Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) (2 page)

Avery Black stood in the back of the packed conference room,
leaning into a wall, deep in thought as she took in the proceedings around her.
Over thirty officers packed the small conference room of the Boston Police
Department on New Sudbury Street. Two walls were painted yellow; two were glass
and looked out upon the department’s second floor. Captain Mike O’Malley, early
fifties, a small, powerfully built Boston native with dark eyes and hair, kept
moving around behind the podium. He seemed to Avery to be perpetually restless,
uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Last but not least,” he said in his thick accent, “I’d like to
welcome Avery Black to Homicide Squad.”

A few perfunctory claps filled the room, which otherwise remained
embarrassingly silent.

“
Now, now
,” the captain snapped, “that’s no way to treat a
new detective. Black had more arrests than any of you last year, and she nearly
singlehandedly took down the West Side Killers. Give her some respect,” he said
and nodded toward the back with a noncommittal smile.

Head low, Avery knew her bleached-blond hair hid her features.
Dressed more like an attorney than a cop, in her sharp black pantsuit and
button-down shirt, her attire, a throwback from her days as a defense lawyer,
was yet another reason that most within the police department chose to either
shun her or to curse her name behind her back.

“Avery!” The captain raised his arms. “I’m trying to give you some
props over here. Wake up!”

She looked around, flustered, at the sea of hostile faces staring
back. She was starting to wonder whether coming to Homicide was a good idea
after all.

“All right, let’s start the day,” the captain added to the rest of
the room. “Avery, you, in my office.
Now
.” He turned to another cop.
“And I want to see you too, and you, Hennessey, get over here. And Charlie, why
you running out of here so fast?”

Avery waited for the throng of police officers to leave, then as
she began to make her way toward his office, a cop stood in front of her, one
she had seen around the department but had never formally greeted. Ramirez was
slightly taller than her, lean and sophisticated in appearance, with tan Latin
skin. He had short black hair, a shaved face, and although he wore a nice gray
suit, there was an ease about his stance and appearance. A sip of coffee and he
continued to stare without emotion.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“It’s the other way around,” he said. “I’m the one that’s going to
help you.”

He offered a hand; she didn’t take it.

“Just trying to get a bead on the infamous Avery Black. Lot of
rumors. Wanted to figure out which ones were true. So far I’ve got:
absentminded, acts like she’s too good for the force. Check and check. Two for
two. Not bad for a Monday.”

Abuse within the police force was nothing new for Avery. It had
started three years ago when she entered as a rookie cop, and it hadn’t let up
since. Few in the department were considered friends, and even fewer trusted
colleagues.

Avery brushed past him.

“Good luck with the chief,” Ramirez sarcastically called out, “I
hear he can be a real asshole.”

A limp, backhanded wave was offered in reply. Over the years,
Avery had learned it was better to acknowledge her hostile partners than avoid
them completely, just to let them know she was there and wasn’t going away.

The second floor of the A1 police department in central Boston was
an expansive, churning engine of activity. Cubicles filled the center of the
expansive workspace, and smaller glass offices surrounded the side windows.
Cops glared at Avery as she passed.

“Murderer,” someone muttered under his breath.

“Homicide will be perfect for you,” said another.

Avery passed a female Irish cop whom she had saved from the
clutches of a gang den; she flashed Avery a quick glance and whispered, “Good
luck, Avery. You deserve it.”

Avery smiled. “Thanks.”

Her first kind word of the day gave her a boost of confidence that
she took with her into the captain’s office. To her surprise, Ramirez stood
only a few feet outside the glass partition. He lifted his coffee and grinned.

“Come on in,” the captain said. “And close the door behind you.”

Avery sat down.

O’Malley was even more formidable close up. The dye job on his
hair was noticeable, along with the many wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He
rubbed his temples and sat back.

“You like it here?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this, the A1. Heart of Boston. You’re in the thick of it,
here. Big City Dog. You’re a small-town girl, right? Oklahoma?”

“Ohio.”

“Right, right,” he muttered. “What is it about the A1 you like so
much? There are a lot of other departments in Boston. You could have started at
Southside, B2, maybe D14 and got a taste of the suburbs. Lots of gangs out
there. You only applied here.”

“I like big cities.”

“We get some real sickos here. You sure you wanna go down that
road again? This is homicide. A little different than beat.”

“I watched the leader of the West Side Killers flay someone alive
while the rest of his gang sang songs and watched. What kind of ‘sickos’ are we
talking about?”

O’Malley watched her every move.

“The way I hear it,” he said, “you got played—hard—by that Harvard
psycho. He made you look like a fool. Destroyed your life. From star attorney
to disgraced attorney, then nothing. And then the switch to rookie cop. That
had to hurt.”

Avery squirmed in her chair. Why did he have to rehash all this?
Why now? Today was a day to celebrate her promotion to Homicide, and she didn’t
want to ruin it—and certainly didn’t want to dwell on the past. What was done
was done. She could only look forward.

“You turned it around, though”—he nodded in respect—“made a new
life for yourself down here. On the right side this time. Gotta respect that.
But,” he said, looking her over, “I want to make sure you’re ready. Are you
ready?”

She stared back, wondering where he was going with this.

“If I wasn’t ready,” she said, “I wouldn’t be here.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“We just got a call,” he said. “A dead girl.
Staged
. It
doesn’t look good. Guys on the scene don’t know what to make of it.”

Avery’s heart beat faster.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Are you?” he asked. “You’re good, but if this turns out to be
something big, I want to make sure you won’t crack.”

