by Blake Pierce
“I’m going to assume they are until it can be proven otherwise.”
Finley shrugged and got up for his own cup of coffee. “Hey…if you want to overwork yourself within your first two days back, be my guest. Either way…it’s good to have you back.”
She said nothing to this, mainly because she wasn’t sure if she was really, truly back. It felt like it, but that could just be the excitement of it all. Whatever the feeling was, it was thrumming through her as she and Kellaway left the conference room, heading out into the early morning with two murders to solve.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Abby Costello’s roommate was a sobbing mess when Avery and Kellaway arrived at their apartment. She was another petite blonde, barely able to keep herself in a sitting position on the couch when they arrived. Her name was Amy Dupree and even before Avery had the chance to question her, there was quite a bit that she surmised about the two girls simply based on the apartment.
The pictures of Abby and Amy in the living room showed them cheesing in front of a camera with parties going on behind them. One of the picture frames bore the Greek letters that made up Sigma Sigma Sigma—Tri Sig.
Sorority sisters from college, Avery thought. It at least helped her better understand why Amy was taking the news of Abby’s death so particularly hard.
Maybe it was because of the age similarities between them, but Kellaway managed to take the lead in getting Amy to calm down long enough to answer a few basic questions. Amy still sobbed and sniffled through the questions but she was at least finally able to form some coherent sentences.
“You told the first officers that came by that Abby had a date tonight,” Kellaway said. “But you didn’t know the guy’s name…that Abby kept her love life to herself. Is that right?”
“Yeah. She was always like that. Abby wasn’t a relationship sort of girl, you know? She’d see a guy for a few weeks, maybe a few months depending on the guy, and then it would just sort of end. She had one serious relationship in college that ended with him cheating on her. There was a pregnancy scare in there, too. And ever since then, she’s been very private about the guys she sees.”
“Did she say anything at all about this date tonight?” Avery asked.
“No. She never told me his name, what he looked like…nothing like that. Just that he was cute and a little older.”
“Do you know how much older?”
“I’d guess maybe no older than forty. Abby had this funny thing for older guys, but swore she’d never get involved with anyone over forty.”
“Any idea how long she’d been seeing him?”
“Maybe two or three weeks. If that. I really couldn’t tell you.”
“And what about the new phone she ordered?” Avery asked. “Do you know why she ordered it?”
“Yeah, the old one had a crack in the screen. It still worked fine, but the crack annoyed her. She called up the company and had it replaced.”
“Do you know what she did with the old one?” Avery asked.
“No idea.”
Avery looked around at all of the pictures again. The two smiling blonde girls looking out at her from those pictures looked like something out of a storybook.
“What about Jamaica Pond?” Avery asked. “Do you know if she had any ties to the location? Or had you ever heard her mention it?”
“God no,” Amy said sternly, almost on the verge of breaking into deep sobs again. “That was maybe the worst part about hearing she had died…how she had died. Abby was scared of water. I mean, she’d get in a pool as long as there was a shallow end. But open bodies of water scared the hell out of her.”
“Do you know why?” Avery asked.
“She almost drowned when she was a kid. Like ten or so, I think. Her family went to some lakefront property in Virginia. She was trying to learn to water-ski and there was some sort of freak thing with the rope. She went under for a while and the lifejacket she was wearing was too loose. Her head got trapped in it and it popped right off of her, I think. So yeah…she stayed away from water. We went to the beach for our senior year of college, us and about five friends. She never got in the ocean—always sat up on the sand, as far away as she could without being rude.”
“So if her date had suggested they go for a moonlight stroll around Jamaica Pond, she wouldn’t have gone for it?” Kellaway asked.
“Highly doubtful,” Amy said.
Avery considered it for a moment and then headed for the door. “Amy, thank you so much for your time and help. If you happen to think of anything else that might assist us, please call us.”
“Do you have anyone to be with you for the next day or so?” Kellaway asked.
Amy nodded. “My brother is coming over. He should be here in an hour or so. But I’m good…I’ll be okay until he gets here.”
Avery hated to leave a grieving woman alone, but she had more stops to make before the night was over. She and Kellaway made it out the door, closing it behind them, and then to the stairs before they heard the muffled sounds of Amy Dupree’s crying.
“The water,” Kellaway said as they got into the car. “It’s like the spiders, isn’t it?”
“You mean her fear of the water? Yes…it could be. But we can’t jump to conclusions. There’s a lot more information out there to be found.”
It was a bullshit answer, just something to tell Kellaway that would help her to stay level and grounded. Because as far as Avery was concerned, two back-to-back cases where a victim’s fear was used as the means of death pointed to a pretty clear intent on the killer’s part. But she knew she needed more to go on before she could present her theory to the guys back at the A1.
So that’s what she struck out to find as she pulled the car out into early morning traffic. It wasn’t quite six o’clock yet and she was already on her way to speak to her second grieving individual of the day.
