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

by Blake Pierce

  A bark came from downstairs, and then multiple barks.

  Instantly alert, Edwin stood up and looked out the windows.

  The backyard was empty.

  On the side of the house, someone was crouched behind his minivan.

  Police, he thought.

  An initial moment of fear slipped away from his thoughts and Edwin prepared to become the vessel of the All Spirit, a living body inhabited by a god.

  Eyes closed, he took in a deep breath, opened his arms wide, and pressed his hands together above his head. A simple squat, performed three times, and he opened his eyes anew, lit by an internal fire.

  In his mind, he imagined the All Spirit had taken control of him; the celestial being was inside of his body, forming his fists and directing his thoughts and actions.

  I accept you wholeheartedly, he swore.

  No traditional exercise had ever appealed to Edwin. Instead, he typically performed a series of hops, flips, and taut-muscle motions that had been mentally provided by the All Spirit to prepare him for hunts and in the event of an outside attack.

  After years of practice within his home—and now with the All Spirit inside of him—Edwin was sure that he could overtake any foe.

  They threaten our cause, the All Spirit moaned within Edwin’s mind. We cannot allow them to thwart our plans. Go, my fledgling. Go…and hunt.

  * * *

  Dogs barked from inside the house. There had to be two or three of them. One was a large pit bull that kept appearing in the first floor window.

  Shit, she thought. Move.

  Crouched low, Avery ran into the backyard.

  The dogs followed and barked.

  A basement door was painted blue. She tried to open it. Locked. There was a porch and a back door. She shuffled up and peeked inside. Instantly, the pit bull’s face appeared again. The barking turned ferocious. There were two other dogs, both tiny: a pug and what appeared to be a tea cup poodle. She also spotted numerous cats.

  The back door was locked.

  She hammered her gun onto one of the glass plates near the lock.

  The glass shattered.

  The muzzle of the pit bull snapped in the opening. Avery stood up and tracked the movements of all three dogs. When the way was clear, she reached in and unlocked the door.

  A squat took her down low. With her back protected by the wooden door, Avery put one hand on the knob. The gun was in her other hand. She listened for the timing: the pit bull barked and jumped, stayed on the floor for a bit, then repeated the process.

  When the pit bull was about to jump, Avery opened the door.

  The dog rushed out. A light tap with her foot and the pit bull stumbled down the steps. The two other dogs appeared and grasped for footing so they could turn and reach Avery. She simply held the doorknob, spun inside the house, and closed the door.

  Barking continued, but it no longer bothered her.

  Avery was in.

  A cat purred against her leg.

  The kitchen was beside her. To her left was a small dining area, and straight ahead were a living room and two more cats. A few plants dotted the kitchen windowsills. They seemed like the easiest variety to maintain: cactus and pothos.

  Gun held low, Avery moved through the house.

  Stay alert, she thought. He has to know I’m here.

  “Edwin Pesh!” she yelled. “This is the police. Make your hands visible and step into view. There are two other officers outside,” she lied. “Backup is on the way. In a few minutes, this entire block will be crawling with cops. Edwin Pesh!”

  Around a corner was the staircase to the second level. More cats lined the steps.

  Avery crept up the carpeted stairs, gun pointed straight ahead and above, where she could see a wraparound banister. Cats continued to get in her way. She gently nudged them aside.

  The second floor was empty, but she found even more cats. No pictures lined the walls. No photos of any kind. Only two spartan bedrooms that were completely blanketed in cats. Every closet was opened. She looked under beds and in nooks. Edwin Pesh was nowhere.

  The basement door was in the kitchen.

  Beside the door was a phone.

  Avery picked it up and dialed 911.

  “This is emergency services,” a woman said. “How can I help you?”

  “My name is Avery Black. I’m with the Boston A1,” she replied and offered her badge number. “I’m in the house of a possible serial killer and need support.”

  “Thank you for your call, Detective Black. Can you please…”

  Avery left the phone hanging.

