Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  “I’m assuming you don’t know what happens to children that are molested, Ms. Black. They learn that such behavior is normal, and expected. And as they get older, they become aroused by small children because that’s what they were trained to do—become aroused. It’s a sick, frightening cycle that is almost impossible to break, but John here has been trying very hard. Very hard indeed. This simple lapse,” he said and pointed to the computer, “shouldn’t erase how hard he’s worked to reconstruct his past. If you knew anything at all about human nature, you might understand that.”

  “Thanks for the lesson,” Avery said.

  “And one more thing,” Wilson added and walked toward her with his face red from withheld anger. “You had no right to come into this studio and interrogate anyone without proper authorization. The second you leave here, I’ll be on the phone with your commanding officer, and anyone else I have to contact, and I’m going to recommend you be fired, or at the very least, suspended for your blatant disregard of the laws and some common human decency.”

  * * *

  Avery was in a haze when she walked out of the studio.

  Positive she’d found her killer only a few hours before, now she was almost certain John Lang was a dead end, and that she would face a lot of fury should Wilson Kyle call the office.

  Embarrassed at her actions, she hopped into her car and drove.

  The words of Howard Randall echoed in her mind: Your killer is an artist…not someone that would pick girls randomly off the street….

  I followed your lead, she argued. I found a connection.

  Randall’s last words turned into a whisper.

  He has to find them from somewhere…

  Where? she fought. Where does he find them? There has to be another connection, something I missed.

  There has to be something else, something I’m missing, another link.

  The office was her de facto destination, but something kept telling her that any answers wouldn’t come from the office. They would come from leads. She decided to assist Jones on the surveillance routes out of Cambridge. Thompson had already followed up on Graves. The cocky senior’s alibi was solid: three friends confirmed his location on Saturday night.

  She stopped off for another cup of coffee and some breakfast.

  Her phone rang.

  “Black,” she said.

  The voice on the other line sounded grim and unsatisfied.

  “It’s Connelly.”

  A shutter of worry passed through Avery. Did Wilson Kyle already call? Did we finally get a break on the case?

  “What’s up?” she said.

  “You’ve having a real party out there, aren’t you?” Connelly whispered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “This is getting out of control, Black. We look like a bunch of fucking idiots. The cap is pissed. And so am I, I knew you were all wrong for the job.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Did you just call to harass me?”

  “You don’t know?” he asked.

  After a moment of silence, Connelly spoke again.

  “Just got word from Belmont Police. They found a body over at the Children’s Playground in Stony Brook Park. Sounds like our guy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Avery parked her car on the eastern edge of Stony Brook Park and walked down Mill Street to the entrance.

  The Stony Brook Children’s Playground was an expansive water park for children, combined with three separate playgrounds and a huge wooden fort, all nestled within a circle of trees and behind a fence near a gated community.

  A number of Belmont police cruisers, along with news vans and reporters and crowds, surrounded the area by the gate.

  “There she is!” someone shouted.

  Before Avery could even think, a number of reporters made their way toward her. In her previous life, when she’d been fired from her law firm, Avery had assumed the cameras and lights and microphones would eventually fade away. Unfortunately, that had never been the case. She could always find herself as the butt of jokes in one paper or another on slow news days.

  A small reporter with bobbed black hair shoved a mic in her face.

  “Ms. Black,” she said, “are you in a relationship with Howard Randall?”

  “What?” Avery demanded.

  Someone else extended a mic.

  “You went to visit him yesterday. What did you two talk about?”

  “Where are you getting this information?” Avery asked.

  A paper was held out in front of her, and as Avery scanned the front page and turned to the news article inside, cameras were rolling, and everyone waited for a response.

  The headline read “Two girls dead and no leads.” The picture was from the cemetery. A sub-headline on the bottom said: “A Cop and A Killer: Romance Blooms.” Avery saw herself sobbing inside her car, right beyond the prison walls.

  The guards, she realized. They took pictures.

  The actual news article was on the third page: “Who Runs The Boston PD?” Words like “incompetent,” “mishandling,” and “negligence” practically jumped off the page. One line: “Why would Boston PD allow a former attorney with questionable ethics to handle another possible serial killer case?”

  Sick to her stomach, Avery handed the paper back.

  “Can you give us a comment?” someone asked.

  Avery pushed ahead in silence.

  “Officer Black!? Officer Black!?”

  A woman that couldn’t have been more than ninety pounds found her way to Avery and punched her in the chest.

  “You fucking piece of shit!” she cried. “My tax money pays for you? No way! I’m going to have you fired—you murdering son of a bitch.”

  The crowd moved in.

  “Why are you on this case?” someone else shouted.

  “Don’t let her near kids!”

  At the gate, Avery flashed her badge and an officer pushed her through.

  “Who’s in charge here?” she said.

  “Right over there,” the cop pointed. “Talbot Diggins. Lieutenant Diggins.”

  Normally, the abuse was easy for Avery to ignore, but today, after her dismal interrogation of John Lang and another dead body, and no leads, and the paper, and everything else, it took all of her energy just to stand tall and walk forward.

