“I’m afraid not. He’s a work, that’s for sure. But it’s looking like he’s not the one we’re looking for. Pretty sure you know this already, but it turns out he had ties to Carolyn Rodgers simply because he did some work for the historical society last spring. Also, he had an alibi for last night that checks out. Sorry, Avery.”
“It’s okay.”
“How’s Ramirez doing?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. The doctor seemed a little more hopeful when they moved him into ICU but they aren’t saying he’s in the clear just yet.”
“And how are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Rose is here with me.”
“Good,” he said. “Again, you just let us know if there’s anything we can do for you, okay?”
“I will, Finley. Thanks.”
With the call over, Avery pulled out the engagement ring. She snapped open the box and looked at it. If she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure what she would have said if he had asked her to marry him. She loved him…she was certain of that, even though neither one of them had said those words to the other yet. And she was beyond excited to have him living with her. But marriage…well, that was a different story altogether.
Then again, looking at him in that hospital bed and knowing he was there because he had, in a very real way, taken a bullet for her…well, that did something to her heart that she could not explain.
She held the ring in her hand for several minutes, looking back and forth from the diamond to Ramirez. When she heard the door opening behind her, Avery shoved the ring back into her pocket. That was a conversation she wasn’t ready to have with Rose…not for a very long time. Hell, she wasn’t sure she was even ready to have it with Ramirez. That was, of course, assuming she’d ever have the chance to have the conversation with him.
Rose handed her a Styrofoam container and a can of Coke. “Slim pickings down at the cafeteria,” Rose said. “And I had to guess at what you’d like anyway.”
Avery opened the container and was delighted to find a cheeseburger. It tasted like most hospital food tended to but she wolfed down half of it quickly. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and that had been just a very quick snack in the break room at the A1.
“Are you done with classes today?” Avery asked, doing what she could to keep her mind off of the reality in the bed in front of her.
“I’ve got one at six this afternoon,” Rose said. “One of those lame courses I have to take. Business Communications. I think I’d rather be here—”
“No. Go to your class. There’s really not much you can do, sweetie. I appreciate the company while you’re here, though.”
Rose pulled the second chair in the room—on the other side of Ramirez’s bed—over beside Avery. They sat in silence as Avery finished her burger and sipped down the Coke. She appreciated the silence and was somehow sure that Rose knew this, too. And God bless her, she didn’t just sit there and zone out in front of her phone. No…she was simply there.
And when Avery reached out and took her hand, Rose let her. More than that, she gave a reassuring squeeze.
***
When Rose left at 5:15 to make her 6:00 class, there was no change in Ramirez’s status. Dr. Chambers had come by twice—once to let Avery know that he was leaving for the day but was leaving Ramirez in fully capable hands—and looked him over. Each time, he remained cautiously optimistic but would still not give any indication of an out-of-the-woods diagnosis.
As soon as Rose had left, Avery called Finley up again. When he did not answer, she tried O’Malley. He answered right away and sounded quite tired. Avery could sympathize.
“Any news on Ramirez?” O’Malley asked.
“The same. Recovering from surgery. Not out of the woods yet.”
“Well, look…I appreciate your wanting to stay abreast on this case but we can handle it. If it’s too much for you right now, we get it.”
“No, I think I’d like to come back in on it. Could you maybe just give me until the morning?”
A silence passed over the line, a silence that she knew was filled with O’Malley thinking: That gives this sadistic killer one more night to do his work.
“Sure thing,” O’Malley said. The tone in his voice was sorrowful but not cruel; still, Avery could hear the disappointment. If he had his way, she’d be back at the A1 right now, poring over every detail in each case file or out on the street chasing down their next lead.
“Thanks, O’Malley.”
“Of course. I’ll be praying that Ramirez pulls through. We all will.”
With that, he ended the call. Avery slipped her phone into her jacket pocket, her fingers once again brushing the little box with the ring. She wanted to feel elated at the thought but instead felt…nothing. She was numb. The day had been too damned long and thrown too much at her. Slipping on the ice while chasing a man she assumed to be the killer seemed like it had happened a week ago.
She thought of that tall figure in the parka, the head drawn up and his head mostly covered. It was the last image in her head as she drifted off again, her exhausted body desperate for more than the scant four hours of rest it had received in the past thirty-six hours.
She saw the man again, standing by the edge of the frozen reservoir. But now he was not wearing the black parka. It was a cloak now, the end of which was fluttering in the frigid breeze. He turned and saw her and this time, he did not run. Instead, he came walking toward her—only walking wasn’t exactly what he was doing. He seemed to be floating, coming along the concrete lip of the reservoir.
His face was fully revealed now. It was demonic, stretched into a smile that seemed far too wide for a human face.
“Why so cold, Avery?” he said. “Why are you always so cold?”
He chuckled and when the sound left his throat, the ice cracked beneath him. Avery tried to run but found that she couldn’t. When she looked down, she saw that she was no longer standing on the concrete walkway, but on the ice. In fact, her feet were encased in it all the way up the ankles. She tried to scream but couldn’t; like everything else, her voice was frozen.