  The basement was dark. A light switch to her right illuminated another door at the bottom of the steps. She made her way down. The walls were lined in bare wood.

  At the bottom of the steps, she opened the second door.

  Another hallway was perpendicular to the staircase. More dim lights hung from the wooden ceiling and lit the space. She turned left, and was forced to make another quick left into a much longer passageway.

  Every square inch of the walls in the longer passage was lined in pictures, hundreds of pictures. The pictures seemed to be arranged horizontally. If she followed one all the way to the right, it told a story. A black cat was in one frame, just sitting on a ledge. In the next frame, the cat was seemingly dead on the ground. In the next, the cat was partially opened to reveal its interior. Each consecutive picture showed the cat in some stage of taxidermy.

  Doors interrupted the walls on both sides.

  It’s like a maze, she thought.

  “Edwin Pesh!” she yelled. “This is the police. Make yourself known! Put your hands where I can see them and step out into the hall.”

  She listened for a response.

  Nothing, only dogs barking from a distance, and the motion of an orange cat that had followed her down into the basement.

  The first door on her left was opened. Darkness obscured the room. Avery clicked on her flashlight, held it in line with her gun muzzle. She spun inside. Jars were visible along the back wall, row after row of jars with multicolored substances. A silver medical table was to her left, along with medical equipment and embalming fluid and tools.

  Holy shit.

  A cat rubbed against her leg.

  Startled by the contact, Avery pointed her weapon down and nearly fired.

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  For a moment, her eyes closed.

  Floorboards creaked behind her. In the second that it took for Avery to rouse herself and spin, she felt a sting in the back of her neck and heard someone run farther down the hall.

  Shit!!

  Wooziness spread through her.

  Not like this, she fought. I can’t go out like this.

  Energized by the thought that she only had moments before some strange concoction took effect, Avery screamed a muted, barely perceptible howl and stumbled up the hall. She slammed against walls on her way. Pictures flew off and smashed to the floor. Every door she found was opened. The flashlight whipped from one side to the other.

  Blindly, she fired.

  Images appeared in a dreamy blur: a room that was more like a holding cell with bars and a straw floor; another room full of stuffed cats and dogs.

  When she reached the last door, Avery sank to her knees.

  The flashlight dropped from her hand.

  She turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

  Edwin Pesh could be seen on the outer edge of the flashlight’s glow.

  Avery sank to her chest. She held the gun ahead of her and prepared to fire. Suddenly, as light as a feather, Edwin hopped from one side of the room to the other, again and again, in fast, catlike bursts that made him difficult to target.

  Woozy. Avery’s mind was woozy and fading fast. The gun was heavy, too heavy to hold up. She lowered the weapon to the ground. Her cheek touched the cold floor but she continued to watch Edwin Pesh.

  Edwin settled into his low crouch, yellow eyes illuminated from the flashl
ight.

  Avery could feel herself slipping out of consciousness.

  Edwin stood to his full height and walked toward her.

  “Shhhhh,” he whispered.

  Not like this, Avery thought.

  With great effort—and her wrist balanced on the ground—Avery raised the muzzle of her gun toward Edwin’s groin and fired three times. Crack! Crack! Crack!

  The gun dropped from her hand.

  Edwin’s feet were in front of her. She could see his legs buckle. Suddenly, he dropped down and sank to the side.

  Edwin lay there, collapsed, beside her. His face was but inches away from hers. The two of them lay beside each other, each frozen, each dying, eyes locked on each other’s.

  His eyes locked on hers. In the dreamy haze of whatever drug had poisoned her system, his eyes appeared incredibly large, wide open pools of darkness. A smile curled on his lips.

  “More,” he whispered. “More.”

  Nothing else came out of him, nothing else moved. The lips remained in a partial curl, and his eyes, fully open, burned into her soul.

  In her mind, Avery heard, More. MORE!

  A male voice resounded through the halls.

