Cause to Kill

Wilson held onto John’s shoulders like a protective angel.

“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.