Cause to Kill

How does he know about that? she wondered. It was in all the papers, she told herself. It’s public record. Anyone can find that information.

“You want to dig up my past again?” she said, “Make me cry? Not today. I’m already at rock bottom. There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“Perfect,” he said. “Now you can rise.”

The day of her mother’s death was clear in Avery’s mind.

It happened behind the house, after school. She came home and heard the shot. She was only ten at the time. One shot, silence, and then another. A run into the forest and she saw her father there, standing over her body, the shotgun in his hand. “Go get me a shovel,” he’d said.

“I felt nothing,” Avery admitted to Howard. “My mother was a drunk and never there for me. She made it clear I was a mistake. I felt nothing when she died.”

“What kind of mother are you?”

A crack. Avery felt a crack in the empty, desolate shell of her existence. And although she was empty and depleted, she began to realize she could still be hurt.

“I don’t want to talk about Rose.”

A deep frown furrowed Howard’s brows.

“I see,” he said. “I understand.”

He searched the ceiling, thought about something else, and turned back to her.

“Your killer knows these girls,” he said. “What do they all have in common?”

Avery shook her head.

“The third girl is a mystery for now,” she said. “The first two, both in college, both in sororities. One’s a senior, one’s a junior, so that’s no connection.”

“No,” he whispered.

“What?”

“No,” he said again. “You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

Disappointment sank his gaze.

“Have you ever heard the story about the boy and the butterfly?” he asked. “When a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly, the butterfly uses its body and wings to break free from the cocoon. It is a difficult, time-consuming task, but as the butterfly struggles and works, it gains muscle, and strength, and when it finally does breaks free, it is able to launch it into the sky and capture food with ease and survive. However, one day, a boy that kept caterpillars as pets saw one of his cocoons shake and move. He felt sorry for the budding creature and wanted to help it, so that it would not have to suffer so much. He asked his mother to cut a slight opening in the cocoon to aid in its escape. But that simple act, born of love and care, robbed the butterfly of its power, and when it finally emerged – all too soon – its body and limbs and wings were not yet strong enough to hunt or fly, and within days, it died.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Avery asked. “Am I the butterfly or the boy?”

Howard wouldn’t answer.

He simply lowered his head and remained silent, even when Avery continued to ask, and then shout, and then pound on the table for an answer.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Agitated.

Avery was agitated by her meeting with Howard, angry and agitated.

What did he mean? she wondered. Everything I said was fact. Both in college. Both in sororities. One a senior. One a junior. What was wrong with that?

Arg! she mentally cried.

The streets were filled with people and cars. It was a Saturday, and she was officially off the case. Still, she didn’t just want to just kill time. She wanted to act. Start from scratch, she thought. The beginning.

Lederman Park was thriving with runners and dogs by the time she arrived. On the baseball diamond near the river was a softball game between men in blue and red.

Avery parked the car and walked to the bench where Cindy Jenkins had been found. The memory of the body was clear in her mind, the placement, the slight smile, and the look toward the cinema. He wanted to kill in threes, she thought. But that changed. Why did it change? Nothing about the three bodies had seemed very different. They were all handled with care, and except for the last body, they were all staring at threes – three women in love, three girls from WWII. What’s the connection? she wondered.

She sat down, not on the spot where Cindy had been placed, but on the opposite side of the bench, and searched her phone for any information about the number three: it was a magical number in most religions. It sounds like the word “alive” in Chinese. It was the first number that meant “all.” Noah had three sons. The trinity is three. Three. Three. Three.

Avery put down her phone.

You wanted to kill three, she thought. There was power in three. But then something changed. What changed? What made you want to kill more?

From her meeting with Howard, Avery was beginning to believe the killer had some kind of higher belief system, maybe of a religious god, maybe of his own type of god. A god that needed young girls. Why? Avery thought. Why do you need young girls?

Both in college. Both in sororities. One a senior. One a junior.

No, Howard had said.

She drove to Auburn Cemetery.

As she stood before the spot where Tabitha Mitchell had been placed and as she stared across the great cemetery, Avery felt like she was in some kind of surreal world that wasn’t completely her own. The drive to Lederman Park. The drive to the cemetery. They were calming, peaceful. He would have experienced the same thing. No fears. No worry that he would be caught. Just another beautiful day.

Stony Brook Children’s Playground in Belmont was a hotbed of activity. Avery was surprised that the crime scene had already been cleaned up. Children ranging in ages from babies to eight-year-olds could be seen everywhere. The older kids ran through the sprinklers and climbed up and down the wooden castle. Mothers cried out and chased their young. Kids cried from bumps on their heads. Some of the mothers and nannies glared at Avery, as if they knew her or they were trying to place her face.

She headed over to the castle entrance where the third girl had been placed.

A child peeked out from the opening.

“Hi,” he said and scrambled away.

Avery imagined the way the girl had looked, and then she turned to stare at the mural with countless children holding hands.

What’s the connection? she wondered.

Both in college. Both in sororities. One a senior. One a junior.

No.

She dialed a number.

The gruff voice of Talbot Diggins answered.