“I don’t crack,” she said.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said and pushed some papers on
his desk. “Dylan Connelly supervises Homicide. He’s over there now working with
forensics. You’ve got a new partner, too. Try not to get him killed.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Avery complained, and she inwardly
bristled at the recent Internal Affairs investigation, all because her former
partner—a prejudiced hothead—had jumped the gun and tried to infiltrate a gang
all by himself and take credit for her work.

The chief pointed outside.

“Your partner’s waiting. I’ve made you lead detective. Don’t let
me down.”

She turned to see Ramirez waiting. She groaned.

“Ramirez? Why him?”

“Honestly?” The captain shrugged. “He’s the only one that wanted
to work with you. Everyone else here seems to hate you.”

She felt that knot in her stomach tightening.

“Tread softly, young detective,” he added, as he stood, signaling
their meeting was over. “You need all the friends you can get.”

 “How did it go?” Ramirez asked, as Avery exited the office.

She lowered her head and kept on walking. Avery hated small talk,
and she didn’t trust any of her fellow cops to talk to her without trading
barbs.

“Where are we headed?” she replied.

“All business.” Ramirez smiled. “Good to know. All right, Black;
we’ve got a dead girl placed on a bench in Lederman Park, by the river. It’s a
high-traffic area. Not really a place you’d put a body.”

Officers slapped palms with Ramirez.

“Go get her, tiger!”

“Break her in right, Ramirez.”

Avery shook her head. “Nice,” she said.

Ramirez raised his hands.

“It’s not me.”

“It’s all of you,” she sneered. “I never thought a police station
would be worse than a law firm. Secret boys’ club, right? No girls allowed?”

“Easy, Black.”

She headed toward the elevators. A few officers cheered at getting
under her skin. Usually, Avery was able to ignore it, but something about her
new case had already shaken her tough exterior. The words the captain had used
weren’t typical of a simple homicide:
Don’t know what to make of it. Staged.

And the cocky, aloof air of her new partner wasn’t exactly
comforting:
Seems cut and dry.
Nothing was ever cut and dry.

The elevator door was about to close when Ramirez put his hand
through.

“I’m sorry, all right?”

He seemed sincere. Palms up, an apologetic look in his dark eyes.
A button was pressed and they moved down.

Avery glanced at him.

“The captain said you were the only one that wanted to work with
me. Why?”

“You’re Avery Black,” he replied as if the answer were obvious.
“How could I not be curious? Nobody really knows you, but everyone seems to
have an opinion: idiot, genius, has-been, up-and-comer, murderer, savior. I
wanted to sort out fact from fiction.”

“Why do
you
care?”

Ramirez flashed an enigmatic smile.

But he said nothing.

* * *

Avery followed Ramirez as he walked easily through the parking
garage. He wore no tie and his top two buttons were open.

“I’m over there,” he pointed.

They passed a few uniformed officers that seemed to know him; one
waved and flashed a strange look that seemed to ask:
What are you doing with
her?

He led her to a dusty, crimson Cadillac, old, with torn tan seats
on the inside.

“Solid ride,” Avery joked.

“This baby has saved me many times,” he relayed with pride as he
lovingly pat the hood. “All I have to do is dress like a pimp or a starving
Spaniard and nobody pays me any mind.”

They headed out of the lot.

Lederman Park was only a few miles from the police station. They
drove west on Cambridge Street and took a right on Blossom.

“So,” Ramirez said, “I heard you were a lawyer once.”

“Yeah?” Guarded blue eyes flashed him a sidelong glance. “What
else did you hear?”

“Criminal defense attorney,” he added, “best of the best. You
worked at Goldfinch & Seymour. Not a shabby operation. What made you quit?”

“You don’t know?”

“I know you defended a lot of scumbags. Perfect record, right? You
even had a few dirty cops put behind bars. Must have been living the life. Huge
salary, an endless stream of success. What kind of person leaves all that
behind to join the force?”

Avery remembered the house she’d grown up in, a small farm
surrounded by flat land for miles. The solitude had never suited her. Neither had
the animals or the smell of the place: feces and fur and feathers. From the
beginning she’d wanted to get out. She had: Boston. First the university and
then the law school and career.

And now this.

A sigh escaped her lips.

“I guess, sometimes things don’t work out the way we plan.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In her mind, she saw the smile again, that old, sinister smile
from a wrinkled old man with thick glasses. He’d seemed so sincere at first, so
humble and smart and honest.
All
of them had, she realized.

Until their trials were over and they went back to their everyday
lives and she was forced to accept that she was no savior of the helpless, no
defender of the people, but a pawn, a simple pawn in a game too complex and
rooted to change.

“Life is hard,” she mused. “You think you know something one day
and then the next day, the veil gets pulled down and everything changes.”

He nodded.

“Howard Randall,” he said, clearly realizing.

The name made her more aware of everything—the cool air in the
car, her position on the seat, their location in the city. Nobody had said his
name aloud in a long time, especially to her. She felt exposed and vulnerable,
and in response she tightened her body and sat taller.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” she said.

Only it wasn’t fine. Everything had ended after him. Her life. Her
job. Her sanity. Being a defense attorney had been challenging, to say the
least, but
he
was the one that was supposed to make it right again. A
genius Harvard professor, respected by all, simple and kind, he’d been charged
with murder. Avery’s salvation was supposed to come through
his
defense.
For once, she was supposed to do what she had dreamed about since childhood:
defend the
innocent
and ensure justice prevailed.

But nothing like that happened.