Cause to Hide

by Blake Pierce

  She pulled up the two files that had shown the most promise when she had been cross-referencing the material. The first one was an older woman who had worked in a crematorium between 1989 and 2006. She had not been fired but had quit because of health concerns. She had come back for a few years to work as a receptionist before retiring for good in 2012. There was a mark of arson on her record, but it came from 1986 when she had been arrested for possession of marijuana and opiates. The arson in question was speculated to be perhaps an accidental fire started in her friend’s backyard that had nearly burned the house down.

  The second file was much more interesting, though. It told the story of a man named Roosevelt Toms. He had been employed by Everett Brothers Crematorium between 2006 and 2012. He had been fired for what the file listed as “professional difference of opinion from that of the owners.” Avery looked back through the other pile and did not find his name to cross-reference. However, in his file within the crematorium employees, there was an additional sheet of information attached. It was a brief document that explained that Roosevelt had been arrested in 2001 under an intent-to-harm charge. Later that year, a girlfriend had called the police on him due to suicidal tendencies when he locked himself in the attic of their apartment.

  Near the end of the report, a small statement caught Avery’s attention and made her stand up from the desk.

  When he locked himself in the attic, Roosevelt carried two things with him: a lighter and a small can of gasoline from beneath the patio where the lawnmower was kept.

  Bingo, Avery thought.

  She gathered up the files and thumbed in the number for Everett Brothers Crematorium. She was out her door and headed down the hallways toward the parking garage before the phone had even started ringing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Avery could see right away that Charles Everett was uneasy with a detective stepping into his place of business. Avery didn’t quite understand this, as it was a beautiful building that didn’t have that morbid sort of feel that had saturated Wallace Funeral Home. She tried to remind herself that it was only 8:40 in the morning when she stepped into his office and that this was probably not the way he wanted to start his day.

  “Thanks for meeting with me on short notice,” Avery said.

  “It’s not a problem,” he said. “But I have to admit…I was hoping I’d go the rest of my life without hearing the name of Roosevelt Toms. Everyone around here always called him Rosie for short…something he hated and I found sort of off-putting. Because there was nothing rosy about him.”

  “Can you tell me a little bit about him?”

  “Well, my brother hired him and he’s been deceased for five years now, God rest his soul. But I originally saw some of the same things in Rosie that he did. He was a hard worker and seemed to genuinely care about the bodies that came through here. Also, if we were in a pinch and needed someone to work the floor during memorial services, he was great at consoling people. But if I’m being honest…there was always something about him that never sat right with me. He was one of those people that just sort of started to creep you out after you spent a lot of time with him.”

  “How so?” Avery asked.

  “I don’t know, exactly. He’d sometimes have this blank stare, like he was thinking really hard about something that he didn’t want you to know about. And there were times when I’d catch him just staring at the deceased…not in a sad way but…I don’t know. It was almost the same way a curious middle school kid would look at a toad just before they put it on the dissection tray. You know what I mean?”

  Or like a cat in Phillip Bailey’s basement, Avery thought. It was a little alarming how these sorts of people were starting to link themselves together in her head.

  “And why was he fired?” Avery asked. “The only explanation I have is professional difference of opinion from that of the owners.”

  “It was the strangest thing…whenever he got the chance, he’d actively try to talk our clients out of cremation. He told them burial was a more natural way to respect the bodies. He was very passionate about it.”

  That’s a new avenue to consider, she thought. Someone using fire as more than a weapon, but almost like a spiteful punishment—someone who doesn’t necessarily like fire.

  “Any idea why he started doing this?” Avery asked.

  “No idea. But it got annoying. He’d even start lecturing us about it. And one day it was just too much. We let him go.”

  “And did he get hostile about your decision to fire him?”

  “Not at all,” Charles said. “In fact, it was all rather civil. He even called and apologized several months later.”

  “But you said there was nothing rosy about him,” Avery said.

  “I did. Even in that phone call where he tried apologizing, he had this way of just getting under your skin. His voice was flat and monotone. And it seemed like an act—like he was hiding something from us and was taking a great deal of pleasure from it.”

  Maybe he wanted back in, Avery thought. Maybe something about fire drew him back…maybe he realized this sort of workplace could greatly benefit whatever skewed plans he was forming.

  “Mr. Everett, do you know where I might be able to find Roosevelt Toms? We have no current residence on file.”

  “The last address I have for him is the apartment he used to live in. But I know for a fact he moved out of that shortly before he was fired from here.”

  Avery thought about the information in the file. She thought about the man Charles Everett had just described to her, climbing into the attic with a lighter and gasoline. That scene, coupled with what she had just learned about him, made her think that she might finally be on the right trail.

  “What about next of kin or emergency contacts?” Avery asked.

  “Yes, I can get those for you but keep in mind, they’re going to be at least four years old.”

  “That will be fine for a start. Thanks, Mr. Everett.”

