Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) (18 page)

Just after sunset on the Bentley University Campus in Waltham, the
killer parked his car in a lot to the north of College Drive and walked south,
across the pavement.

An uneasy feeling churned in his stomach.

He was on the hunt for his fourth victim, and yet it was such an
unexpected activity.

Months before he began to plan for his
first
human kill, he
was assured by the voice of the All Spirit—who had guided him in each and every
phase of the operation—that
three
was the number of girls needed: three
kills to unlock the doors of heaven.

The radical change had come during his drop-off of Molly Green.

As the killer had driven to the predetermined spot for her
placement in Belmont, a spot that he was sure would please the All Spirit, an
angry voice had screamed in his mind:
More
. It had to be a mistake, he
was sure. The All Spirit had only needed three.
More
, the voice had
repeated—again and again. Worried, sweaty, and unsure of himself, the killer
knew the drop-off for Molly Green would have to be changed to account for the
shift. In a panic—and he never panicked—he’d scouted Belmont and was lucky
enough to find the children’s park with the mural that would at least
hark
to the future and please his god.

He, however, had not been pleased.

A new girl meant not just one, but more, a seemingly never-ending
supply.

He had
other
interests, other desires. Animals, for one.
His passion for collecting animals off the streets. He loved cats, a wounded
bat had even made it into his house once, a creature that he had loved and
cared for, before it was given immortality.

Botany was another hobby. No time had been allowed in the previous
months to augment his mixtures and test them out on live animal subjects.
Everything had been for the All Spirit, a god that had become an increasing
presence in his life.

More girls…he thought.

More…

His reward for the trinity was
supposed
to be immortality
in human form, and a place in heaven with the other celestial beings. But now,
he didn’t
feel
immortal, in fact, he felt feverish and extremely
emotional. This new game, this new plan, it went against his innermost desires,
and he began to think cruel thoughts about the All Spirit.

High in the sky, the face of his god frowned, and a booming echo
seemed to shake the land itself:
More!

Yes, I
know
, the killer mentally shouted to the sky. More!
Don’t you see, I’m here? I’ve been watching her? I
know
where she is.
The plan is set. The placement is set. Everything is under control! he assured
the All Spirit. Only he didn’t feel under control.

Unlike the other kills, where he’d been
imperious
, where he
had felt the protection of the All Spirit—to the degree that if he’d killed
someone in public, in broad daylight, not a single person would have noticed now,
all eyes seemed to gaze on him.

Outside of the parking lot was an expansive grass lawn.

A movie screen had been erected.

It was Saturday Night Movie Night at Bentley, and the classic
cinema on display was the black and white masterpiece
Casablanca
.

Hundreds of individuals and couples and groups of students were
splayed out on the lawn to watch the movie. Some of them were on blankets,
others in chairs. The boldest among them had brought wine and beer to the
event.

He carried with him a blanket and sunglasses.

His target? A senior named Wanda Voles. A reconnaissance mission
the night before had informed him of her destination this night. Apparently on
the outs with her boyfriend, she’d decided to come to the movie and be alone.
Her friends had begged her not to spend a precious Saturday night at such a
lame event, but Wanda had been adamant. “
Casablanca
is like, my favorite
movie,” she had told those in attendance.

He picked this night for several reasons. One of the main reasons
was that in the back of his mind, he hoped she wouldn’t show up. The thought
had been blasphemous and yet undeniable. “
I don’t want to do it! I don’t
want to do it!
” he’d screamed. The All Spirit had refused to listen. Pain
had wracked his body in that moment.

Now, he moved along the outskirts of the large crowd. Every so
often, he peeked up to see Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman embrace or fight.

Wanda sat on the western edge of the lawn, alone but surrounded by
other students.

He picked a spot about twenty yards behind her. Wanda’s dorm, he
knew, was about a ten-minute walk east, through the parking lot and over a
number of winding and narrow pathways where they might be alone.

On his blanket, the killer pretended to watch the movie.

Don’t do it, his mind blared. Don’t do it!

I
have
to do it, he roared back.

The pain in his stomach, like a hand that suddenly closed into a
fist, made him curve forward. The All Spirit filled his mind.
More!
the
god blared.
More! More! MORE!