  “Avery!?”

  A hand touched her neck and checked for a pulse. Someone cursed and then spoke in a warped, barely recognizable voice: “Talk to me, Black. Can you hear me? Try to stay alive. Help is on the way.”

  But she felt herself weakening.

  His voice came again, this time panic in it.

  “Shit, Black, don’t die on me now!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  Avery awoke in a hospital bed, groggy with a very dry and painful sore throat. Everything in her body ached, as if she’d had all of her blood flushed out and replaced with some kind of heavy, toxic fluid. An IV bag was hooked up to her arm. A heart monitor bleeped from somewhere outside of her view.

  The room was filled with balloons and flowers.

  On a chair beside her, slumped over in sleep, was Ramirez. He was just as relaxed and perfectly dressed as the first day they’d met. A shiny blue suit adorned his form; the white shirt was bright and highlighted his tan and his slicked-back dark hair.

  A nurse walked in.

  “You’re awake,” she noted in surprise.

  Avery opened her mouth.

  “Don’t try to speak just yet,” the nurse said. “I’ll call the doctor. You must be hungry. Let me see what I can rustle up.”

  Ramirez roused himself from sleep and yawned.

  “Black.” He smiled. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  Avery whispered a very painful, scratchy question.

  “How?”

  “Three days,” he said. “You’ve been out for three days. Oh, man. That was some crazy shit, I can tell you that. You’re at Watertown General Hospital. You OK? You want to rest more? Or do you want me to talk?”

  Avery never felt so vulnerable in her life. Not only was she laid up in a hospital bed practically unable to move, but she could barely speak.

  She nodded and closed her eyes.

  “Talk.”

  “Well, you are one crazy loca, Avery Black. At least somebody gave you the good sense to call me, and to dial 911 when you were in the house. Now, if you’d waited, maybe you wouldn’t be here today. But that’s for another time.

  “You got him,” he said.

  The smile came again.

  “Three shots, every one of them hit. One in the groin, one through the heart, and the last one in the face. He’s dead. No more girls for him.

  “You’re lucky to be alive.” He whistled. “You know that? He pumped you full of some real nasty stuff. Paralyzes the body for about six hours and it slowly eats away at your insides until you die. Doctors had never seen anything like it, but they were able to concoct an antidote based off the syringe he used. Still, it was touch and go there for a while.”

  She glanced at the flowers and balloons.

  “You had a lot of visitors,” he said. “Cap came by, Connelly. Even Finley. Wasn’t a big deal for them, really. They all followed me to the house.”

  She gave him a look.

  He smirked.

  “You might be crazy,” he said, “but I’m not. I called Connelly the second you got off the phone with me. I needed backup!”

  Avery gave him a deep, curious look. His dark brown eyes, typically playful and inquisitive, reached out to her with a warmth and care, as if to offer more.

  “You?” she asked.

  A blush painted his face red.

  “Well,” he mumbled and had a difficult time getting the rest out. “I’ve been here for a while, that’s true. Just wanted to make sure my partner was all right. Besides,” he shrugged, “I still have to rest up the wound, right? I just thought: why not just do it here? Gets a little lonely sometimes in my apartment, you know? Anyway, I’m glad you’re all right,” he said and had trouble meeting her gaze. “I’ll leave you alone. Doctor keeps saying you need rest.”

  “No, ” she whispered.

  Meekly, she reached out her hand.

  Ramirez gripped her fingers and held them tight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  When word got out that Avery was alive and well, the list of visitors increased. Finley came by in the afternoon, along with Captain O’Malley and Connelly, who waited by the door with his head low.

  “Crazy bastard,” O’Malley said. “Had a whole garden in that basement of his, on the other side of that medical room. Guy was growing every kind of hallucinogenic plant you can imagine. Had a few contacts lying around too, so we’re going to put a stop to that trade route immediately. Great work, Avery.”

