Cause to Run

Avery pulled a seat beside Ramirez.

“I’m afraid this is an ongoing investigation. We can’t talk about any specifics at this time. Right now, we just need to know anything that you might know to help us identify her killer. Did Henrietta have a boyfriend? A close friend you might know about? Someone that might have had a grudge against her?”

“Are you sure it was Henrietta?” the mother wondered.

“Henrietta had no enemies!” John shouted. “Everybody loved her. A goddamn saint she was. Came over once a week with groceries. Helped out homeless people. This can’t be right. This has got to be some kind of mistake.”

Bargaining, Avery thought.

“I assure you,” she said, “you’ll both be called later this week to make a positive identification of the body. I know this is a lot to absorb. You’ve just received some terrible news, but please, let’s stay focused on finding out who might have done this.”

“No one!” John blared. “This is obviously a mistake. You have the wrong child. Henrietta had no enemies,” he declared. “Was she hit by a bus? Did she fall off a bridge? At least give us some idea what we’re dealing with here.”

“She was killed,” Avery offered. “That’s all I can say.”

“Killed,” the mother whispered.

“Please,” Ramirez said. “Anything you can think of? Anything at all. Even if it seems insignificant to you, it might be a big help to us.”

“No,” the mother replied. “She had no boyfriend. There’s a circle of girlfriends she keeps. They were over last year for Thanksgiving. None of them could have done something like this. You must be wrong.”

She looked up with pleading eyes.

“You must!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Avery parked at an empty spot on the street between police cruisers and braced herself as she looked over at the A7 police department headquarters on Paris Street in East Boston. Outside the station was a media circus. A news conference had been called to discuss the case and a number of television vans and cameras and reporters barred the way, despite numerous officers trying to get them to move.

“Your public awaits,” Ramirez noted.

Ramirez seemed to want to be interviewed. His head was lifted high and he smiled at every reporter that turned his way. To his disappointment, none of them approached. Avery had her head down and walked as fast as possible to push her way into the station. She hated crowds. At one time in her life, when she was a lawyer, she’d loved when people knew her by name and flocked to her trials, but ever since she herself had been figuratively put on trial by the press, she’d learned to despise their attention.

Instantly, the reporters converged.

“Avery Black,” one of them said with a mic in her face. “Can you please tell us anything about the woman murdered at the marina today?”

“Why are you on the case, Detective Black?” yelled another. “This is the A7. Were you transferred to this department?”

“How do you feel about the mayor’s new Stop Crime campaign?”

“Are you and Howard Randall still an item?”

Howard Randall, she thought. Despite an overwhelming desire to cut all ties with Randall, Avery hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind Every day since her last meeting with Randall, he’d found some way to creep into her thoughts. Sometimes, a simple smell or an image was all she needed to hear his words: “Does it bring back something from your childhood, Avery? What? Tell me…” Other times, while working on different cases, she tried to think like Randall would think to uncover the solution.

“Out of the way!” Ramirez yelled. “Come on! Make room. Let’s go.”

He put a hand on her back and led her into the station.

The A7 headquarters, a large brick and stone building, had recently received a major interior overhaul. Gone were the metal desks and typically sullen feel of a state-operated organization. In its place were sleek silver tables, colored chairs, and an open area for booking that looked more like the entrance to a playland.

Like the A1 – only more modern – the conference room was encased in glass so that people could look out on the floor. A large, oval mahogany table was complete with microphones for each seat and a huge flat-screen TV for conferencing.

O’Malley was already seated at the table beside Holt. On either side of them were Detective Simms and his partner, and two people Avery guessed were the forensics specialist and the coroner. Two seats remained open at the bottom of the table near the entrance.

“Sit down,” O’Malley waved. “Thanks for coming. Don’t worry. I’m not going to be on your backs the entire time,” he said to everyone, with special emphasis to Avery and Ramirez. “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Holt said with genuine affection toward O’Malley.

“Thanks, Will. Take it away.”

Holt indicated his officer.

“Simms?” he said.

“All right,” Simms said, “I guess I’m on. Why don’t we start with forensics, then get the coroner’s report, and then I’ll tell you about the rest of our day,” he said with emphasis to Captain Holt before he turned to the forensics specialist. “Sound good, Sammy?”

A lean Indian man was the head of their forensics team. He wore a suit and tie and gave a big thumbs-up when his name was mentioned.

“Yes sir, Mark,” he practically gushed. “As we discussed, we have very little to go on. The apartment was clean. No blood, no sign of a struggle. The cameras were all disabled with a clear epoxy that you can buy at any hardware store. We found remnants of black glove fibers, but again, they offered no solid leads.”

Detective Simms kept jerking his chin toward Avery. Sammy had trouble understanding who was in authority. He kept looking at Simms and Holt and everyone else. Eventually, he caught on and began to address Avery and Ramirez.

“We do, however, have something from the shipyard,” Sammy said. “Obviously, the killer disabled the cameras there, in much the same way as the apartment. To get to the shipyard unnoticed would mean he had to work between eleven p.m., which is when the last worker left the marina, and six in the morning, when the first shifts came on. We found matching shoe prints in the shipyard and on the boat before the other police officers were on the scene. The foot is a ten and a half boot, of the Redwing variety. He seems to walk with a limp from a possible injury to his right leg, as the left shoe created a deeper indent than the right.”

“Excellent,” Simms said proudly.

“We checked into that drawn star on the bow as well,” Sammy continued. “No genetic material could be found. However, we did find a black fiber within the star similar to the glove fibers in the apartment, so that was a very interesting connection, thank you for that, Detective Black.” He nodded.

Avery nodded back.

Holt sniffed.

“Lastly,” Sammy concluded, “we believe the body was carried to the shipyard in a rolled rug, as there were many rug fibers on the body and a missing rug from the house.”

He nodded to indicate he was finished.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Simms said. “Dana?”

A woman in a white lab coat, who looked like she would rather have been anywhere else but in that room, spoke next. She was middle-aged, with straight brown hair that came down to her shoulders, and a constant frown on her face.

“The victim died from a broken neck,” she said. “There were bruises on her arms and legs that indicated she was hurled to the floor or against the wall. Body has probably been dead about twelve hours. There was no sign of forced entry.”

She sat back with her arms folded.

Simms raised his brows and turned to Avery.

“Detective Black? Anything on the family?”