  Even separated from the mob beyond the gate, she could hear people voicing their outrage as reporters pushed cameras through the bars.

  Cops around the area turned and watched Avery pass. Some muttered under their breath. Others just looked at her with scorn.

  When will it end? she wondered.

  Talbot Diggins was an extremely large black man with a shaved head. He wore sunglasses and was sweating hard in the early morning heat. He was dressed in a slick gray suit and a T-shirt underneath, and the only items that gave him away as a cop were the badge around his neck and gun peeking out from the back of his jacket.

  He noticed her and pointed.

  “You Black?” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Follow me.”

  The actual park was ignored. Behind the wide pool that normally sprayed water in countless directions, they passed a playground for toddlers and headed directly toward a wooden castle, complete with bridges, a moat, and a wooden city.

  Lights from a police photographer flashed inside the wooden structure.

  “Kid found her this morning,” Talbot said. “Ten-year-old girl. Said she was trying to play with her but the body wouldn’t move. So she touched her. Cold as ice.”

  The wooden structure had an opening at its front that served as a castle entrance.

  A dead girl sat in the entrance, positioned as if she’d simply taken a break from play. She was eighteen or nineteen, Avery guessed. Blond hair. Dressed in a tight-fitting shirt and skirt. A whimsical, humorous expression lined her face. Hands were up and had been bound to a bar over her head with very fine fiber, like fishing line. The ey
es themselves, like the others Avery had seen, appeared drugged and tortured.

  “Do you know who she is?” Avery asked.

  “Not yet.”

  A quick look and Avery could tell the victim wore all her undergarments. Maybe that last girl was a fluke? she wondered

  Like the other girls, this one appeared to be looking at something. Avery tracked the line of sight to the toddler playground. Immediately, she knew what the victim had been meant to see: a painted mural of children that lined one of the plastic borders. The children were boys and girls, multicultured, and there were a lot of them, all holding hands.

  Talbot eyed her suspiciously.

  “Is it true?” he asked.

  “Is what true?”

  “You and Randall. Papers say you two are an item. Is it true?”

  “That’s disgusting,” she said.

  “Maybe,” he offered. “But is it true?”

  “None of your business,” she said.

  “Man, you really screwing up my day, you know that? First, I have to deal with some serial killer fallout because you can’t do your job, and now you won’t even answer a simple question. Come on, we’ve got a big office pool riding on this.”

  “You don’t have to worry about this,” Avery said. “My department will—”

  “Nah, nah, nah,” he complained, “that’s not going to happen. This is my crime scene, you understand? I called your department out of courtesy. I can’t give you this,” he declared and indicated the dead body. “You already have two dead girls in under a week. Now we’ve got a third in Belmont. You know what that spells? Team up.”

  “We don’t need to—”

  “Oh, we do need to,” he said with his eyes rolled back. “Honestly. How close are you to cracking this case?”

  “We have a lot of solid leads that—”

  “Beep! Incorrect answer!” he cried like an alarm and pretended to be a robot. “I don’t believe that,” he calmly indicated. “Look at you. You look as messed up as they say in the papers. And you won’t even give a fellow cop a hint about your personal life. What’s that all about? So you know what? We’re teammates now, and in Belmont, we solve cases quick.”

  “Oh yeah?” Avery said. “How many bodies have you ever seen like this?”

  “Pssss,” he sang.

  “No, I’m serious.”

  “That don’t matter.”

  “I’ll tell you what matters,” she said. “I’ve been on the case for under a week and I know the general area where the killer lives. I know his height and a description of his body. I know he has a soft spot for pets and what he drives, and from the looks of this third body?” she said and pointed to the dead girl, “I know he’s not finished yet. Three used to be his magic number. Now that’s changed. I know a lot of other things,” she spit. “But you know what? You’re right. This is your jurisdiction. Figure it out for yourself.”

  She spun around to walk out.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Talbot howled. “Hold on there, white lion!”

  Talbot had a completely different demeanor when Avery looked back. His arms were open wide and he displayed a stunning smile with large white teeth.

  “Here I thought I was dealing with a kitty cat, but what I really got is a white lion.”

  He sidled up to Avery, who was about an inch shorter and smaller in every way.

  “I can’t come between a lead detective and possible serial killer on a major case like this,” he said. “Shit is all over the news. I gotta help you, whether I like it or not. Take your time,” he said and waved around. “Check things out.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Nobody likes you,” he emphasized in earnest. “My people can’t think we’re buddies. Hard enough being a black man out here. How about this: I’ll have my people take care of this crime scene. We’ll get the body to our coroner, try to figure out who she is and have forensics sweep the area. What’s your number? Whisper it to me. Whisper…”

  Avery whispered her number and Talbot made a nasty face, like he was taking down the digits of her supervisor so she could be reprimanded.

  “I just called you,” he said. “There it is… Now you have my number too. Once I hear back from everyone on my team. I’ll send you a detailed report. Not happy? Talk to your captain, and have him call my captain, but I can tell you this already: this shit happened in my town this time, and that means Belmont police are involved. You wanna help me out? Share what you got?”

