Cause to Fear

by Pierce, Blake

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Connelly said. “Another thing that doesn’t make me feel any better is that if the feds do sweep in on this, I’m going to hand it to them without complaint. I’d also pull you off of it.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  “Because I don’t want my soon-to-be sergeant taking the position on the heels of a case that got the better of her. It would look bad for you and the whole A1.”

  She wanted to argue but knew he was right. She also knew that the media-related mess involving Carolyn Rodgers pretty much made it a certainty that the FBI would be on the case. Probably within less than a day. If another of those damned letters arrived, it might be even sooner than that.

  “One more thing,” Connelly said. “Because Carolyn Rodgers was sort of a public figure, the mayor is sticking his fat nose in this. Between you and me, I think he wants to keep the FBI away. So while it’s no secret that he’s not your biggest fan, he also knows you’re the best I’ve got. Let’s try to keep him as happy as possible, okay? But if the topic happens to come up in the near future, let’s pretend this conversation wasn’t as docile as this. I was supposed to tear into you.”

  “Mayor’s request?”

  He nodded sleepily. “This is a mess, Avery. See what you can do about keeping the FBI away from here, huh? Let’s wrap it up and get you pushed into that sergeant position with a hell of a win following you in.”

  Sounds good, she thought as she nodded her agreement. But this creep is turning out to be just as slick as the ice he seems to be obsessed with.

  ***

  Avery bounced directly from the awkward conversation into her office. She closed the door behind her, booted up her laptop, and looked down at the files on her desk. Sometime during her restless two hours of sleep, someone from the front office had delivered a file for Carolyn Rodgers to go along with the files for Sophie Lentz and Patty Dearborne.

  Avery spread all of the material out on her desk. She then selected the pertinent info from each one and wrote it all out on her dry erase board. She rarely used the thing, but drastic times called for drastic measures. She listed out bullet points about each woman, along with the location of the body. She connected the dots as well as she could as her brain kicked into overdrive.

  Petite women. Not much else in common—not backgrounds, not hair color, not eye color, nothing. No known links between the victims in terms of family or employers. No signs of sexual abuse. Clean skin, as if he was polishing them. He wants them to look their best, but he also wants their skin chilled, cold, almost blue.

  “But why?” she said out loud.

  She took some time to really pore over Carolyn Rodgers’ file. She was thirty-six years old, the oldest of the victims. So age was another thing the victims didn’t have in common. Still, Carolyn had looked pretty young, the sort of almost-forty woman that could have easily passed for thirty or maybe even twenty-five on a good day. She was vice president of the Boston Historical Society but she doubted that’s what had attracted the killer. It was likely her modeling work, a few examples of which were inside the file. Carolyn had a sultry look to her, a set of bedroom eyes that seemed to burn off of the page.

  If the ice is symbolic somehow, even if the killer doesn’t know it, how would he view it? Why ice? Why the cold? If the killer has something against women, maybe he correlates the two—women and ice. Maybe something about frozen hearts? Or maybe…

  An idea dawned on her then, one that had itched at her brain shortly after Patty Dearborne had been pulled from the Charles River. It was an idea that had clung loosely and then disappeared completely after that first letter had come in.

  He’s not only presenting them as frozen, but cleaned. Meticulously cared for. Is he freezing them to perhaps try to preserve them? Maybe he’s trying to freeze beauty or something like that, trying to capture it as a form of art. And if that’s the case…

  “…then that’s motive,” she said, again speaking out loud. “It’s nuts, but it would be a form of motive.”

  Okay, so if it’s art, why the Charles River? Why the reservoir?

  She felt that there could be potential clues now…if she approached the killer’s mindset from this new skewed point of view. If she viewed the locations of the first two bodies as canvases in a way, there had to be an inspiration behind it. And now with Carolyn Rodgers displayed as a literal piece of art, it opened up other possibilities as well.

  Still thinking, she gulped down the last of her mug of coffee and called up Ramirez. He answered on the first ring. “Hey,” he said. “I was going to stop by your office, but the door was closed. And since you never close your door…”

  “I know, I know,” she said. “Are you here in the precinct now?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Working with one of the profile guys to see what we can put together from this printout from the library. So far, it’s not looking good.”

  “Look, could you do something for me? I need you to do some digging to see if there are any actual ice sculptor schools. Or maybe even just classes given at a community college or something. See if you can find that and a list of problem students. Anything weird or out of the ordinary.”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” he said. “What are you up to?”

  “I’m going to head back out to the Fresh Pond Reservoir,” she said. “I might have a new lens to try to view this guy through. I’d also like to take a look at the scene in the light of day.”

  “Want some company?” he asked.

  “I appreciate it, but no thanks. Not right now. I need to keep my head clear.”

  “You saying I dirty it up?” he asked with a sarcastic tone.

  “Always. Call me with the sculpture school info when you have something and we’ll meet up then.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Be careful out there.”

  “You know it,” she said, and hung up.