As she was looking down to her feet, she saw a murky face underneath the glass. It was the face of the first victim, Patty Dearborne. She was screaming under there, beating at the ice, trying to break it to free herself. But the ice did not break, although Avery could feel it vibrating from Patty’s weak fists.
“Sorry,” Avery said, her voice literally freezing in the air and becoming frost.
One more punch from Patty cracked the ice. Cold water came gushing up along with Patty’s arm. Instead of crawling out of the ice, though, she grabbed Avery’s leg and pulled her down. The ice was like knives and the water beneath it somehow even worse than that.
Avery screamed. She flailed for help and the only thing her hands found to pull her out was a black cloak. She looked up as her body was slowly submerged in the water and saw that demonic face.
Avery let out a final scream and did not stop screaming until ice cold water ran into her mouth, choking her.
Avery sat up with a gasp, feeling as if she was really choking for a moment. She nearly fell out of the chair and it was that sense of falling that really snapped her out of it. A dream, she thought. No, that was no dream. That was a nightmare.
She got to her feet, surprised that she had managed to fall asleep yet again. This time when she checked her watch, she did a little double-take. It was 10:11. She had dozed in the chair for more than four hours. Her back was screaming agonies at her, but she felt surprisingly refreshed.
She went to the side of the bed and carefully sat down. The machines continued to hum by the bedside and Ramirez continued to be unaware of what was happening. She placed her hand in his and looked at his face. Had it not been for the tubes in his nose, she could have easily imagined that he was only sleeping. She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth.
She knew that Rustin George had been cleared of the murders, but all the sam
e, she felt that it was the killer that was still on the loose that was partly responsible for what had happened to Ramirez. She’d love nothing more than for him to wake up in this hospital bed and find out that she had captured that maniac that they had been after while he’d been shot. She didn’t care if it was some sort of skewed justice; she felt that she needed to find this asshole now more than ever.
But she was stuck—just as stuck as she had been in the dream when the ice had her feet. With Rusting George cleared, there were again no leads. She supposed she could continue down the misunderstood artist route to hopefully find a few more, but she felt that they’d all be thin. She felt like she was missing something, some minute detail that might open up whole new avenues in this case.
Her mind took a dark turn as she came to this realization. There was a place she usually went when she felt stuck. It was a place that challenged her, a place that harbored a man that, whether she wanted to admit it or not, had remained some strange sort of constant in her life these last few years.
She gave Ramirez’s hand a squeeze and made the decision.
Tomorrow morning, she’d go visit Howard Randall.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
After catching another few hours of uncomfortable sleep and the drone of late night television in the hospital, Avery gave Ramirez one more kiss, left a request at the nurses’ station to contact her the moment there were any updates with her partner, and called a cab. She asked the driver to take her to her apartment where she showered, brushed her teeth, and changed clothes. The shower rejuvenated her and when she got behind the wheel of her car at 7:40 a.m., she started to get the usual jitters she experienced whenever she knew she was about to see Howard.
She arrived at the prison at 8:10 and had to bicker with the guards to let her see Howard so early. In the end they allowed it, bending to the name and reputation she had garnered during her visits over the last two years. They led her to the same basic room she’d been in numerous times before and when she sat down, she realized just how familiar it was to her.
I’m relying on him too much, she thought. This has really got to stop—especially when I become sergeant.
She reached into her pocket and grasped the ring box. She hoped Ramirez would forgive her for making this visit. He hated the fact that she sometimes came to Randall to get a better insight into the mind and motives of a killer. She understood it. It had to be psychologically unhealthy to keep coming back to him after the sordid past they had.
Desperate times and all that, Avery thought.
A few minutes later, the same door she had come in through opened up. Two guards escorted Howard through the door and to the opposite side of the table. Howard smiled at her, genuinely happy to see her.
“You good?” one of the guards asked her.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she said. “Thanks.”
They left her to Howard, leaving the room and locking the door. She knew they were standing guard outside, though.
“So good to see you,” Howard said. “And so early in the morning! I assume you’re here for a favor…seeing as how that’s the only reason you seem to come by. I’m starting to think the Boston Police Department should owe me a stipend or something by this point.”
“You have to believe me when I say that you are always a last resort,” she said, her voice low and somber. God, he was good at making her feel low.
“I assume this is about the women that were discovered in the ice,” Howard said. “The media is all over that one. And that poor woman that was made out to be a statue…”
When he trailed off, he let out a little laugh. It made her want to reach across the table and punch him in the face.
“My partner was shot yesterday,” she said. “He was nearly killed. So if you don’t mind, can you not be as sadistic as usual?”
He cut her an annoyed glance but it only lingered on his face for a few seconds. “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “I heard about it on the news, of course. It was while in pursuit of this ice-killer, yes?”