  “Sure,” she said, “we can do that. I’d also want my team to view the body and consult with your coroner.”

  “No problem.”

  “And I want complete access to this crime scene.”

  “You got it. We good?”

  “Yeah,” she said and frowned, “I think.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you think!” Talbot yelled and backed up so everyone could hear. “That’s just the way it is, Black!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Talbot walked away right after his trash-talk to consult with his team. Most of the Belmont cops flashed nasty looks at Avery, or shook their heads. One of them could be heard saying, “Why do we have to share shit? This is a Belmont crime.”

  Avery took her time to walk around the area.

  She stared at the body from multiple perspectives. Everyone ignored her, but every so often she could hear mothers screaming from beyond the gates, or hear reporters calling out questions.

  A sense of the killer had begun to inhabit Avery. It had started in Lederman Park, and then at the cemetery, a feeling that she understood him somehow. He’d chosen quiet places, respectful places for dead. This one was different. Although the girl was placed in a park among trees and woods, it was a children’s park, which had a more excitable energy than a cemetery or a bench near the river.

  Why here? she wondered.

  The visual of the girl, too, was different: she viewed multiple children, different genders and colors.

  Something happened, she thought.

  What changed?

  Forensics and the coroner’s report would be able to tell her if there were differences within the body or at the crime scene, but even if they found nothing, Avery was certain about her instincts. After working on cases involving killers for years—and before killers, on cases involving sleazy people in general as an attorney—she’d become an expert on subtle differences within people, and at crime scenes.

  Alone, with no new leads, an abysmal morning and with protestors, parents, and Belmont police glaring at her like she was an unwanted guest, Avery put her head down and headed back to the car.

  Her arrival at the A1 office was the perfect topping for a terrible day. The moment the elevator doors opened and Avery was seen, the entire office went silent. Sneers were on their faces. Jones shook his head and looked away and Thompson turned his back on her. Not a single nasty joke or laugh only made it worse.

  Finley was at his desk. Slightly more empathetic than the rest of his department, he offered a sympathetic glance and lowered his head.

  The morning paper, with her scandalous article about the visit with Howard Randall, was on a number of desks, and a few computer screens showed a similar picture of Avery, crying in her car outside the prison.

  “Black,” someone called, “get in here.”

  O’Malley waved from his office.

  Connelly stood up.

  “No. No,” O’Malley pointed. “Not you. Just Black.”

  “This is my case,” Connelly argued.

  “If you want to keep it that way, you’ll sit down and shut up.”

  Connelly stood defiantly and pushed out his chest.

  “Am I in trouble?” Avery asked.

  “Come on in.” O’Malley waved and closed the door behind him. “What makes you think you’re in trouble, Black? You tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I went to see Howard Randall for a lead. He gave me one, well, not a good one, but a connection between those gi
rls. He knew something.”

  A deep sigh came from O’Malley.

  “What could Howard Randall possibly know about your case?” he said. “The guy’s in jail. All he knows is what he reads in the paper.”

  “He has the mind of a killer,” Avery insisted. “He thinks like our guy.”

  O’Malley frowned.

  “Stop,” he said, “stop, please. Listen to me, Avery. I like you. I saw you do some amazing things on the beat: fearless, dedicated, honest, and most of all, smart. Other people saw it too. They might give you shit but that’s because they’re jealous and afraid. People are afraid of what they don’t understand, and I’m beginning to feel that fear.”

  “Captain, what are you—”

  A palm stopped her.

  “Please,” he said, very calm, almost torn, “let me finish. This case, it’s a big one. Bigger than I thought. We’ve got bodies spread out over three counties so far, three dead girls, no further leads, and a lot of pissed off people. You’re an animal, Avery. I see it. I see it even now. You’re consumed by this case. You really want to find this guy, so bad that you’ve been making some really stupid rookie mistakes.”

  He held up a finger.

  “One,” he said, “you harassed a civilian this morning in Cambridge.”

  “I had reason to believe—”

  “I don’t care what you believed,” he yelled. “You accosted a man in an art shop, a very well-connected man, I might add, a man that’s already been through the wringer a hundred times because of his past. Guy had a breakdown after you left. Tried to commit suicide in the bathroom. His boss had to tear down the door. Ambulance was called. Then he called me, and he called the chief, and he called the mayor. And do you know what he said? He said we allowed a psycho to lead this case. Luckily, he hasn’t pressed charges, yet.”

  “Suicide?”

  Avery lowered her head. The burning stare of Wilson Kyle came into her mind, and she remembered his passionate speech about Lang’s history.

  “That was a mistake,” she said. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Two,” O’Malley said and held up two fingers. “You got yourself in the papers. Now, I know that’s not your fault. You walk around like you’re the only person in the universe half the time. Makes me wonder how you can possibly see anything, but you do. What you didn’t see were all these paparazzi scumbags having a feeding frenzy at your expense. The photo from the park I can handle. What I can’t handle is that picture from the prison. You went to see the most famous serial killer in Boston’s history, a man you got off, a man that then killed again in your name, and you didn’t think to ask? Or watch for cameras? Or to at least give me the heads-up so I could tell you you were nuts?”