  She looked back to the dry erase board, taking it all in. When she felt she had a grasp on all of it, she headed out. Before marching outside and through the crowd of media swine for her car, she stopped for another cup of coffee. Not only was it bitterly cold out there, but she was going on only two hours of sleep and already, at 7:35, she had the feeling that this was going to be a very long day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  The Fresh Pond Reservoir looked like a totally different place in the light of day. At night, it had looked gothic in some weird way; in the light of day, though, it looked both industrial and slightly forgotten. The morning sun shone dully down in the iced-over water, creating a series of sparkles that might have looked quite beautiful in any other situation.

  Avery drove around its circumference, slowing down by the place where Sophie Lentz had been discovered. At once, Avery was pretty sure there was nothing remotely special about the place other than the fact that it had provided the killer with a fragile body of ice. For some reason or another, the killer had simply known about the place and assumed it would be mostly frozen. And because there were many more private frozen bodies of water in which to dispose of a body, it again made Avery certain that the killer wanted his little works of art to be easily found.

  Near the backside of the reservoir, alongside a small building and a few attached pumps and other machinery that Avery didn’t recognize, she saw a single vehicle. There were city tags on the windshield, indicating that it belonged there. Also, given the amount of ice on the windshield, it was apparent that the vehicle had been there for quite some time.

  She turned around here and headed back toward the place where Sophie Lentz’s body had been found. On the right side of the road, there was a thin dirt road marked off by posts and cables, blocking access. She parked and got out, looking to the other side of the road. A small grove of trees separated the road from the rather steep cement decline that led to the reservoir.

  She walked to the grove of trees and looked out across the ice. It sparkled in the morning sun, throwing dull twinkles into the a
ir. It was quiet out here, the silence broken only by the ambient hum of pumps and machinery somewhere nearby.

  Is it always this quiet? The killer might have known this…in the same way he knew the ice sculpture park would be mostly dead when he hit it. Daughtry even said that to dump a body, you’d have to know your way around here. Looking at the lay of the land, I certainly buy into that.

  Watching her footing, Avery started down the slight hill that held the grove of trees. Within several yards, she cleared the trees. A guardrail jutted out of the ground, the last line of defense between the trees and the reservoir. She climbed over this and looked out across the frozen water. It was seventy-five yards across, the ice a sheet of sparkling white between both sides.

  As she looked to the left, back toward the way she had come from, she saw a man standing at the very lip of the concrete. He stood motionless, looking out across the ice. Avery thought nothing of it at first but then saw that he was wearing a dark coat. A dark puffy coat with a large hood.

  She reached for her phone, ready to call in a suspicious character roughly a quarter of a mile away from a crime scene. But she wanted to be sure before making assumptions. The last thing she needed right now—with the mayor involved, the media in a frenzy, and the FBI sniffing the case out—was to make a wrong call. She sped up a bit, heading for the entrance of the grounds where there was a thin side road that wound back to the main highways.

  She had no idea how the person had gotten down to the reservoir. There were no embankments that allowed cars on the sides of the road and a thin grove of trees between the right edge of the road and the icy reservoir. For the figure to have gotten down there meant that he had walked from somewhere nearby, as she had seen no other parked vehicles along the side of the road. This, she knew, was probably an indication that it was an employee who knew the grounds much better than she did.

  She walked to the edge of the concrete and looked out across the ice. She was looking to the right, toward where she had stood a few days ago. She then scanned the area and when she peered to the left, she saw the figure again. Closer to him now, she could see that the figure was dressed in a black coat with the hood pulled up. The height made her think it was a man but it was impossible to tell. He was standing roughly twenty-five feet from her and had not noticed her yet. He seemed to be zoned out, looking across the ice deep in thought.

  Avery started toward him slowly, walking along the concrete walkway that served as the lip of the reservoir. She had to watch her footing, as there was a considerable amount of ice on the cement. She nearly called out to him but if there was something off about him, she didn’t want to alarm him.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to worry about that. Within seconds, the man turned in her direction. The fluff of the hood triggered the memories in the security footage. She saw the low-turned mouth and sharp chin. This time, though, she could also see his eyes.

  And those eyes looked alarmed.

  More than alarmed, she thought. He’s afraid. Shocked, even…

  “One second, please,” Avery said, still walking forward. “My name is Avery Bl—”

  Before she could get her name out, the man turned and ran. He was incredibly fast, sprinting forward and then off of the lip and up through the thin grove of trees. It was evident that he had been here several times and had become familiar with the landscape. He was over the guardrail before Avery could even pick up her speed. She slanted back toward the flat expanse of land where the guardrail sat, hoping to cut him off. She reached for her sidearm at the same time, not wanting to fire a warning shot but fully prepared to do so if she needed to.

  That’s when her right foot stepped on a patch of ice right at the edge of the concrete. She was going too fast by then to catch her balance. Her right foot went flying out in front of her, followed by the left one. She was airborne for a moment and before she even had time to worry about where she would fall, she felt the very brief resistance of ice under her back and then the world went frigid as she splashed into the ice cold water of the reservoir.