“Yes. We were looking into an ice sculptor with a history of violence. Out of nowhere, he pulled a gun…not what we were expecting, obviously.”
“Ah, but that’s a mistake,” he said. “However, before you churn my brilliant mind for some tidbit or other that I’m certain you hope will open up all sorts of possibilities, tell me about this partner.”
“I don’t think so,” she spat.
“And why not? You come to me hoping for insights to capture your killer…and all I’m asking for is polite conversation. There’s lots of talk in the place, but no stimulating conversation. So indulge me or get back to your clueless coworkers.”
She nearly got up and walked away. To hell with him, she thought, gripping the edges of the table. But she remained seated, figuring she should make the best of the situation since she had already come out here and gone through the trouble.
“He’s a good detective. He had good instincts and he’s very good with hunting down information.”
“And how are his people skills?”
“Basic,” she said. “He’s not the kind you’d send to talk to a grieving family, but he’s also very relatable.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
She wanted to slap him. Yet, she also knew that the shock showing in her face had given him the answer. “Go to hell,” she said.
“I ask only because you seemed very protective when I asked you to tell me about him. I just don’t want human urges to interfere with your career, Detective Black.”
“That’s officially all you’re getting out of me today,” she said.
“Fair enough,” Randall said. He looked across the room, thinking hard about something. Finally, he went on. “Now, I do think you are likely looking for a rejected artist of some kind. But I doubt it would be an artist that has ever taken a class or really even thinks of himself as an artist.”
“How do you mean?” Avery asked, hating how easy it was to follow along with him.
“Well, think of Hitler. He was a rejected artist, you know? Some say Manson was, too. He was something of a songwriter from what I hear. So I don’t mean that this guy is an artist in the literal sense of the word. There are all sorts of artists out there—all sorts of people who consider themselves artists and their work as some sort of art. And I think this guy placing Carolyn Rodgers in a sculpture garden points to that. It’s not so much about the creation of it as having someone see it…I think that’s true of all artists. But when you get into the mindset of someone who deals in death and thinks of it as some sort of art, you have to break it down to an almost metaphysical level.”
Howard Randall, talking about metaphysics, she thought. Could there be anything anymore absurd?
“Spiritual?” she said skeptically.
“Sort of,” Howard said with a shrug.
“Well, you’ve read the letters, I’m sure,” she said. “They’re all over the news. Nothing in those speaks of someone with a spiritual drive to kill.”
“Sure they do,” he said. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss someone as crazy.”
“You’re saying this guy is of a sound mind?”
Randall laughed heartily at this. “My dear, since the first man created the first weapon out of a bone or stick, no man has ever been of a sound mind. Not on this stinking planet. Tell me…was there anything of particular interest in those notes? Any alarms raised?”
“That they were almost like poems in the way they were arranged.”
He smiled and nodded. “Excellent observation. That’s correct. It’s one of the first things I noticed as well. And if he takes such an approach with rubbing the police’s nose in their ineptitude, then—”
“Then maybe every other part of his rituals is also poetic,” Avery interrupted.
“That would be my guess,” Howard said. “I think you are dealing with someone that is not killing for the sport of it or, quite frankly, even the art of it—though I think if you interro
gated him, he’d claim art had something to do with it. No…there’s something deeper there. The letters point to it, as does his use of ice and the cold. He’s almost preserving them.”
“He’s focused on their beauty, but not in a sexual way.”
Howard laughed again, louder this time. Avery cringed a bit. She was really growing to hate that sound. “See…you already have it all figured out. Although I’d throw in my sound mind argument here. I’d wager that just about any man with a violent streak also has some sort of sexual issue buried down deep.”
“Perhaps,” Avery considered.
“I’m not sure why you come here. Maybe it’s not for help. You can do all of this on your own. I think maybe from time to time, you just start to miss me.”
“Not quite,” Avery said, getting to her feet. “You know, it’s nice to see you’re in a better mood these days. The last time we spoke, you were sort of a dick.”
“Oh, I know. But things have changed since then. I’m involved in a little chess club we have going. There’s a new guard on the block, too. He’s a bookworm. We talk a lot.”
“Good to see you’re making new friends,” Avery said. “On that note, I’ll be going now.”
“Glad I could help,” Howard said with deep sarcasm. “Oh…and one last thing about your killer.”
“What’s that?”
“I think you’re overlooking something that could be vital to a profile.”
“Such as?”
He rolled his eyes playfully, as if annoyed but not really.
“Why winter? Why ice? For a man capable of these sorts of acts, I can guarantee you it’s more than just some intangible symbolism with the cold.”
“Care to elaborate?” Avery asked.
“No,” he said with a snicker. “I can’t do all of your work for you. What would be the fun of that?”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
He toyed with the idea of sending another letter. He had almost left one on the body he’d left in the sculpture garden but felt that it might flaw the presentation. He sat at his kitchen table, wondering what he might put in another letter. He grinned when he thought of it.
Cause to Fear Page 15