I know, he pleaded. I’m sorry.

No joy could be taken in the movie. Every climactic scene only
reminded him of the desperate urgency of his own situation, and the people
everywhere, and his guilt. It was wrong, all wrong, and he couldn’t say it out
loud; he couldn’t even think it.

When the credits rolled, Wanda Voles collected her blanket and
personal items and headed home. Many of the students remained on the lawn.
There was a lot of kissing and laughing. Numerous small exoduses took place
along the edges. A few people moved beside Wanda.

He stood up only seconds after Wanda had passed and followed her
out. Just another ordinary student, he told himself.
Lies
, his mind
blared. Stop it! he fought.
More
!
the All Spirit roared. The
decree shook him and reverberated throughout his being. To those nearby, he
seemed to have an epileptic shiver.

Calm yourself, he thought.

He tracked Wanda through the parking lot. She passed right by the
killer’s car. A few lines of students were headed in the same direction, only
they were further away.

Alone, he thought. She’s alone.
Now!

None of the joy, the ease, and the personal investment were there.
The power of the All Spirit had left him. Yet he had to go on. As always, the
All Spirit watched and waited.

Wanda was ten feet in front of him. She began to hum a tune.

His ruse was prepared. He would greet her, pretend that he’d come
to see the movie with his daughter and then complain about his car tire. She
would lower down to help him check the pressure and that’s when the needle
would be placed. No fuss. No witnesses. Just a young girl that disappeared in a
parking lot.

Five feet behind her.

He prepared his needle.

Four feet and she was about to enter a new line of cars.

Three feet and he opened his mouth to speak.

In front of Wanda, a student jumped out from behind a car.

“
Rah
!” he roared with his arms up.

Wanda jerked back in fright.

He instantly turned and walked in a perpendicular direction.
Behind him, he could hear the boy laughing. “I got you
good
!” Wanda
screamed back, “You scared me half to death!” “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he
apologized, “but man, that was
good
! I saw you coming and I just had to
do it. What are you up to? It’s too early to.”

Their conversation faded in the background.

Relief flowed through the killer, a desperate relief at being
saved from his crime. It wasn’t right, he told himself. I
knew
it wasn’t
right. I have to rethink. I have to replan. Don’t worry. Don’t worry, he
placated his god. This will be fine. I promise.

High above, the All Spirit growled in disapproval.

A dreamy, surreal quality had taken control of Avery Black.

There was no memory of her final words with Jessica Givens, or
when she’d hung up or where she’d put her phone.

She stood in the dark of the Brandeis campus. Ahead of her were a
rolling green field and a line of trees and the stars. Behind her were red
brick buildings illuminated by lower lights.

Calm down, she told herself.

You’ve been down this road before.

The memory of her near-assault on John Lang from Art for Life was
still fresh in her mind, along with the captain’s reprimand and the extended
weekend she’d been given to think about her actions.

You were taken off the case, remember?

Not anymore, she answered.

Cindy Jenkins had been hired by Devante. Molly Green had been
hired by Devante. What about Tabitha Mitchell?

On the way to her car, Avery dialed Finley. The phone rang
numerous times before his voicemail picked up. He’s avoiding me, she thought.
Five more calls were placed. The results were the same. Every time, Avery left
the same message, only with more urgency:

“Finley. We’ve got a connection. Jenkins and Green were both hired
by the same firm in Boston. You have to get back to me. Did Tabitha Mitchell
have any kind of job lined up for her senior year? Call me back as soon as you
get this.”

Avery sat in her BMW and logged onto her dashboard computer.

Devante was a private company based in Boston.

General information was all she could find online: the founder of
the company, chairman of the board, the CEO, and the statewide structure.

A quick search revealed the vast number of jobs within an actual
accounting firm: staff accountant, junior and senior level accountants, tax
manager, tax auditor, CPA…. The list was seemingly endless.

Who hires college girls? she wondered. It has to be some kind of
human resources head that scouts out colleges and finds likely applicants. That
person would most likely then take resumes and distribute the promising ones to
the people in charge of whatever positions happened to be open within the
company.

How would I find out who scouted and saw the resumes of those two
girls?