  “Of course,” he said as he started tapping at keys on his laptop. He worked quickly, giving Avery casual glances as he worked. It took him less than thirty seconds to get the information he needed. When it was on his screen, he printed a copy out on an old printer that hummed on a shelf behind the desk. He grabbed the single sheet of paper and handed it to Avery.

  “Here you go,” he said. “I hope it helps.” He paused for a moment with a thoughtful look on his face and asked:“Can I ask you something, Detective?”

  “Of course.”

  “I saw something on the news last night…a story about a killer that seemed to be burning his victims, some to the point of near cremation. Is Rosie being eyed in this?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t discuss case details with you,” Avery said.

  “Ah, I understand,” Charles said. But there was an understanding in his eyes, letting her know that the template answer she had given had, in fact, answered his question. “Best of luck to you on the case.”

  “Thanks.”

  She excused herself from the office, holding the paper tightly. As she exited Everett Brothers Crematorium, she didn’t realize how suffocated she had felt until she was back out in the fresh air. Even though the place had been airy, clean, and mostly cheerful, Avery hoped she would never have to step foot into another funeral home or crematorium until it was her own body lying on the slab.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  The address Avery had been given was for a woman named Debbie Toms, listed as mother on the emergency contacts form Charles Everett had given her. The house was in a middle-class part of town. The front was surrounded with modest flower beds, and a small birdbath sat in the side yard.

  Avery knocked on the door for five minutes and got no answer. She had no solid ages to do math with but figured there was a good chance that Debbie had not yet retired and was working a job. She made the call to A1 for assistance and was asked to hold while the receptionist transferred the call.

  She was beyond surprised when Rami
rez answered the page. When she heard his voice, she froze for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

  “Hey,” she finally said.

  “Hey yourself,” he said. “What do you need?”

  He was quick and to the point. It was quite clear that he had no interest in speaking to her beyond the formalities of the job.

  “I need some information on a woman named Debbie Toms, particularly her current place of employment.”

  “Is this for the firebug case?”

  She sighed, not wanting to get into it with him. She reminded herself that as far as Ramirez, O’Malley, and Connelly were concerned, Phillip Bailey was the guilty party and they currently had him in custody.

  “Can you just get someone on that for me, please?” Avery asked.

  “Will do. I’ll get someone to call you with it as soon as possible.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but the line was dead before the word was out of her mouth.

  Well, if I hadn’t pissed him off enough before to scare him away, I sure as hell did a great job of it last night.

  She went back to her car and looked over the material on Roosevelt “Rosie” Toms again. She knew there was nothing of real use there, but she wanted to drill the information into her head.

  As she read over it, her phone rang. Again, she was surprised to hear Ramirez on the other end. She’d been sure he would have tasked someone else with the menial job of finding someone’s current employer.

  “I’ve got that information for you,” Ramirez said without any sort of greeting. “Debbie Toms works as a packager for a Dollar General distribution center. Looks like a shift-work sort of deal.”

  “Can you shoot me the address?”

  “Yeah. And look…the reason I called you back…I’m going to ask O’Malley to assign me to something else today. Agent Duggan is out of the picture now because he’s convinced Bailey is the guilty party, too. So I’m solo again. I’m not going to tell O’Malley what you’re off doing right now because it might piss him off. There’s a possible kidnapping that was reported this morning. I might see if I can get some action on that.”

  “A kidnapping?” Avery asked.

  “Well, not a kid. Some woman went missing. Sophia Lesbrook. It’s an interesting one because her husband died a few months ago. There’s some speculation that his death might be connected to her being taken.”

  “Well, good luck on it. Let me know if you need any h—”

  “What?” he asked.

  It’s a long shot, Avery thought even before she replied. Still, it was worth checking out. “Do we know how her husband died?”

  “Car accident. He hung on in the hospital for a few hours but it was a lost cause from the start from what I hear. Why?”

  “Where was he buried?” she asked.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Can you just answer it?”

  “Hold on,” he said bitterly. “Hold on. I’ve got the files right here. Um…well, he wasn’t buried. He was cremated and…oh, Avery. That’s a stretch. That’s more than a stretch. That’s more like a bend.”

  “Can you do some digging for me?” she asked.

  He sighed but it might as well have been a yes. “What kind of digging?”

  “Look into Keisha Lawrence and Sarah Osborne. See if they had any loved ones pass away over the last year or so. And if there were deaths, see if they were buried or cremated.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked. But even in that question, she knew she had him hooked. She could hear the edge of excitement in his voice.

  “Yes, I am. Can you do that for me?”

  Again, another heavy sigh came from his end. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I get the results.”

  “Thanks, Ramirez.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The line went dead and Avery supposed that an uh-huh was much better than a cold disconnection like the last time. Within a few seconds, as promised, he texted her the address to the distribution center Debbie Toms worked at. It was almost like he was right there by her side, helping her out again.