  It felt like knives at first—a million tiny knives slicing into her. Her breath seemed to freeze in her lungs but her muscles, on the other hand, were working overtime. She started swimming for the surface right away as the unimaginable chill of the water continued to stab at her.

  She grasped the edge of the concrete and hauled herself out. She could barely feel her hands and it was hard to breathe at first. She looked toward the place where she had last seen the man but he was gone. Through the sound of her chattering teeth, Avery forced herself to her feet. She tried running but could manage only a stumble at first. It only took a few steps before she was able to sprint and then to run. All the while she trembled and shivered, feeling more embarrassed than anything else. But good God, the cold was indescribable.

  As she started back through the grove of trees, she realized that she would likely not catch up to the figure. She heard a slight commotion up ahead in the woods somewhere but could not locate him. She tried her best to follow after the sound, which was made remarkably easy thanks to the cold ground and the freezing still morning. Actually, her own shivering noises and the clinking together of her teeth were the loudest noises.

  She trudged through the trees and up the slight hill, wondering if her head had taken a harder impact than she thought. She was swimmy-headed and fighting to draw in breath. She was so disoriented that she nearly ran into a tree. She stumbled and went to her knees. She got up right away and when she did, she could no longer hear the man moving through the forest.

  Damn, she thought. He’s back on the main road. I have to get to him before he reaches his car—assuming he brought a vehicle.

  She fought past the cold, making fists of her hands and trying to keep her legs constantly in motion. As her body regenerated some of its warmth, she reached for her sidearm. She had it drawn just as she came out of the grove of trees but was unable to hold it steady through the shivering. She was standing in the ditch along the side of the road and although she looked to both sides, the figure was nowhere to be found.

  She took a moment to weigh her options, fully aware of the importance of them. She could take a chance and continue pursuit on foot, not sure of which direction he had gone. Or she could go back to her car and drive up and down the road, hoping to see him.

  He has to have a car nearby. And if he reaches it while I’m on foot, there’s no way I’ll catch up to him.

  With this certainty in her head, she hurried back toward the car. She was finally able to draw in whole breaths and although the air itself was also cold, the shock of having fallen into the water seemed to be wearing off slowly. She ran back to the little cut-over spot where she had parked her car and cranked it to life right away. She fumbled with the heater controls, setting it to blast at full force.

  When she pulled out onto the road, she started back toward the direction she thought the man had been running. Again, she was torn: did she drive slow to make sure not to miss him or speed ahead in the hopes of catching him if he was already making his escape further down the road?

  After about a mile and a half further down the road, she again came to the end of the road where the small pump station sat. The two trucks she had seen there earlier remained but there was no third vehicle. She saw another small feeder road at the back end of this lot, mostly hidden by trees. Since she had not seen any other vehicles pass her by, she figured the man had to have escaped down this road.

  She sped ahead, kicking up frozen gravel. When she reached the road, she pulled out her phone, thankful that the A1 had sprung for the expensive waterproof cases. Getting a little more control over her fingers, she opened up her GPS. She had no idea where this road led and wanted to have some sort of idea; if the man she was after knew them at all, he was likely far ahead of her by now. Barreling down the road, she saw the map on her phone’s screen. A mile or so further ahead, there was a T-intersection. Either of those routes took her to more inters
ections, one of which would lead to a main thoroughfare that led back out toward Boston.

  She raced toward the first intersection, pushing the car to seventy on the unfamiliar road. She figured there was no way the man had more than thirty seconds on her. Even if he knew the roads well, she still stood a chance of catching up to him.

  She came to the T-intersection and took a moment to consider her next move. The GPS map showed that the right would lead her down a series of back roads that eventually dumped her out about three miles from the interstate. The left gave her a more direct route back toward Boston. And this killer seemed to have no locale of interest…so it was impossible to tell.

  Shit, she thought, deciding to turn right in the hopes that the guy had taken back roads trying to outwit her.

  She drove down the roads for the next fifteen minutes. She only passed two cars on the way, one of which was a state truck, probably headed to the pump station. The other was a small car being driven by an elderly woman who peered out over the steering wheel. By the time Avery started to see signs pointing her toward the interstate, she understood that she had lost him.

  She sat at the stop sign at the final intersection for several seconds, letting her frustration have its moment. She was going to have to call Connelly and fill him in. And while there was no guarantee that the man she had chased was their killer, the coat was the same and he had run when she’d tried approaching him.

  It was him, she thought. This was our guy.

  She slammed her hand down on the steering wheel in anger. A jolt of dull pain raced up her arm, reminding her of her fall on the concrete and the reservoir. She headed toward the interstate and held her phone limply in her hand, wondering how in the hell she was supposed to explain this to Connelly and O’Malley.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  She was on the interstate and heading back to the A1, listening to a heavy silence on the phone. She had just told Connelly about the incident on the iced-over reservoir. She remembered his humble sort of kindness earlier in the morning as he had dodged the mayor’s request to lay into her. She wondered if that was the Connelly she was talking to in that moment.