The answer was obvious, and tricky given her currently diminished
status within the Homicide division. You have to get to the Chairman or the
CEO, she realized. Only they can give you access to the right people. She
laughed. OK, how do I do
that
?
A warrant, she thought.

You’re going to need a warrant.

Warrants were difficult to get. Probable cause was necessary. In
this case, Avery was confident that the connection between the girls and the company
that planned to hire them was enough probable cause for a warrant. However, a
judge would also want to know that items connected to the crime might be found
at the offices of Devante. That might be a problem, she thought, unless the
affidavit included computer information. If the killer has anything related to
the case on his computer, I can use that to bolster a warrant.

Sleep on it tonight, she thought. Don’t make a mistake. Wait for
Finley to call. Get everything in place before you go to the captain.

Her mind blared back:
Not on your life.

She put the car in gear and headed out.

Avery sauntered into the A1 police department at just past ten in
the evening. The first-floor receptionist was dealing with an officer and a
prostitute. Throughout the rest of the office, plainclothes officers booked
drunken college students and took statements. A fight broke out in the back and
it took three cops to subdue a tremendous white man.

Police jobs weren’t like normal jobs.

The majority of officers didn’t just come in at eight or nine and
leave at five everyday. Similarly, weekends were almost
never
free
unless an employee had seniority or the entire department was on a revolving
schedule. In the A1, everyone worked in shifts—five-day shifts that could be
from Wednesday to Sunday, and if someone was on a case, they could work all
night, every night, and well into the morning.

Avery recognized a few familiar faces. However, no one seemed to
pay her much mind. Weekend night shifts had a certain feel to them, like being
in a cemetery after staying up for forty-eight hours straight: everyone was in
a haze and had a rhythm all their own.

On the second floor, Connelly was arguing with Thompson.

Thompson looked like two men rolled into one, a giant that loved
to hit the gym, and combined with his pale skin and full lips and light blond
hair, he usually made other police—and perpetrators—extremely uncomfortable.

“Why am I still here?” Thompson complained.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Connelly snapped. “I just gave you a
job and you didn’t do it. I don’t care if you’re here until
four
AM.”

“Car dealerships!?” Thompson roared and stood to his full height.
“How many fucking dealerships are open on Saturday night? My shift ended hours
ago. Here’s a list from Watertown and Belmont.”

“I asked for Waltham, too. And I asked you for numbers, and for
the direct contacts at each company. I don’t see anything here for Belmont,” he
complained and flipped through a list.

Avery sat back on someone’s desk and waited for them to finish.

Connelly glanced up.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Didn’t the captain tell you to
take a rest?”

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. Get lost. You’re
not back until Monday.”

She indicated Thompson.

“You’re wasting his time.”

“I told you!” Thompson followed. “This is a waste of my fucking
time.”

“
Shut the fuck up!
” Connelly snapped and pointed in his
face. “Black, I swear to God. If you’re not out of my sight in five seconds I’m
going to personally see you off Homicide and back to beat for the rest of your
life.”

Avery lowered her head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said in a calm, even tone. “And you
need to listen to me. I’ve got a lead. A big one,” she emphasized and looked
him right in the eyes. “We need to talk this through. And we need to be on the
same team. Do you want to catch a killer? Or do you want to stay pissed off at
me because you
think
you know me, or because I was assigned to your
team, or because I used to have a better life than you?”  

She pushed off the desk.

“I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to offend you,” she said, “but
I’m right here. Right now. Just like you. Swimming in the shit. And I haven’t
let up on finding this killer, and I’ve finally got a lead. This can’t wait until
Monday. If you kick me out, I’ll just call the captain, and then the chief, and
then anyone else who will listen to me.”

Thompson pointed at Avery with heartfelt concern.

“Listen to her,” he pleaded.

“
Shut the fuck up, Thompson!
Sit down.”

He curled a finger at Avery and pointed to the conference room.

“Three minutes,” he said. “You’ve got three minutes.”

Once they were alone, Avery laid it out. “I know I’ve made some
mistakes.”

“
Some
!?
”

“
Stupid
mistakes,” she added, “but it was all in the line
of duty. I made a few other mistakes today. I went back to see Howard Randall.”

Connelly howled and waved a hand.