  With things slowly starting to fall into place like a morbid puzzle in her head, Avery plugged the address into her GPS. Finally, she felt like she was getting somewhere. She was so certain that it took everything within her not to cut the flashers and sirens on to race across town to find out if her hunches would pay off.

  ***

  The distribution center was an enormous maze of a place. Without the receptionist to lead her through the stacks and stacks of merchandise being shipped out, Avery would have never been able to find Debbie Toms. As it happened, Debbie was working along one of the conveyor belts that sent the merchandise to several other belts to then be sorted into the delivery trucks. The receptionist had a word with the shift supervisor and the supervisor then led Avery to a woman at the far end of the belt.

  Debbie Tom was a small woman who probably looked older than she really was. There was a slight slump to her posture and her face looked as if the muscles around her mouth had been frozen into a permanent scowl.

  The supervisor gestured toward Debbie as if to say she’s all yours now and then went back to his station. Avery approached her, almost feeling sad for the woman. Avery guessed her to be about sixty to sixty-five—and this was the type of job a woman of that age took mainly because there was very little retirement money waiting for her.

  “My name is Detective Avery Black,” Avery said. “I need to speak with you for a moment. Your supervisor has offered his office.”

  Debbie Toms said nothing at first. She just looked down to where her supervisor was still walking to the other end of the belt and rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she said finally. “But can I ask what this is about?”

  “I’m with the Homicide Division, Boston PD. We’re neck-deep in a case that has raised the name of your son.”

  Again, Debbie gave a roll of the eyes. “Fuckin’ Roosevelt,” she said. “Come on, let’s get to it, then.”

  They were in the small and rather smelly office of the shift supervisor three minutes later. Neither of them sat, although Debbie’s back seemed to scream for some sort of a break.

  “You didn’t seem surprised that I mentioned your son,” Avery said.

  “Not really,” Debbie said. “He’s never been in any real trouble that I know of. But he’s the kind that’s like a bomb. You know, one day he’s just going to go off. I’ve felt that about him since he was sixteen and got into his first fight at school. Of course, I haven’t spoken to him in nearly five years, so what the hell do I know?”

  “Did he ever do any jail time that you know of?”

  “He spent two nights in jail when he was twenty-five or so for drunk and disorderly behavior. And there was one time when the cops were looking into him for some arson-related crimes. But no…nothing serious.”

  Arson, she thought. It keeps popping up. Maybe there’s a reason I can’t seem to get away from it as a lead.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why has it been so long since you spoke?”

  “He got involved with some girl that broke his heart,” Debbie said. “Most boys come back home after that, you know? But Roosevelt was the opposite. He did some traveling…mostly within the States. When he came back around here and settled down, he wanted nothing to do with me. And as a mother, I hate to say this…but I didn’t really care. He had changed somehow. He was darker if that makes sense.”

  “We’ve got some things on record about him being possibly involved with arson, like you mentioned. Do you recall him having any sort of obsession with fire when he was younger?”

  “Not that I can recall. He used to burn things in the backyard. G.I. Joes, He-Man figures, little Matchbox cars, things like that. But I figured it was normal for a boy of his age.”

  That might be the first steps toward burning animals in coolers, Avery thought. And maybe even human bodies in some sort of hidden firebox.

  “Do you happen to know where he’s living now?” Av
ery asked.

  “No clue. I know he had a job around here for a while at some crematorium. He was living in a rundown apartment back then. But I haven’t heard from him since then. I ran into an old friend of his a few months back that said they were pretty sure he was living in Texas somewhere.”

  “I see,” Avery said, slowly starting to feel this lead crumble away. She was just about to ask another question, anything that might link Roosevelt Toms back to the Boston area, when her phone rang. She glanced at the display and saw that it was Ramirez. “Sorry,” she said to Debbie. “I need to take this. It’ll just take a second.”

  Debbie nodded slowly, as if she couldn’t care less. Avery stepped out of the office and put her finger into her ear to filter the noise of the machinery in the factory.

  “I’m glad you called,” Avery said in lieu of hello. “I need you to do every kind of search you can on a Roosevelt Toms. There’s a good chance he’s living in Texas and has a spotty record.”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” Ramirez said. “But while I’m doing that, let me give you some news to soak in.”

  His tone was rather excited. Either he was managing to put the remarks of the previous night behind him or he had come across something that had changed his attitude.

  “What did you find?” Avery asked.

  “For starters, the identity of the third victim. Her name was Mary Sawyer, forty-one years of age.”

  “Any family to notify?”

  “That’s where it gets good,” Ramirez said. “Damn it, Avery…you were right. We went back and looked deep into the other victims. Keisha Lawrence lost her mother about five months ago to breast cancer. They were a small family and Keisha had been put in charge of final arrangements. Her mother was cremated and her ashes were spread somewhere on a beach in North Carolina.