by Blake Pierce
And it was that last bit that set her down the hall, walking at a near-sprint, more determined than ever to catch this killer before he could claim another victim.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
The information Duggan gave her was brief yet precise. It made her realize that even though the involvement of the bureau seemed tedious and almost invasive, they knew how to boil things down to the details. It made her wonder if she would have ever been able to cut it as an agent.
The information he had sent her told her that Roosevelt Toms’s roommate for six months and two weeks was named Jason Inge. He was thirty-nine and worked as a car detailer, specializing in custom wraps and paint designs. He lived in a quiet neighborhood about two miles outside of the Dorchester area. The arson charge Duggan had mentioned was actually two: one for burning a playground at the age of sixteen and another at the age of twenty-three when he and a friend had attempted to burn an abandoned bar to the ground, apparently just for the hell of it. Since 2005, there had been no charges against him. He actually seemed to be an upstanding citizen who had even donated money to the Boston PD at the end of every year since 2009.
Avery read through all of this again after she parked in front of Jason Inge’s house. The arson charges obviously made him something of a suspect, but the rest of the material didn’t make her feel like she had anything worthwhile here. Still, she did her duty and stepped out of the car. It was 5:37 in the afternoon and she hoped that would have given him enough time to get home, assuming that car detailing was a nine-to-five sort of job.
She walked up the sidewalk to the small two-story house. It seemed idyllic, with its red shutters, immaculately clean porch, and recently mown lawn. When she stepped up onto the porch steps, she almost felt like she was trespassing.
There was no doorbell, just an iron knocker on the front door. She lifted it and clanged it down, knocking three times. When no one had answered after thirty seconds, she knocked again. When she still got no answer, she assumed that Jason Inge was still at work. She looked back to the street and saw the truck that was parked almost directly in front of the house. She nearly called Ramirez to ask him to run a plate for her but figured she could do some scouting herself before she bothered anyone else.
She left the porch and walked back down the sidewalk. She checked the truck—a small-bodied Toyota—and found it locked. There was nothing incriminating to be found from a simple glance through the passenger window. She turned back to the house and eyed its small yard. A stretch of grass on the right of the house led to a backyard while a picket fence separated the left side yard from the neighbor.
She walked to the right and along the edge of the house. As she did, she listened for any signs of talking, music, or a television making its racket. But she heard nothing other than her own quiet footfalls in the grass. When she reached the back of the house, it was more of the same: a clean and crisp yard, a small back porch with a grill, and a set of concrete stairs on the far right edge of the house that she assumed led into a basement.
Even the mere thought of a basement reminded her of Phillip Bailey and with that, she was not able to ignore the house simply because it appeared that no one was home. She walked toward the basement stairs and along the way, noticed the green city trash bin tucked directly beside the far edge of the patio. A blue city-issued recycle bin sat beside it.
With a scowl, Avery popped open the top to the green can. A white garbage bag was on top, sitting on top of an identical bag. There were small bits of trash tucked between the two: junk mail, a milk carton, and—
Her eyes stopped at the milk carton. There was a film of dust on it that looked very much like ash. The same gray residue was also on the white trash bag on the bottom of the bin. She reached it and removed the top bag.
The sight of the small bones that trickled down the side of the bin nearly made her jump back. There, mingled in with what was unmistakably ash, were the bones of some sort of animal. Further down she saw the rear of some other animal. Its hide was scorched almost down to the bone but its long tail made it clear that it was a cat.
She also saw a shirt down there. It was crumpled and balled up, but she could see that it was a light pink in color. What she could see of the collar indicated that it was low-cut—and almost definitely not a man’s shirt.
Concerned now, she went ahead and tipped the garbage bin over. When she did, a cloud of dust came wafting out. But she knew better. It was not dust. It was ash. As it drifted by her pants, she took a step backward. She went down to a knee and peered into the bottom of the bin.
There was more ash at the bottom—a pile of it, in fact.
She looked back up to the back porch with wide eyes, almost expecting someone to be there. But the porch was empty. She was alone.
She peered back into the garbage bin, looking at all of that ash.
The shirt had also moved. Avery could clearly see that it was a woman’s shirt. And it was torn down the back from the collar.
Her heart pounded.
This was not his roommate’s address.
It was his address.
An alias.
And here she was, alone.
With a surprisingly steady hand, she grabbed her phone. She pulled up Ramirez’s number as if by instinct and brought the phone to her ear.
He answered on the first ring. Hearing his calm confidence eased her a bit. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I’m at Jason Inge’s residence. No one is answering the door but there’s a truck parked directly in front of the house. I peeked in a garbage bin around back. I’ve got a series of small bones, what looks like a partially burned cat, a huge amount of ash and what looks like a woman’s shirt. Now that I’m closer to it, I think I also smell something…butane…lighter fluid or something like that.”
“For real?”
“Yes. I think it might be—”
A sound to her right interrupted her. It was a scream…a high-pitched scream that was greatly muffled. She couldn’t be absolutely sure, but she thought it had come from the direction of the basement steps.