“
He gave me a clue
,” Avery continued, “or,” she added,
“something like a clue. I couldn’t figure it out until I went to Brandeis.”

Connelly slapped his head.

“You went to Molly Green’s college? You were told to stay
off
this case.”

“
Will you shut up!
” she yelled. “Just for once? Please?”

Surprised, he folded his arms and stood back.

“I talked to someone in the guidance department. She told me that
Molly had a job lined up with Devante Accounting. Well, guess what? Cindy
Jenkins also had a job with Devante. I don’t know about Tabitha yet. Finley was
supposed to talk to the mother. I haven’t heard back from him. Tabitha was a
junior, but if she was hired by them too, that’s too much of a coincidence to
ignore, don’t you think?”

“Your last connection turned out to be shit.”

“But it was a
connection
, the only one between two of those
girls, until now. If we can link the third girl to Devante, we’ll be closer
than we’ve ever been.”

“Finley’s off duty,” he mumbled.

“So?”

Connelly walked away and mulled over the situation. In a gray suit
and blue shirt that appeared too small for his muscular frame, he rolled his
shoulders and rubbed the blondish stubble on his skin, seemingly annoyed but
intrigued.

“Wait here,” he said.

“What are you—”

“
I said wait!
” he snapped and walked out.

Beyond the glass, she could see him give instructions to a very
flustered Thompson before he went to his own desk and started to make a call.

Avery sat in the conference room for nearly twenty minutes. With
nothing to do, the burden of her knowledge finally out, she felt more relaxed
and oddly comforted. An intense desire to call her daughter made her reach for
the phone.

What would you say? she wondered.

Tell her that you were an idiot, and that you still are. Tell her
the truth: that you love her and you’ll make this right, no matter what.

The conference door opened.

“Tabitha Mitchell was a junior,” Connelly said. “She was graduating
early, top of her class. And she was offered a job at Devante Accounting.”

Avery sat up.

“Holy shit.”

The connection was there. Howard Randall had been right. His words
rang out:
He has to find them, watch them, know them from
somewhere.
When she went down the list with Randall—one a senior, one a junior—he’d said
no
.

He knew, she realized.

The sickness Avery had felt at having to visit Randall and ask for
help now began to wash away. The connection had been made, and if she could fit
all the pieces together, there was hope: for her, for her future, to leave the
past behind.

“Three of them,” Connelly said. “
All
of them had jobs at
Devante.”

“How did you find out?”

“Finley’s been calling the Mitchell house. I called the mother’s
cell. She was sleeping. Started crying the second I told her it was about her
daughter. But she had the information we needed. What’s fucked up is, I think
the papers said the same thing yesterday or the day before.”

That’s how he knew, Avery realized. Randall read the papers.

They both stared at each other in silence.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“You tell me.”

She glanced away and bit down on her lower lip.

“We need a name. Who was the hiring manager that met with all
those girls?”

“Whoever it is,” Connelly said, “he must know that at least two of
the girls he hired are dead. It’s been all over the news.”

“If two girls
you
hired were found dead in under a week,
would
you
call someone?”

“Not if I was guilty.”

Connelly immediately put the conference room phone on speaker and
called the captain. Agitated and sleepy, a remote O’Malley listened to both
Avery and Connelly on speakerphone and took his time before he answered.

“Wait until the morning,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do
right now. I’ll call the chief and the mayor first thing Sunday. Shit,” he
mumbled. “Devante. They’re huge.”

“We’ll start with the CEO and work our way down,” Avery said.
“Someone has to have a list of names and job titles. I’m assuming our killer
works in human resources.”

“Try to get some sleep tonight,” the captain said, “both of you.
It might be a big day tomorrow.  I’ll meet you in the office at eight.
Avery, if you can’t sleep, start on the warrants: one for the company and one
for an unnamed individual within the company. You can also call Devante and see
if there’s a weekend staff. I doubt anyone will pick up at this hour, but it’s
April. You never know.”

The line went dead.

Uneasy in his stance, Connelly refused to look at her.

“Let’s hope this works out,” he said and left.

Avery completed as much paperwork as she could on two warrants.
She called at least ten numbers listed for Devante’s Boston office. No one
answered.

Go home, she told herself.

Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind.