City of Prey: An Ava Gold Mystery (Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  As she recalled that moment, the case felt more than just close to her. It felt personal.

  ***

  She heard the commotion from within the precinct before she’d even opened the doors. Urgent voices and the sounds of many people in motion only amplified when she did open them. She found the place in chaos. Closest to her, there were two policemen yelling at a cowering man holding a pad and a pen. She assumed this was a reporter, perhaps coming by to get a statement on the hatchet killings. Not too far away from them, there were several people going through a filing cabinet in a hurry, tearing through records and files in search of something in particular. Along the right wall, she saw a receptionist running quickly with papers in her hand, headed to the back offices. Near the center of the primary bullpen just off the welcome desk, she saw Captain Minard speaking loudly to a group of about a dozen policemen. He was holding the morning paper in his hand.

  Ava stepped forward slowly, realizing that by tuning in and out of every situation currently taking place, she was able to piece together bits of conversation that told her everything taking place. It wasn’t much more information than she’d found in the article, but it was better than nothing, she supposed.

  Annie Tate was a vocal women’s rights advocate, a member of several organizations that encouraged women to get out and campaign for political candidates. The fact that Evelyn White had also been deeply involved and vocal about women’s rights had been noted, linked, and was currently being looked into.

  As she walked closer to where Minard was speaking loudly to the dozen policemen, she got more information. “The guys at the morgue are saying the wounds line up perfectly with those found on Evelyn White. It’s certainly the same hatchet. As for the man who’s doing it, all we have to go on is that he is of average height and weight. And apparently damned fast. And strong, if the depth of these hatchet strikes is any indication.” He sighed and tossed the newspaper down on the ground, as if in disgust. “Boys, be careful out there. This isn’t some overzealous drunk selling illegal booze. This man is a killer. And just because it seems he’s chosen pretty young ladies as his targets, we can’t assume he won’t attack if provoked. So get out there and do your jobs…but do them safely and responsibly.”

  He gave a single, loud clap of the hands and the cops dispersed quickly. A few of them nudged past Ava on their way out, giving her untrusting glances. Deep down, she knew the timing was terrible, but Ava walked forward anyway. She was going to get a moment of Minard’s time before he got swamped again. As she did, she could still hear the cops berating the reporter behind her. One of them was cursing him out, claiming that the bad press was unfair. She knew this was usually true, just based on some of the stories Clarence had told her. Sometimes if there was a particularly bad crime and the police hadn’t figure it all out within a few hours, it was seen as incompetence. And even Ava knew that wasn’t fair.

  Minard had started moving away, back toward his office. Ava summed up her nerve and called out “Captain?”

  He wheeled around with the impatience of a man who clearly did not want to be bothered. When he saw that it was Ava approaching he made no attempt to hide the disdain on his face.

  “Mrs. Gold, as you can see, we’re slightly busy here. A potential mass murderer running loose in the city tends to do that. So please…make sure what you want to tell me is important.”

  Ava was mortified to find that the words did not want to come out. They were right there on her tongue, but she could not quite get them out. When she finally did manage to speak them, they came out like stones from her mouth, the words heavy and seeming to fall from the floor.

  “Let me help with this.”

  He looked at her like she’d just told him a joke that he didn’t understand. “Get down to the WB, Gold.”

  “Sir, I saw this guy. I chased him. I can—”

  “Yes, you chased him. You chased him and he got away.”

  She bit back a barbed retort and instead opted for: “But my description of him can—”

  “Your description of him has been taken down by police much more experienced and capable than you. Now…this is your last warning. Get yourself down to the WB. If you want to help, then do the job you asked for.”

  He turned so quickly that even if Ava could have thought of a fitting response, she would not have had time to give it. With fury and disappointment mingling like a poisonous cocktail in her stomach, Ava marched toward the stairs to the WB. On the way, she passed by a familiar face—Detective Wimbly, watching her closely from his desk in the bullpen.

  This somehow only infuriated her further. She fought tears of anger away as she made her way through the busy precinct, thinking that, Nineteenth Amendment or not, some things in this messed up world would never truly change.

  But maybe she would be the exception. Before long, she’d know the answer because she sure as hell didn’t intend to stop.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Detective Frank Wimbly had watched the entire exchange. He watched as Ava Gold boldly made her way over to Captain Minard, and then cringed a bit when he saw how Minard responded. He spoke down to her as if she were a stubborn child, making absolutely no attempt to even pretend that what she had to say mattered. Frank had the utmost respect for Captain Minard, but he thought the interaction with Ava was shameful—especially after all that her husband had given to this police force.

  As the chaos continued around him, Frank rubbed his hands together nervously (something he did when he was in deep thought) and watched Minard weave his way back to his office.

  “What are you doing, Wimbly?” Frank asked himself, a little surprised at himself.

  He got to his feet and headed in the same direction. He knew Minard liked him and maybe even respected him over most of the other coppers. Frank had been around a while and, as a detective, had a sort of intangible edge that the other buttons in the precinct simply didn’t have. Minard seemed to know this and value it. Frank just hoped it paid off in the next several minutes.

  He watched Minard enter his office, closing the door behind him. Undaunted, Frank continued forward. He was at the closed door ten seconds later. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was only going to add fire to an already sizzling powder keg. Throwing caution to the wind, he raised his hand and knocked.

  “What?” was the response from the other side of the door. Not a good sign at all.

  “It’s Frank, sir,” he called through the door “Permission to enter?”

  “Yeah, Frank, come on in.” There was no irritation or hesitation in his voice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Frank stepped inside the captain’s office. It was cluttered with three chairs, two filing cabinets, and a large desk stacked with files and assorted papers. A newer model typewriter sat on the far edge, a sheet of paper rolled in.

  “Please tell me you have an insight into this hatchet killer,” Minard said, sighing and reclining back in his chair.

  “I think you’re doing all you can right now. I think it’s just a matter of asking the right people the right questions. But if I may…?”

  Minard gave him a simple nod. His eyes were inquisitive now, perhaps hoping for some helpful information or guidance.

  “I saw Ava Gold approach you a minute or so ago. And forgive me for saying so, sir, but I think you’re missing a golden opportunity…as it were.”

  “She’s too new,” Minard said. “And a woman! You noticed that, correct?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m aware.”

  “Clarence Gold was a hell of an officer, but—”

  “And his loss is fresh on everyone’s minds,” Wimbly said. “Not only that, but yesterday when I was out over in Harlem trying to get some details about Evelyn White, she showed up with Frances Knight. She was able to draw information out of a potential lead who would have nothing to do with me. Now, it was because they had a history, but the way she did it…sir, she knows what she’s doing.”

  “I appreci
ate your concern, Frank. But if I let even one broad from the Women’s Bureau get involved in a case like this, I’d be laughed out of town.”

  “Unless she succeeds. Unless she just happens to be the widow of one of the best officers we ever had. All of that commotion outside…it’s because we know the city is going to get scared. But if we allow Ava Gold to actively take part in the investigation, it will distract from that. Hell, to the female population that has a right to be scared of this killer, it may even bring them some hope. Sir…a woman on the case could look good for us…for you.”

  Minard hung his head, shaking it slowly. “The absolute shit of it is that you’re absolutely right. But she…” He stopped here and sighed. “Yesterday with this lead, was she professional?”

  “Mostly. She went the personal route. Trying to appeal to them, trying to relate.”

  Giving an even heavier sigh, Minard picked the receiver up from the wall-mounted phone behind him. He dialed three numbers, the insides of the telephone whirring and chugging along.

  “You’ll keep an eye on her?” Minard said.

  “If that’s what it ta—”

  But he was interrupted as Minard spoke to the other end of the line.

  “Mrs. Knight, it’s Captain Minard. Send Ava Gold up to my office, would you?”

  ***

  When she stepped into the office and saw not only Minard, but Detective Wimbly as well, Ava was certain that she was in trouble. Had she overstepped yesterday? Had Wimbly seriously come complaining to Minard and now, with the final tipping point of approaching the captain earlier this morning, she was going to be released from her position? Did he understand just how badly she needed this job? Did he understand she had a boy to raise, an apartment to pay for?

  She didn’t want to close the door behind her but felt it was the expected thing to do. When it was closed, she was not asked to sit down. Instead, Minard stared her down hard. Wimbly looked expectantly at Minard, waiting for something.

  “Mrs. Gold, level with me,” Minard said. “You asked for this job at Clarence’s wake. I’m no fool. I know you have goals of some sort of vengeance for his death by working here, hoping to catch bad people, is that right?”

  “Yes.” She did not see the point in denying it.

  “If I put you on this hatchet killer case, will you be able to take that need for vengeance and place it far away in the back of your mind? Police work is not about vengeance. It’s about keeping others safe and upholding the law. Motivation is fine. Revenge is often a great motivator. But it can’t be your goal. Do you understand?”

  She was still hung up on the first part of the statement, the part where he’d said If I put you on this case. But she understood the totality of it, so she nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Detective Wimbly said you showed some interrogative skill when you ran into him yesterday, and I trust him. But I don’t trust a woman with a vendetta.”

  “I understand.”

  “Now, for the sake of being honest with you—this is also about spinning a story. A woman cop on the hunt for a woman-killer in a city that is still, even ten years later, celebrating women’s voting rights being passed. So if you’re on this case, you’re a cop first. You will remain professional. Any bad press you cause will not knock you back down to the WB office—it will be the end of your job here.”

  Ava could only nod. She did her best not to seem shocked. She was getting what she had asked for, but was now hearing the cost of it. “When…when do I start?”

  “Right now. You’ll be partnered with Detective Wimbly on an unofficial basis.”

  Apparently, this was news to Wimbly; he flinched and gave Minard a confused look. When Minard was clearly not going to say anything on the matter, Wimbly straightened out his face.

  “That’s it,” Minard said. “Get to work.”

  Ava turned and opened the door. When she stepped back out into the precinct, she let out a huge breath, not realizing until then that she had been holding it in while in the office. Triumph flared within her, but it was brief.

  Holy God, she thought. Somehow…somehow I’m a detective. Clarence, keep an eye out for me, would you?

  Wimbly approached her from behind. He looked about as shocked as she was. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did I just screw up in there?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, collecting her breath. “Do I have you to thank for this?”

  “Maybe a bit. But from here on out, it’s all you. And it’s both our asses on the line. So let’s get to work, like he said.”

  They walked toward the front doors together but at a slight distance. He opened the front doors for her and when they stepped onto the street, it fully hit Ava like a load of bricks on the head. She’d asked for the case and she’d gotten it. But…now what? A plan came quickly to mind and it seemed deceptively simple.

  “So here’s my play,” Wimbly said as they started walking. “I think we head back to the neighborhood we were in yesterday and talk to some of those club owners. Maybe even some of the families.”

  “Yes, that sounds good.”

  “If we strike out there, I’ve got a list of men that have been busted for trying to run speakeasies that might know a thing or two.”

  As he spoke, Ava recalled her conversation with Jack yesterday. An idea came to her, but she knew it was not one that Wimbly was going to appreciate.

  “I think it should just be me,” Ava interrupted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You saw Jack Dooley’s reaction to you yesterday. He wasn’t the only one who feels that way. Any club or club-oriented managers are not going to talk to you. And if they do, they’re going to purposefully mislead you and then give you the bum’s rush.”

  “Yes, but you’ll be with me. Like yesterday…and that will play to our advantage.”

  “Possibly. Or the word could get out that I’m now with the police. I do know some of the people in those neighborhoods—people with businesses and some degree of success. If I go traipsing about with a bluenose copper, I’m going to lose their respect and trust. You’re a detective…you have to see that, right?”

  The look on his face told her that he did understand it. But he did not like it at all. “Boy, I just set myself in an awful trap, didn’t I?”

  “I’ll go have a talk with some of the business owners and club-hops at the upscale places. BY myself. It just makes more sense.”

  “I hate to admit it, but it does. While you do that, I’ll talk with the family and friends of the dead women. Two birds, one stone. We’ll meet back here in a few hours and compare notes.” He let out a heavy breath and added: “Minard will kill me if he knew I let you off on your own.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she said jokingly. “Look, I know you did me a solid in there, and I’m not going to make you regret it.” Honestly, it was hard to think of Minard in that moment. She was more worried about helping the family and loved ones of the victim—more concerned about making sure no one else died. And if she had to buck the system a bit to get that done, she was fine with that.

  “There’s no way you were this pushy and bossy with Clarence,” Wimbly said. She could tell he meant it as a joke, but there was some resentment there, too.

  “About work, absolutely not,” she said warmly. “Other things…well,” she said, giving a chuckle and shrug.

  “Five o’clock,” Wimbly said. “You meet me back here at five o’clock. If there’s a problem or a lead, you find a phone and call the front desk. If you’re more than five minutes late this evening, this is over. I’ll go to Minard and tell him you’re nothing but a stubborn, self-entitled dame that doesn’t take instruction.”

  “Fair enough,” Ava said. She turned away and started walking.

  And with her new position and responsibility, the city felt so much larger…and much more dangerous.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ava found doors to Heat Wave open, even
at the early hour of 10 o’clock in the morning. The place only held about a hundred people but that was fine; the bigger draw was the speakeasy it ran out of its little attic loft space. It was a little dive of a place with great acoustics. Someone would come in, listen to the music for a few minutes, then sneak upstairs. When they came back down, still bobbing to the music, no one would notice when they left with a bottle or two tucked under their coat. She knew this because she had graced its stage on occasion back when she’d been singing.

  She hesitated in front of the doors. Her days as a jazz singer were a little less than two years behind her, but it felt like an eternity. Some of the same streets around those old haunts felt different now. She’d noticed it while on patrol with Frances, but walking alone with her current assignment, it was much more noticeable.

  Heat Wave might not be a great place to start looking. A bigger place might have been more promising. There was, of course, the Cotton Club. But no one would be there for several hours. Besides that, she also knew that some very powerful people frequented the Cotton Club—business owners, celebrities, politicians. Ava had never had the privilege of singing there, but had attended a few times. She was no fool; there was no way in hell a freshly minted woman detective was going to get any sort of lead out of a place like that.

  But Heat Wave was at least open because they also served as a minor hash house on the weekdays. When Ava stepped inside, the place smelled of freshly fried eggs, sizzling meat, and coffee. It was all slightly overpowered by the typical smell of a smaller jazz club: smoke, sweat, and an underlying pungent odor Ava had always associated with brass instruments. There were only two people sitting at the little counter at the front of the place. A man serving as both cook and waiter was rushing out a cup of joe with a plate of eggs.