“You still there?” Ramirez asked.
“Yeah. I think I just heard a scream from inside. Get over here as quick as you can. Maybe bring some backup.”
“I’m on it. Please be safe.”
“You know me,” she said, and killed the call.
She drew her sidearm and slowly started for the basement stairs.
That’s when she heard the noise again, louder this time and more panicked.
Avery’s slow stride turned into a run as she reached the basement stairs and headed own toward the basement doors where the screaming continued, growing more urgent with every second.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
The basement door was locked, which was not much of a surprise. Avery didn’t even bother throwing a shoulder into it or trying to kick it in; if she failed, she’d be alerting the killer to her presence and she knew that the element of surprise might be the only advantage she had here. She hurried back up the concrete steps and into the backyard. She then made her way to the back porch, making sure to step carefully but quickly.
That door was also locked but a square of paned glass sat along the top of it so those inside could look out into the backyard. Avery drew her arm back, made a V-shape out of her elbow, and shoved it hard into the glass. The shattering glass and subsequent tinkling as shards fell to the floor inside wasn’t too loud; hopefully they had gone unheard by anyone in the basement.
Avery reached her hand carefully into the broken window. She had to get up on her tiptoes to get hand low enough inside to find the doorknob. Her fingers found it and she turned the lock counterclockwise, careful not to cut herself on the fragments of glass that remained in the pane. With the door unlocked, she opened it and stepped inside and withdrew her sidearm, a Glock 0.9mm that was starting to feel like an extension of herself.
She found herself inside a small kitchen. A few dirty dishes were in the
sink and the small kitchen table was littered with mail and random papers. Avery ignored this, moving further into the house. As she stepped out of the kitchen and into the adjoining living room, she heard another scream to her right, unmistakably below her.
Off of the living room, there was a small hallway that made up the rest of the house. She checked each room as she passed, as the doors were all standing open. There were two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a linen closet. That left one door remaining at the far end of the hall. This door was closed. As she approached it, she heard muffled whimpers from behind it, faint and almost non-existent.
If this door was locked, she’d have to try breaking it down. She may even need to blow the knob and lock off with her Glock, giving herself away if there was someone down below. She reached out and turned the knob. She relaxed instantly when it turned under her hand.
She pushed the door open and a set of wooden stairs was revealed. She took the first step down, testing the strength of it to see of it would creak under her weight. Confident that it was sturdy and would not give her away, she took a second stair down.
Beneath her, another of those whimpering noises sounded out. This time, Avery was able to hear another voice with it. It was a male voice, but soft and somber.
“The pain is momentary, I think,” he was saying. “It will be much better if you just accept it. It will be over before you know it.”
“Why?” the woman asked, her voice nothing more than a tremor.
“I don’t think you’d understand,” the man said.
This was followed by the sound of a loud clunking noise that was almost hydraulic in nature. The woman cried out loudly in a brief yelp.
Avery took two more steps down—there were ten more to go. She saw that near the bottom, there was open space between each stair, revealing the basement area below. If the killer saw her feet before she could gauge the situation, she could lose her advantage.
She took a deep breath and bounded down the stairs as quickly as she could. As she did, the woman let out a scream and there were the sounds of a struggle. The woman was crying out now, letting out loud wails of horror.
Avery reached the bottom of the stairs and when her feet hit the concrete, everything seemed to happen in a sped-up sort frenzy, like someone had pressed a fast-forward button.
Avery took a single moment to take in the scene. The sheer absurdity of it made her hesitate for just a moment.
The man had heard her and wheeled around to face her. They were in a small basement area occupied with only a small work desk along the right side of the room. But behind the man she saw a strange-looking door that almost resembled a heavy-duty door to an industrial icebox or cooler. A woman was inside of it, having been knocked down and getting to her feet. All around her, flames were licking upward and growing with unreal quickness.
Avery trained her gun on the man and took three huge strides forward. She took a good look at the man’s face. She recalled the picture Agent Lewis had showed on the Skype call.
I’m right, this is Roosevelt Toms, she thought. Toms has been living under the alias of Jason Inge.
“Don’t move,” Avery said. “Drop to the ground and—”
Toms didn’t let her finish before he wheeled around and slammed the industrial-type door shut. It made that same hydraulic-like sound Avery had heard. Inside, the woman screamed but the sound was cut off as the door was slammed closed. Toms then grabbed a large plank and worked quickly to work it through a set of handles that would barricade the door if the person inside did manage to escape.
Avery rushed forward and shoved Toms hard against the wall. He collided hard, the back of his head striking the concrete wall, and let out a cry as he sank to the floor. The plank he had tried to use to barricade the door clattered to the floor. Avery wasted no time, placing her hands on the U-shaped handle of the heavy door. With a grunt, she pulled it open.