  “Found out about the bodies, too,” Connelly chimed in. “He might have worshipped ‘The Three Graces’ from Roman myth. They were followers of the goddess Venus: three young girls that worshipped beauty. We think maybe that’s why he kept them so lifelike in death. Had a bunch of drawings around the house.”

  Finley kept touching the gifts piled up on the windowsill.

  “God damn,” he said, “the mayor sent you flowers? I never got nothing from the mayor. I bet if you’d have called me for backup, the mayor would have sent me flowers, too. Fuckin’ Ramirez,” he said. “I was your partner. Me.”

  O’Malley scrunched his face at Avery.

  “We’ll talk about your lack of protocol when you’re ready,” he said. “For now, rest up and get better.”

  * * *

  Randy Johnson came to visit Avery later that night. The spunky, short forensics analyst had her hair poofed out into a wild afro. She wore a red polka-dot dress and brought flowers and a newspaper. Avery had just finished her dinner and was already exhausted.

  “Hey, girl!” Randy said. “Heard you were up.”

  Avery attempted a smile.

  “Don’t try to talk. Don’t try to talk,” Randy insisted. “I know you’ve had a busy day already. Just came by to make sure my girl was alive and kicking.” Her eyes went wide. “And gossip!”

  She sat down beside her.

  “First of all, I think Dylan Connelly definitely has a crush on you. No joke. He came by a few times to check on the case and twice he asked about you. First time was like ‘Hey, have you gone to visit Black yet?’ Real casual and all. And the second time was today. He was like ‘How’s Black doing?’ I don’t think that man has ever spoken to me outside of case-related questions. Seriously!? You got yourself a boy toy if you want it.”

  A disapproving frown lined Avery’s face.

  “Yeah, he’s not for you,” Randy said, “but Ramirez? Now he’s dreamy. You go and get that boy, girl. He saved your life!”

  She smiled, then slowly her smile faded.

  “Can we please talk about that lady killer?” she added. “Is it too soon?”

  Avery gave her the thumbs-up.

  “Thirty-six cats,” Randy huffed in disbelief. “Thirty-six! Who has thirty-six cats? And three dogs? And you want to know what was even craz
ier than that? They were all female. Not a single male among them. And all those pictures on his wall in the basement? I don’t know if you remember that but he had lots of sick pictures of all these cats and dogs and the girls he killed, and each picture showed a different stage of their conversion into stuffed animals, you know? All girls. Crazy white man had a little girls’ club all his own. Connelly said it had to do with Roman mythology and Aphrodite and all these women, but I just think the man was nuts.”

  A sound escaped Avery’s lips.

  She cleared her throat and focused on a single world.

  “Family?”

  “Did he have any relatives?” Randy asked to confirm. “Is that what you want to know? Oh, yeah. That guy that shot himself was his uncle. I thought you knew that. It’s all here in the paper,” she said. “Uncle hired the killer about a year ago. Killer met all those girls at a job fair. Got to know them when they came to the office.”

  She placed the paper on Avery’s chest.

  The headline read “College Killer Captured” with a picture of the crime scene. A smaller burst read “Disgraced Attorney Turned Cop in Critical Condition” with an article about how she left a viable crime scene to find the actual killer.

  “You’re a hero!” Randy cheered.

  It was hard for Avery to think of herself as a hero or anything else. Her mind was too groggy to focus on anything for very long, and her body remained in a post-paralysis shock that made movement difficult.

  Hero. That was not what she wanted. That was never what she’d wanted. She’d just wanted to set wrongs right, to put these bastards away forever.

  To make amends, she realized, for something for which she would never be able to make amends.

  Her eyes grew heavy, and as sleep fell on her, it was hard for her to believe that she’d ever be able to walk again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  On Thursday morning, surprisingly, Avery awoke, alert and physically capable. She could easily move her arms without the sluggish weight, sit up on her own, and think clearly. A short conversation with the morning nurse confirmed her throat muscles were stronger.