Cause to Hide

by Blake Pierce

  “Then there’s Sarah Osborne. She’s a real strange one. She was too young to have to make the decision to cremate someone. But when her golden retriever died earlier this year, she cremated it. According to what we know, Fido’s ashes are still in a little urn somewhere in a stack of boxes that was taken from her apartment after she died.”

  “My God,” Avery said. “And how about this new woman, Mary Sawyer?”

  “A brother…died of heart failure at fifty-two years of age. He was cremated nine weeks ago.”

  “And the missing woman you were talking about, Sophia Lesbrook,” Avery said. “Her husband was cremated.”

  “Yeah, we’re working on the assumption that it can’t be a coincidence. We’re assembling a team to comb her house right now.”

  “Sounds good. In the meantime, please see what you can do to pull some information on Roosevelt Toms—maybe under the nickname of Rosie. If he’s in Texas, he’s an eliminated lead. But if there’s any doubt of his location, I think he might be our guy.”

  “And if Mary Sawyer is indeed the next victim,” Ramirez said, “that shows that Phillip Bailey is innocent because he’s been in our custody for the last twelve hours.”

  “And most importantly,” Avery said, “it proves that the killer is still out there.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Sophia Lesbrook came to slowly. It was almost like waking up from a very bad dream, only there was pain to go along with the fear. It was a pain that started along the right side of her jaw and seem to trace its way halfway down her back. She tasted blood in her mouth and something about the inside of her mouth felt weird. She lolled her head to the right very slowly and realized the lower half of the right side of her face was badly swollen.

  That’s when she remembered the fleeting image of the man in her bedroom. She had no idea where he had come from and by the time she’d been aware that he was in bed with her and straddling her, it had been too late.

  She opened her eyes quickly, an action that seemed to cause the pain in her face and back to intensify.

  She was in a room that looked sort of like a basement. She was lying on a cold concrete floor. There was light in the room but it was faint. She saw through her hazy vision that it was coming from a small lamp that sat on a table across the room. A man was sitting at the table, his back to her. He seemed to be concentrating hard on something but she could not see what it was.

  She wanted to scream but fought the urge. She did her best to take a quick inventory of her body. Her face hurt like hell and with each second she regained her consciousness, she started to realize that the pain that spiraled down her back seemed to also radiate at the base along the back of her neck.

  The taste of blood in her mouth was thick but she didn’t think there was any actively coming out of her mouth. Looking back to the image of the man in her bed, she instantly wondered if she had been raped but she didn’t seem to be harmed in that way. Sure, he could have done a lot of things that would leave no pain or traces of foul play but for now, the fair certainty that she had not been raped was good enough for her.

  Then what does he want?

  It was a good question. And it was not one she could get an answer to at the moment. His back was still to her and she could still not tell what he was looking at. What she was aware of, though, was that he had started muttering to himself. It was a high-pitched and urgent sort of voice that made her wonder if he might be mentally challenged.

  She then eyed the room she was in. Her head was resting in the far corner, giving her a decent view of the room. A few feet away from her head there was a rather large door. There was a strange-looking lock on the outside of it and the U-shaped handle reminded her of the walk-in freezer at the butcher shop her grandfather had once owned.

  On the other end of the room, there was a standard door. It was closed most of the way but not completely. In the murkiness on the other side, she could see the beginning of a set of wooden stairs.

  The idea of running for her life crossed her mind. His back was to her and he was preoccupied. As if to prove this farther, he continued muttering to himself. This time, she caught a few of the words.

  “…too damn hard…and now you killed the bitch…still burn but so what…?”

  He thinks I’m dead, Sophia thought. I really could get the jump on him. If I move my ass right now, I could make it to those stairs before he got out of his chair.

  But she also knew that beyond those stairs, she’d be unfamiliar with the building above them. All it would take was one wrong turn and he’d have her. And then maybe he would kill her…and on purpose this time.

  Best to play dead for now, Sophia thought. I’ll play dead until I get a better idea of what he’s up to…or when I know I can get a good head start on him.

  Suddenly, he was turning in his chair. He turned toward her and she closed her eyes. She opened them the tiniest bit, into something thinner than slits. She could barely see him or the object he was holding in his hand. She was pretty sure it was something almost like a large can, something that had a dull shine to it in the lamplight from the desk.

  He was looking at her, perhaps studying her. Hadn’t he said something about burning? Was he sizing her up for something?

  She didn’t know. She concentrated on taking extremely shallow breaths, ready to hold in completely if he came over to her for a closer evaluation.

  But he did not do that. He turned back around and placed the object he had been holding on the side of the desk. He started to study something else, setting something out on the desk with loving care. As she watched him, he pulled small box from under the desk. He piled more of it onto the desk. It was odd…but Sophia was pretty sure it was foam or some sort of insulation carpenters used before putting up drywall or sheetrock. She also saw a small container on the edge of the desk. It was yellow with a red top.

  Is that lighter fluid?

