Cause to Kill

“Is that it?”

“We’ve got some suspects, too. Cindy was at a party on the night of her abduction. A guy named George Fine was there. He’s apparently been following Cindy around for years: takes classes she takes, seems to randomly bump into her at events. Kissed Cindy for the first time, danced with her all night.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Not yet,” she said and looked right at Dylan. “I wanted your approval before a potential shakedown at Harvard University.”

“It’s a good thing you have some sense of protocol,” Dylan grumbled.

“There’s also the boyfriend,” she added to O’Malley. “Winston Graves. Cindy was supposed to go to his house that night. Never showed up.”

“So we’ve got two potential suspects, footage of the event, and a car to track down. I’m impressed. What about motive? Have you given that any thought?”

Avery looked away.

The footage she’d seen, as well as the victim’s placement and handling, all pointed to a man that loved his work. He’d done it before, and he’d do it again. Some kind of power trip must have motivated him, because he had little care for the police. The alleyway bow to the camera told her as much. That took courage, or stupidity, and nothing about the body dump or the abduction pointed to a lack in judgment.

“He’s toying with us,” she said. “He likes what he does, and he wants to do it again. I’d say he’s got some kind of plan. This isn’t over yet.”

Dylan snorted and shook his head.

“Ridiculous,” he hissed.

“All right,” O’Malley said. “Avery, you’re clear to talk to your suspects tomorrow. Dylan, contact Harvard and give them the head’s-up. I’ll call the chief tonight and let him know what we’ve got. I can also see about getting you some blanket warrants for cameras. Let’s keep Thompson and Jones on their toes. Dan, I know you’ve been working all day. One more gig and you can call it a night. Get the addresses of those two Harvard boys if you don’t have them already. Roll by on your way home. Make sure they’re tucked in tight. I don’t want anyone bolting.”

“I can do that,” Ramirez said.

“OK.” O’Malley clapped. “Get going. Great job to both of you. You should be proud of yourselves. Avery and Dylan, hang out for a minute.”

Ramirez pointed at Avery.

“Want me to pick you up in the morning? Eight? We’ll head over together?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll keep on Sarah about that sketch. Maybe she’ll have something.”

The sudden eagerness of a partner to help – on his own and without prodding – was new for Avery. Everyone else she’d been paired up with since the moment she’d joined the force had wanted to leave her dead in a ditch somewhere.

“Sounds good,” she said.

Once Ramirez had gone, O’Malley made Dylan sit on one side of the conference table and he had Avery sit on the other.

“Listen up you two,” he said in a quiet yet firm voice. “The chief called me today and said he wanted to know what I was thinking, handing this case over to a well-known and disgraced former criminal defense attorney. Avery, I told him you were the right cop for the job and I stand by my decision. Your work today proves I was right. However, it’s almost seven thirty and I’m still here. I’ve got a wife and three kids waiting for me at home and I desperately want to go and see them and forget about this miserable place for a while. Obviously, neither one of you shares my concerns, so maybe you don’t understand what I’m saying.”

She stared back at him, wondering.

“Get along and stop bothering me with your bullshit!” he snapped.

A tense silence blanketed the room.

“Dylan, start acting like a supervisor! Don’t call me with every whiny detail. Learn how to handle your people on your own. And you,” he said to Avery, “you better cut out the wacky humor act and the I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude and start acting like you care for once, because I know you do.” He stared at her for a long time. “Dylan and I have been waiting on you for hours. You want to turn off your radio? Not answer phones? Maybe it helps you think? Good for you. You go right ahead. But when a superior calls, you call them back. The next time this happens, you’re off the case. Understood?”

Avery nodded, feeling humbled.

“Understood,” she said.

“Got it.” Dylan nodded.

“Good,” O’Malley said.

He stood taller and smiled.

“Now, I should have done this sooner but there’s no better time than the present. Avery Black, I’d like you to meet Dylan Connelly, divorced father of two. Wife left him two years ago because he never came home and he drank too much. Now they live in Maine and he never gets to see his kids, so he’s pissed off all the time.”

Dylan stiffened and was about to speak, but said nothing.

“And Dylan? Meet Avery Black, former criminal defense attorney that screwed up and released one of the world’s worst serial killer onto the streets of Boston, a man that killed again and destroyed her life. She leaves behind a multimillion-dollar gig, an ex-husband, and a kid that barely talks to her. And, like you, she’s usually drowning her sorrows in work and alcohol. You see? You two have more in common than you think.”

He turned deadly serious.

“Don’t embarrass me again, or you’re both off the case.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Left alone in the conference room together, Avery and Dylan sat across from each other for a few moments in absolute silence. Neither one of them moved. His head was low. A grimace lined his face and he seemed to be mulling something over. For the first time, Avery felt some sympathy for him.

“I know what it’s like – ” she began.

Dylan stood up so fast and stiffly that his chair slid back and hit the wall.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” he said. “You and I are nothing alike.”

Although his menacing body language emanated anger and distance, his eyes said something different. Avery was sure he was on the verge of a breakdown. Something the captain had said affected him, just like it had affected her. They were both damaged, lonely. Alone.

“Look,” she offered, “I just thought.”

Dylan turned away and opened the door. His profile on the way out confirmed her fears: there were tears in his bloodshot eyes.

“Dammit,” she whispered.

Nights were the worst for Avery. She had no steady group of friends anymore, no real hobbies other than the job, and she was so tired that she couldn’t imagine doing more legwork. By herself at the large, blond table, she hung her head low and dreaded what came next.

The way out of the office was like every other day, only there was a charged feeling in the air, and many on the force were even more emboldened by her front page story.

“Hey, Black,” someone called and pointed to her cover photo. “Nice face.”

Another officer tapped on the image of Howard Randall.