An intense wave of heat rushed out at her. She took a step back away from it and as she did, the woman inside came barreling out. She was screaming and flailing wildly with a trail of flame behind her. Avery could smell burning clothes and hair.
The woman ran directly into Avery and they both went to the floor in a heap of arms and legs. Avery’s right arm twisted beneath her and hit the floor hard, sending her gun sliding across the floor and a bolt of electric pain up toward her shoulder.
She rolled away from the burning woman, feeling the flames now licking at the leg of her pants. With a hard shove that was probably a little too forceful, Avery sent the woman careening hard to the right. She was still screaming, rolling around and trying to put the flames out. Avery, meanwhile, scrambled for her gun while keeping her eyes on Roosevelt Toms.
He was getting to his feet and taking in the sight before him. Beside him, the flames inside his torturous little room continued to grow. They were burning furiously, flashing out of the door on occasion. The roaring noise the fire made as it grew and consumed whatever fuel he had in the room was monstrous.
Avery grabbed her gun and looked around the room for something that might help put out the flames that were still scorching the woman on the floor. She wondered then if this was Sophia Lesbrook who was burning—who was even now giving off the smell of charred flesh.
There’s nothing here, Avery thought. Nothing to put these flames out.
Sophia continued to scream and roll, now in a spastic sort of way that reminded Avery of a broken remote-controlled toy. Thinking as quickly as she could, Avery tore off the button-down shirt she was wearing, revealing the thin tank top beneath. The buttons flew in all directions but the plinking noises they made as they hit the floor were drowned out by the roaring of the fire from inside the small room.
She went to Sophia Lesbrook and threw the shirt on her, trying her best to flatten it against the flames. She did this several times, almost in a fanning motion. It seemed to bring the flames down a bit but Avery felt her own hands burning as she fought the fire that was slowly dying out on Sophia’s bare arms and her right leg.
She also continued to keep a check on Toms. He was on his feet now but clearly dazed from the whack he’d taken to the head.
“Don’t you dare move,” Avery yelled at him. “Stay where you are.”
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the cobwebs from his head. As she watched him, her right arm grew hot and she realized that the one remaining flame on Sophia had licked upward and burned her arm. She drew back with a hiss and when she did, Roosevelt Toms came rushing at her.
Avery drew her Glock up and fired a shot just as Toms threw his shoulder into her ribs. Toms roared out in pain and Avery was able to shove him off of her before finding herself on the floor again. She stalked over to him and saw that her shot had taken him high in the right shoulder. He was on the floor, trying to get up without using his right arm.
Avery kicked him in the ribs and then pushed him over with her foot. When he was on his back and facing her, she saw that he held something in his hands. She saw it a split second too late, though.
It was a yellow tin can of something. Before she could figure out what it was, he was spraying something into her face. The smell as it hit her face was intense and thick.
Lighter fluid…
This idea flashed through her mind as she stumbled back. The liquid had partly gotten into her eyes and it was stinging like mad as she tried to shake it away. She wiped at her eyes but that seemed to only make it worse. The world was a blur and she could barely even make out any shapes or colors.
That’s when she felt Toms kick her right knee. She felt it buckle but was pretty sure nothing had popped out of place. Still, she went to the floor on one knee. She held her gun out although she could see nothing, hoping it might intimidate Toms.
Instead, she felt a hard pulling sensation at her scalp as he grabbed her hair in his hands. She felt a hard kick to her stomach and the wind went rushing out of her. He then started to grapple with her for the possession of her gun. Even though
she could not see, she knew she could not let him have the Glock. If he got it, the fight was over—her life might very well be over, either by gunshot or by being thrown into his makeshift furnace.
She staggered to her feet, keeping in mind that he had a bum right shoulder from the first shot. So if she kept her pressure to the right and focused her strength there, she should be able to overtake him easily. As they fought for the gun, she continued to hear Sophia Lesbrook screaming from the floor. She also felt an intense heat behind her and tried to recall the exact position of the door along the wall. If he fought her backward too much, he could easily shove her into his little furnace.
Instead, she felt him pushing her to the left, where she collided with the wall. Her eyes were stinging and her stomach was aching but she’d be damned if she’d give up. She fought against him hard, feeling the gun still in her hands as he tried to tear it away. She tried to get a better idea of where his hands were along the gun. Taking a chance, she angled it to the right, feeling his weakness to that side.
With a cry of desperation, Avery pulled the trigger. For a brief moment, she felt him release the gun. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, only seeing blurs. She saw one directly in front of her and fired. But the blur kept coming at her. It went low and she tried firing again but was struck along the waist. Again, she was slammed against the wall but this time she did not give Toms time to get a good position on her. She pushed back, driving him backward by pushing his weight to the right, where he was unable to fight back. She felt him trying to trip her and they fought while moving across the room, the fire still roaring around them.
Two more seconds of this and they came to an abrupt stop. They had hit the small desk she had spied when taking in the room. They fought against it and something fell to the ground in a clatter of noise. Again, she smelled that chemical smell that might be butane or propane.