  The insulation and the lighter fluid were weird, sure…but when she was able to finally see the object he had placed on the desk, her heart sank and she felt the need to scream again.

  It was an urn.

  And she was pretty sure the man had not been talking to himself the entire time. Sophia was pretty sure he had been talking to the urn.

  Oh my God, he’s insane.

  She started to tremble and even felt a scream rising up in her throat. If she let out as much as a tiny moan, he’d know she was alive and then…well, she didn’t know what would happen.

  So she closed her eyes and played dead, the darkness behind her eyes much more favorable than his weird actions. But as hard as she tried, she could not help herself; she had to open her eyes a bit to see what was going on.

  Time and time again, her eyes were drawn back to that golden urn sitting on the edge of the desk. Having heard the man speak of burning while holding an urn was bad enough. But having an almost supernatural certainty of what was inside the urn was what truly made Sarah’s heart thunder and her mind tremble with the certainty that she would not be pretending to be dead much longer.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  When Avery arrived back at the A1, the conference room and just about every office in Homicide was alive with a flurry of activity. People who had looked confident and almost bored the day before were now bouncing from the walls with excitement and energy. The moment Connelly spotted her hurrying toward her own office, he cut her off in the hallway.

  “See,” he said with a smirk. “It’s things like this that make you both very frustrating to work with and a prime candidate for a sergeant position. There’s so much excitement around here that O’Malley isn’t even all that mad at you for going against his orders again.”

  “So where are we?” she asked.

  “I’m not so sure myself. We keep getting reports coming in on both avenues—the victims having cremated loved ones in the recent past as well as possible locations for a Roosevelt Toms. We’ve even got a few FBI analysts helping remotely. Duggan is also back i
n the A1. The FBI really is being generous with this one…handing us resources without trying to take it away from us…yet.”

  They walked as they talked, making it to the conference room where they both knew O’Malley would be doing his best to rein things in. When they entered, she saw that O’Malley was scribbling something on the room’s whiteboard. One of the data guys was tapping something into a laptop while Finley was busy trying to connect a Skype call through his laptop and onto the projector screen on the wall opposite the white board. She also spotted Ramirez as she found a seat at the table. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment and nothing more.

  Avery caught bits and pieces of conversations here and there and they all seemed to wrap up with the same point: there were still no definitive answers. The one thing she did hear that was on the positive side of things was that Phillip Bailey had been released to a psychiatric doctor and he was no longer being considered a suspect.

  When the room was crammed with about fifteen people, O’Malley cleared his throat and yelled for order. He then looked to Officer Finley and asked: “We good?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re up.”

  With that, Finley projected a Skype window onto the screen on the far wall. A man Avery had never seen was on the screen, looking just as excited as everyone in the room with her.

  “You’re on, Agent Lewis,” Finley said.

  “Okay,” Lewis said. “I’m Agent Don Lewis with the FBI out of the Boston office. I’m leading up the data and analysis team, trying to find Roosevelt Toms. We’ve got five other agents on this and so far, after about two hours, we have nothing. We have a ton of dead ends, but there is no definitive address to be found on record. It’s almost like the man disappeared.”

  “And how is that possible?” O’Malley asked from the head of the conference table.

  “Well, he could be dead, for one. I know that leads your team to a dead end but it’s an avenue we have to consider. There’s also the chance that he’s now living under an alias. Given his past record, I think that might be a safe bet. And if that’s the case we can still track him down, but it would be tricky as hell. We do have one picture of him—it’s about five years old, but should do the trick.”

  Lewis flashed a color printout of what looked like a candid Facebook profile picture to the conference room. Avery stared at it, committing the face to memory. “From what we can tell, this was a picture provided years ago, taken candidly by someone he once worked with when he was being investigated.”

  “Rest assured,” O’Malley said, “we’ve got a team of officers and detectives on this thing here, too. Anything you need from us, just let us know.”

  “We will,” Lewis said. “The bureau is taking this case very seriously. If there’s no arrest made within the next few hours I’d fully expect at least one more agent to show on the scene down there. I assume Agent Duggan has been of some value?”

  “Some,” O’Malley said, and left it at that.

  “Yes…well…just let us know what we can do to help.”

  “Sounds good,” O’Malley said. Avery smirked because she knew the last thing O’Malley would want was another FBI agent in the midst of things. “Thanks, Agent Lewis.”

  With that, Finley ended the call and all eyes were back on O’Malley. “Well, you heard the man,” O’Malley said. “We’re basically looking for a ghost when it comes to Roosevelt Toms. Beyond that, we can now confirm that the three cremations we were looking into from the victims’ families were not done at the same crematorium, knocking out that possible link and motive.”

  “What about landlords or renters?” Avery asked.

  “We’ve got details on two and they all give us an address in Texas that leads to a dead end,” O’Malley said. “If Roosevelt Toms is out there, he covered his tracks well. I hate to say it, but at this point it a snipe hunt. We have to beat the streets, make calls that are going to probably come up with dead ends, and hope to get lucky. Black, do you have anything to add?”