***
Abby Costello’s mother lived in Virginia, ironically in the lakeside town where Abby had nearly drowned as a kid. Her father, however, lived with his second wife in the South End of Boston. By the time Avery and Kellaway arrived, Larry Costello had already been informed of his daughter’s death by the same cops who had initially visited Amy.
Larry Costello stood behind his kitchen bar as Avery and Kellaway did their best to conduct a rational line of questioning. Larry was grieving in his own way: doing the dishes, scrubbing the counters, busying himself with throwing something together for breakfast. He wept the entire time he did these things but managed to give coherent answers to most of the questions.
“I hate to say it,” Larry said, “but Amy is right. Abby was never one to tell me much about the guys she was dating. She did a bit in high school but that was just because of proms and curfews and things like that.”
“Do you think she would have shared any information about this man with her mother?” Avery asked.
“I doubt it. They had a very strained relationship. They spoke on the phone maybe once a month and only saw one another around the holidays. It’s a mutual I-don’t-give-a-damn sort of relationship between both of them. God…someone has to tell her. I have to call her, don’t I?”
“You can have someone on the police force do it if you like,” Avery said.
“No. I’ll do it,” Larry said. “She’ll handle it better coming from me. I…when can I see her? The body, I mean?”
He let out a strangled moan of despair at the mention of the body but it passed quickly and he was right back to cracking a few eggs into a bowl. His wife poked her head out of the bedroom when she heard the sound, saw that things were okay, and then headed back into the room.
“She’s taking it hard,” Larry said. “She and Abby had started to become friends. It took a while for Abby to warm up to her, but it was finally starting to feel natural. Anyway…can I see her?”
“You can,” Avery said. “Of course, there’s the autopsy to be conducted, but after that you can visit. Someone will contact you about it.”
“Is there anything else about your daughter you can tell us that might help with the case?” Kellaway asked.
“No. It might sound like the typical naïve father, but I don’t know of any problems or bad behavior. I do agree with what Amy told you, though: Abby hated water. Was absolutely terrified of big open bodies of water. I can’t believe she had to endure that. I suppose Amy probably told you about the near-drowning incident?”
“She did,” Avery said.
Her cell phone rang at that moment. She grabbed it right away, hoping it was the coroner. She gave Kellaway a look, trying to indicate that the questioning was on her shoulders now.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” Avery said, excusing herself into the Larry’s living room. She answered the call on the fourth ring, trying to keep her voice down.
“This is Detective Black.”
“Hi, Detective Black, this is Cho Yin from the coroner’s office. I was told to contact you directly with the results on Abby Costello.”
“Yes. What’s the word?”
“She definitely drowned. Preliminary results show no signs of abuse or sexual activity. Of course, we’d rule it as murder, as her hands were bound behind her back.”
“Yes. Definitely not a suicide. The blindfold proves that, I think.”
“There is one more thing I thought you might find interesting,” Yin said. “If you recall, when you and I discussed the Lawnbrook case, I pointed out that there had been extremely high levels of cortisol at the time of death, due to the fear.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I found similarly high levels in Abby Costello. They weren’t quiet as high as Lawnbrook’s but she was certainly scared.”
“Of course she was,” Avery said. “She was blindfolded and led down a pier to the water.”
Of course, now that she knew Abby had been afraid of water, she was looking for such a link. She was simply arguing the facts with Yin in order to get a second party to verify her gut reaction.
“Yes, but the levels I’m showing are higher than the expected levels we find in people who have been in situations where they were hunted down or pursued. Abby’s fear was something not typical in other murder cases.”
“So you’d say it was safe to say that she was scared of…what, the water?”
“Possibly,” Yin said.
“Thanks for the call,” Avery said. “Please let me know if you find anything else out of the ordinary.”
With that, she pocketed the phone and went back into the kitchen. Kellaway was still talking to Larry, asking him about any college boyfriends Abby might have had. He was telling her that he knew there were a few but nothing serious. He never met them or knew their names.
“Mr. Costello, that was the coroner that just called. I believe they’re done with the preliminary autopsy. You can go see her now if you like.”
Larry nodded, stopping as he added cheese to the eggs that he had dumped into a frying pan on his stove. He then paused, still with shredded cheese in his hand, and lost it. His face crumpled in a way that hurt Avery to witness, and he hit his knees in the kitchen. He let out another wail and this time his wife came running out to his side. She’d kept away while they’d questioned him but this was just too much.
Avery and Kellaway stepped back, slowing them their privacy. She did not want to leave without formally saying goodbye, especially not when he was in the throes of his grief. So they walked into the living room while a grieving father mourned the loss of his daughter.
It then hit Avery like a brick, standing in the living room and listening to Larry Costello’s sorrow.
This is why I do it, she thought. This is why I’ve always done it and this is why I came back. To right the wrongs that cause this kind of pain. To catch the killers that take life away, robbing not just the victims, but the lives of their loved ones as well.
