call us if you think of anything else that might help with the investigation.”
When they left the house, Avery barely noticed that Kellaway was still staying quiet and reserved. She wasn’t pouting, exactly; she was simply letting her know that for now, she was not going to speak unless spoken to. And for now, that was fine with Avery. She was too busy beating herself up for not exploring this avenue when she had been at the museum earlier.
It did seem strange, though. Johansson seemed to have known about the case. And being one of the museum’s entomologists, he was likely a prominent figure in the butterfly garden. Wouldn’t he have seen Alfred at some point if Alfred frequented the attraction?
Probably, she thought. But he probably sees hundreds of visitors a week. And pictures of Alfred aren’t very widespread in the media yet.
Still, it was curious…and it gave her the best lead she’d had so far.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Back at the museum, Avery wasted no time in paying a second visit to Johansson’s office. However, she found it empty, the pictures of all of those insects seeming to stare at her as if they were Johansson’s protectors. Vacant, the room was eerie. It was all too easy to imagine that the insects all over the walls had come to life and devoured Johansson.
“You know this guy?” Kellaway said, finally breaking her silence. She made a not-so-subtle expression of disgust as she looked at all of the pictures.
“We may have spoken recently,” she said.
They left Johansson’s office and used a nearby museum directory to find the location of the butterfly garden. The garden was a permanent exhibit that was located on the side of the building that allowed it to overlook the Charles River. As they approached the entrance, Avery and Kellaway found that there was currently an elementary school group touring the garden. They stayed a good distance behind as they entered the garden. Avery tried to keep her eyes out for an employee to assist but was a bit distracted by the sights.
It really was a beautiful place. The greenery was well maintained and the high arched glass ceilings gave the garden a free-floating feel. As the kids several yards ahead of them chatted and giggled, a member of the grounds crew came into view—a middle-aged man, tending to the soil along a large canopy of miniature trees and flowers.
“Excuse me,” Avery said, flashing her badge in a way that, even after her three-month absence, came to her in a mechanical way. “Could you perhaps tell me where Donald Johansson would be at this time? He wasn’t in his office.”
“I have no idea,” the groundskeeper said. “He pops in here from time to time, though.”
“Is there someone around that we could speak to in order to verify a frequent visitor?” Kellaway asked.
“Yeah. That would be Leslie Vickers. She’s the one leading the kiddos through the garden right now. She’ll pass it off to one of her assistants at the end, though. I imagine her part is close to being wrapped up if you want to follow along.”
Avery and Kellaway gave their thanks and once again found themselves following behind the school group. Avery looked to the front of the single file line of first graders and saw a tall and poised woman of about forty. She seemed to notice the two women walking a bit behind the line of kids but did her best not to let that distract her.
Within another three minutes, the woman—apparently Leslie Vickers—came to a stop at a space that looked like a miniature courtyard. The kids took seats on a series of benches and chairs that lined the circle, looking to her as she finished her spiel about the wonders and the beauty of not only butterflies but all of nature.
When she was done, the woman smiled at the kids and walked away as a young and far-too-cheerful assistant stepped in and started talking to the kids.
Vickers approached Avery and Kellaway with a hesitant smile. “Is there something I can help you ladies with?” she asked.
“I’m Detective Avery Black,” Avery said, again flashing her badge. “And this is my partner, Officer Kellaway. We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on a murder case we’re working on right now. The victim apparently frequented the butterfly garden quite a bit.”
Vickers’s face seemed to deflate. Avery could tell that Vickers already knew where this was headed.
“Are you talking about Alfred Lawnbrook?” she asked.
“I am,” Avery said. “How did you know?”
She shrugged sadly and leaned against a nearby wooden planter. Over her head three butterflies took off in a colorful blur. “Alfred came in here a lot. Some of us took the time to know him. He was shy but once he warmed up, you couldn’t get him to stop talking.”
“I take it you spoke with him on a few occasions?” Avery asked.
“Oh yes. At least a dozen or so, I’d say. He always looked reflective when he came in. Maybe a little sad, too.”
“In talking to him, did you get an idea of why he came here so often?”
“He said he liked the idea of metamorphosis—of how butterflies are made from lowly caterpillars. He liked the idea of changing from something that is kind of ugly and always on the ground into this beautiful creature. I never asked him directly, but I assume he had some sort of messed up childhood or something.”
“Did he ever mention spiders to you in your talks?” Avery asked.
“I keep wondering that myself,” Vickers said. “Ever since I saw that awful news report, I kept wondering if there were clues or some sort of foreshadowing as to how it could have happened. But I honestly don’t remember him ever mentioning spiders. If he did, it certainly wasn’t at length.”
“What about other insects?” Kellaway asked.
“No. I will say, though, that there was one day where I offhandedly mentioned beetles for some reason. He seemed to get very uncomfortable; he got up from his seat and started sort of pacing.”
“Was there ever any indication that he had enemies?” Avery asked. “Or even people he was uneasy about?”
“No,” Vickers answered. “He never mentioned a girlfriend or even friends. He sometimes talked about his work and his mom. I also know his father died a while back. But he never spoke ill of anyone or like he was afraid of someone in particular.”
“Do you know if there was anyone else he spoke to frequently?”
“Yes. He and Donald Johansson had quite a few conversations.”
“Really?” Avery asked.
“Yes. I wouldn’t say they were friends or anything like that, but I know for a fact they spoke a few times. Saw it with my own eyes.”
Why would Johansson lie about that? she wondered.
“And do you know where I might find him?” she asked.
Vickers smiled and nodded behind them. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Here he comes now.”
&nbs
p; Avery and Kellaway turned to look behind them. Johansson had only just seen them and was frozen in place between two bends in the walkway along the garden. The expression on his face at seeing Avery told her everything she needed to know: he was hiding something.
Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Avery wasted no time. She headed in his direction right away with purpose in her step. “Mr. Johansson, it’s nice to see you again,” she said.
“Oh, yes, you as well,” he said. But his tone indicated that was not the case at all.
“With all due respect,” Avery said, “I can’t help but feel that you were lying to me when we spoke earlier. Or, if not lying, certainly omitting quite a few things.”
Johansson looked to the walkway and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I was.”
“I hope you have a very good reason,” she said. “Otherwise, I’d have to go through the trouble of arresting you in front of your coworkers.”
Johansson let out a shaky sigh and nodded. “You mind coming back to my office again?” he asked.
Honestly, Avery would rather stay in the butterfly garden rather than his dimly lit office with all those pictures of insects on the walls. Still, she nodded and said, “That’s fine.”
He led them out of the butterfly garden and back out into Level 2 of the museum. Avery took one last look back into the garden, and then to Kellaway, who had a confused look on her face that she didn’t even try to hide. Avery didn’t let it bother her too much. She had a feeling that Kellaway would be more than caught up within a few minutes.
***
“Yes, I got to know Alfred Lawnbrook during his frequent visits to the butterfly garden,” Johansson said as he sat behind his desk. “He was an isolated young man who clearly had many social anxieties, which is why myself and a few other employees tried to take the time to speak with him.”
“And why did you not see fit to tell me you knew him when I was here a little over two hours ago?” Avery said. “It would have saved me a hell of a lot of time and trouble.”