  She was aware that all eyes were on her. It was a feeling she did not mind at all but could not seem to get used to. There was respect in most of the faces that looked at her and maybe even a little bit of anxiousness and anticipation. It made her feel like the case hinged on what she chose to do next—and that was fine with her.

  I guess it’s my show now, she thought. Maybe this is like some messed up test from O’Malley to see if he’s right about wanting me for a sergeant position.

  “It might be a good idea to send some cars by the previous sites where the remains were found,” Avery said. “If he’s using fire as some symbolic device and has an arsonist’s mentality, there’s a good chance he might revisit the scene for some sick sort of motivation or nostalgia.”

  “I’ll get two cars out on that right now,” he said. “Anyone else?”

  Silence around the table was the only answer. O’Malley waited less than two seconds before giving a thunderous clap of his hands. “That’s it, then. Every single one of you will be notified when something new comes to us. For now, get out there and hunt this bastard down.”

  Everyone filed out of the room quickly, like they were in a fire drill. Avery noticed that Ramirez was hanging back, slowly making his way over to her. He did so confidently and she admired him for that. It seemed that he was remaining professional and trying to forget how she had treated him in terms of their romantic relationship. It had to take some serious fortitude on his part.

  He came over to her and stood close. He held eye contact with her and she felt something tug at her heart. I trust this man, she thought. I trust this man with my life and I’m pretty damn lucky that he wants anything to do with me outside of work.

  “Where do you need me on this?” he asked.

  She wondered if this was his way of asking her if she needed him to be by her side. She nearly said exactly that but then put the job before her heart—the same thing that had caused her to lash out at him on two occasions in the last two days. But in this regard, she was pretty sure he appreciated it.

  “Honestly, I don’t even know. It’s all research right now and I hate to waste your talents on that.”

  “Look. Put me where you need me. I’m fine with it.”

  “I wonder if we need to dig deeper into these three cremations. Maybe there’s something else about the families that links them—not only to one another but to the killer.”

  “So you want me to talk to extended family members.”

  “I think it might be a good idea. It might even—”

  “Detective Black?” someone said from behind her.

  She turned and saw Agent Duggan coming quickly into the room through the last of the officers to file out. He was holding his phone in his hand and pointing it toward her.

  “Agent Duggan,” she said. “What is it?”

  “I got this e-mail two minutes ago,” he said. “It’s a thin lead, but it’s a lead. I had someone try to get in touch with the girlfriend that was living with Toms when he threatened suicide. That led to a dead end but it also led to the name and location of the man that lived with him as a roommate for six months. That roommate, by the way…arrested in 2009 on minor arson charges.”

  “Is he still local?” Avery asked.

  “According to his electric and internet bills. But the weird thing is that he has some missing spaces in his history, too.”

  “That’s fine; it’s still a great lead. Can you shoot me over his information?”

  “I can, but I thought it might be best if I just rode over with you.”

  Shit, she thought. But she managed an excuse fast, hoping he’d bite. She didn’t have much experience with FBI agents but from what she had heard, they tended to get large egos when they were asked to work with those in the lower ranks.

  “If it was more than just a six-month roommate, I’d agree,” she said. “But I think I’m good with this. I’d rather you stay here just in case something hard-hitting comes in. It’s your call, though.”


  Duggan considered this for a moment and then nodded. “Good call. I’ll stay here. But I’d appreciate it if you call me if this turns into anything.”

  “Absolutely,” Avery said, having no intention of doing any such thing.

  “Good luck out there,” Duggan said, looking back down to his phone. “I’m sending you the information right now.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He gave a nod and a wave before turning to leave the room. When he was gone, Ramirez smiled at her and shook his head. “You don’t want some hotshot FBI agent riding around with you?” he asked.

  “God no,” she said.

  “How about an overreaching partner-slash-lover?”

  She was embarrassed that she felt herself trying not to blush. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I actually think it’s a good idea if you speak to the extended family. I’m not expecting much out of this visit. But when you’re done, just give me a call. I’ll forward you the information just in case you come up with nothing and have the time to join me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “And listen…about everything I said the other night…hell, the last two nights…”

  “Don’t even go there,” he said. “Not now, anyway. You were right last night. Business and pleasure need to be separated. I could explain to you why it’s so difficult for me but it’s small and unimportant compared to what we’ve got going on at work right now. So go on. Get out there and bring this guy in already.”

  If O’Malley hadn’t been behind them studying his whiteboard, she would have kissed Ramirez in that moment.

  “I’m serious,” Avery said. “Call me to let me know what you find. If it’s nothing, I want you by my side the rest of the way.”

  “I will,” he replied, giving her a smile that communicated volumes. It let her know that he had forgiven her and that he still cared for her. He let her know that he would love to be by her side no matter what.

  It also let her know that he had full confidence in her—that she would end up finding this creep and dragging him in.