And with that in mind, Avery knew that she would catch this killer. She felt the certainty in her bones, like fire burning her from the inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Never one to wait passively around while waiting for others to come up with answers, Avery headed back to the precinct. She had already formulated a plan of attack in her head, most of it requiring good old nose-to-the-grindstone research and digging. She figured she could do that while she waited for results from forensics and a final report from the coroner.
Without a proper office to call her own, she borrowed a laptop from the PR department and set up shop in one of the smaller conference rooms. Kellaway joined her and together, with coffee and donuts fueling them, they started working together like a well-oiled machine. Avery found that Kellaway took instruction well and never argued. She was legitimately happy to help in any way she could, even when it was to run basic records requests or doing simple Google searches.
The first thing they did was run database searches on Alfred Lawnbrook and Abby Costello. Aside from two speeding tickets on Alfred’s end, they both came back clean. Kellaway then called Amy Dupree and asked about any hobbies or interests Abby enjoyed. The only answer was cooking and reading—neither avenue providing much in the way of research.
The trail didn’t really start producing results until Avery decided to make a call to Phyllis Lawnbrook. She answered almost right away, still sounding worn out on the other end. After introductions and apologizing for dragging the pain of the case on, Avery got to a question she was starting to feel was important.
“Mrs. Lawnbrook, I wonder if you might remember what started Alfred’s severe fear of spiders. Was there maybe some childhood incident that scarred him in some way?”
“Not that I can remember,” she said. “I think it was just one of those natural things, you know? I always assumed he got it from his father…his father was deathly afraid of praying mantises. Even as a grown man, he’d leap back like a frightened child if he ever came across one.”
“Do you recall the age when Alfred might have first started expressing a fear of spiders?” Avery asked.
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe eight or so? It might have been as old as ten, but I’m not exactly sure about that.”
Avery thanked her and ended the call, looking thoughtfully into her cup of coffee.
“You latch onto an idea?” Kellaway asked.
“Not an idea, exactly. Just…a thought. We know for a fact that Lawnbrook was at least working towards getting over his fear of spiders. And he went to some pretty extreme measures to get it done. And we also know that while Abby Costello was terrified of open bodies of water, she’d at least get into the shallow end of a pool. I don’t know if that constitutes facing your fear or not. But…if these cases are linked—and I’m inclined to think they are—I’d be interested to see why their fears made them targets. I was hoping that if I could find out where the fears originated from, there could be pay dirt.”
“But Abby’s fear came from a freak water-skiing accident. How could anyone even know about that?”
“It’s a good point. Still…it makes me wonder if there is anything that might link them? Why did the killer select them?”
“So you think it might be worth finding out if Alfred Lawnbrook and Abby Costello knew one another?”
“Exactly,” Avery said, pulling out her phone again.
She called Larry Costello first. The phone was answered by his wife, who claimed that Larry had been a blubbering mess for most of the morning. Avery asked if it would be okay if she sent them a picture of someone to see if Larry recognized the face. After getting permission from the wife, Avery texted a picture of Alfred Lawnbrook, the candid picture that had been used in most newspapers over the last few days.
“Another thought for you,” Kellaway said. “Amy said that Abby never really settled down. But she dated guys quite often. It makes me think there was a lot of dinners out for her. And if guys took her out to eat pretty often, she had to have a favorite place, right?”
“Right,” Avery said, impressed with the logic behind the i
dea. “So if we can find a place that she frequented, maybe someone would have seen her last night—with her date.”
“I’m on it,” Kellaway said, pulling up Amy Dupree’s number one more time.
Avery listened to Kellaway’s end of the conversation, restraining herself from interjecting. It was nice to watch Kellaway at work; she had a way of communicating with people that didn’t make them feel pressured or uneasy.
While she listened to the conversation, she received a text on her phone. It was from Larry Costello (or his wife). It read: I don’t know this guy. Should I?
Avery replied back with a no, thanking them again for their help.
Less than a minute later, Kellaway ended her call. Avery could tell by the look on her face that Kellaway was getting excited. The thrill of the hunt had pretty much the same look whether on the face of a rookie or a seasoned pro.
“Mudslide Grill,” Kellaway said. “According to Amy it was not only one of their favorite places during college, but it remained one of Abby’s go-to places. She’d even use it as a scale to see if a guy was worth dating or not—whether or not the guy liked the food. And get this…Amy is pretty sure Abby had requested her date take her there last night.”
Without another word, they both got up from the conference room table. As they hurried down the hallway and out into the parking lot, Avery was a bit ashamed that she had even considered the idea of using deer hunting as a lame substitute for the thrill that was currently racing through her.
***
It was barely ten o’clock in the morning when they pulled into the empty lot in front of Mudslide Grill. The hours of operation on the door read 10:30 – Midnight. Avery tapped on the door, attracting the attention of the hostess who was helping to set the place up for the day’s business. The hostess rolled her eyes and pointed to a nonexistent watch on her wrist. Avery tapped the glass again, this time showing her badge and giving her eyes their own little roll.
The hostess hurried over and unlocked the door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea you were a cop. We get some weird people that try to get in here early for those morning drinks. It’s a little sad.”
