Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) Read online

  C A U S E T O K I L L

  (AN AVERY BLACK MYSTERY—BOOK 1)

  B L A K E P I E R C E

  Blake Pierce

  Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which include the mystery suspense thrillers ONCE GONE (book #1), ONCE TAKEN (book #2) and ONCE CRAVED (#3). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series.

  ONCE GONE (book #1), which has over 100 five star reviews, is available as a free download on Amazon!

  An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

  Copyright © 2016 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright miljko, used under license from iStock.com.

  BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE

  RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES

  ONCE GONE (Book #1)

  ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)

  ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)

  MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES

  BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)

  AVERY WHITE MYSTERY SERIES

  CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  PROLOGUE

  It was nearly impossible for Cindy Jenkins to leave her sorority’s spring party at the Atrium. The massive penthouse space had been fitted with strobe lights, two stocked bars, and a stellar crystal ball that sparkled down on a dance floor packed with partygoers. Throughout the night, she’d danced with no one and everyone. Partners came and went, and Cindy swung her auburn hair and flashed a perfect smile and sky blue stare at any dancer that happened to appear. This was her night, a celebration not just for Kappa Kappa Gamma pride, but for the many hard years she’d strived to be the best.

  Her future, she knew, was assured.

  For the last two years, she’d interned at a major accounting firm in town; they recently offered her a position as a junior accountant. The starting salary would be enough to buy a posh new wardrobe and afford an apartment only a few blocks away from work. Her grades? Top of the class. Sure, she could coast until graduation, but Cindy didn’t understand the word “coast.” She was all in, every day, no matter what she was doing. Work hard and play hard, that was her motto; and tonight, she wanted to play.

  Another cup of the highly alcoholic “Dreamy Blue Slush,” another Kappa Kappa Gamma cheer, and another dance, and Cindy couldn’t keep the smile off her face. In the strobe lights, she moved in slow motion. Her hair whipped back and her perky nose crinkled at a boy she’d known for years that wanted a kiss. Why not? she thought. Just a peck; nothing serious; nothing to hurt her current relationship, just enough to let everyone at the party know that she wasn’t always a Type-A goodie-goodie that followed the rules.

  Friends spotted her and cheered in approval.

  Cindy pulled away from the boy. The dancing and alcohol and heat had finally taken its toll. She swooned slightly, still smiling, and held onto the boy’s neck so she wouldn’t fall.

  “Do you want to go to my house?” he whispered.

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  “Where is he?”

  That’s right, Cindy thought. Where is Winston? He hated sorority parties. It’s just a bunch of stuck-up girls getting drunk and cheating on their boyfriends, he always said. Well, she thought, I guess I can finally agree! Kissing a boy when she was already committed to another man was probably the raciest thing she’d ever done.

  You’re drunk, she reminded herself. Get out of here.

  “Gotta go,” she slurred.

  “One more dance?”

  “No,” she replied, “really, I’ve got to go.”

  The boy begrudgingly accepted her terms. Staring lovingly at the popular Harvard senior, he backed away into the crowd and offered a wave goodbye.

  Cindy slid a lock of sweaty hair behind her ear and made her way off the dance floor, eyes low, happiness beaming on her face. Her favorite song came on and she spun and swayed to the edge of the crowd.

  “Noooo!” her friends moaned, as they saw her trying to leave.

  “Where are you going?” one demanded.

  “Home,” she insisted.

  Her best friend, Rachel, pushed through the group and grabbed Cindy’s hands. A short, stocky brunette, she wasn’t the prettiest or even the smartest of the pack, but her aggressive, sexual nature usually made her the center of attention. She wore a skimpy silver dress, and every time she moved, her body seemed ready to burst out of the garment.

  “You can-not-go!” she commanded.

  “I’m really drunk,” Cindy pleaded.

  “We haven’t even played our April Fool’s prank! That’s the highlight of our party! Please? Just stay a little longer?”

  Cindy thought of her boyfriend. They’d been together for two years. That night, they were supposed to have a late-night rendezvous at her apartment. She inwardly groaned at her uncharacteristic dance-floor kiss. How am I supposed to explain that one? she wondered.

  “Seriously,” she said, “I have to go,” and, appealing to Rachel’s outrageously erotic nature, she glanced at the boy she’d kissed and humorously added, “If I stay? Who knows what could happen?”

  “Oh!” her friends cheered.

  “She is out of control!”

  Cindy kissed Rachel on the cheek and whispered, “Have a great night. See you tomorrow,” and headed for the door.

  Outside, the cool spring air made Cindy take in a deep breath. She wiped the sweat off her face and skipped
up Church Street in her short yellow summer dress. The downtown city block was mostly composed of low brick buildings and a few stately houses nestled among trees. A left turn onto Brattle Street and she crossed over and walked southwest.

  Streetlamps lit most corners, but a section of Brattle Street was blanketed in darkness. Rather than be worried, Cindy picked up her pace and spread her arms wide, as if the shadows could somehow cleanse her system of alcohol and exhaustion and energize her for the rendezvous with Winston.

  A narrow alleyway came up on her left. Instinct told her to be careful; it was, after all, extremely late and she wasn’t oblivious to the seedier side of Boston, but she was also too high to believe anything could possibly stand in the way of her future.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement, and too late, she turned.

  She felt a sudden sharp pain in her neck, one that made her catch her breath, and she glanced back to see something shimmering in the light.

  A needle.

  Her heart plummeted, and her buzz wore off in a single instant.

  At the same moment, she felt someone pressing into her back, a single lean arm trapping hers. The body was smaller than her own, but strong. With a yank, she was pulled backwards into the alley.

  “Shhh.”

  Any thought that it could be a prank vanished the moment she heard the evil, strong voice.

  She tried to kick and scream. For some reason, her voice wouldn’t work, as if something had softened the muscles in her neck. Her legs, too, began to feel like Jell-O, and she could barely keep her feet on the ground.

  Do something! she implored herself, knowing if she didn’t she would die.

  The arm was around her right-hand side. Cindy turned out of the hold, and at the same time jerked her neck back to head-butt her attacker. The back of her skull smacked into his nose and she could almost hear a “crack.” The man swore under his breath and released her.

  Run! Cindy pleaded.

  But her body refused to comply. Her legs gave out from beneath her, and she fell hard on the cement.

  Cindy lay on her back, legs splayed and arms out at opposite angles, unable to move.

  The attacker kneeled down beside her. His face was obscured by a sloppily placed wig, a fake moustache, and thick glasses. The eyes behind the glasses sent a chill through her body: cold and hard. Soulless.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Cindy tried to scream; a gurgle came out.

  The man nearly touched her face; then, as if aware of their surroundings, he quickly stood.

  Cindy felt herself gripped by the hands and pulled through the alley.

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  Someone, she mentally pleaded, help me. Help! She remembered her classmates, her friends, her laughter at the party. Help!

  At the end of the path, the small man lifted her up and hugged her tight. Her head flopped on his shoulder. He lovingly stroked her hair.

  He grabbed one of her hands and twirled her around like they were lovers.

  “It’s all right,” he said loudly, as if it were meant for others, “I’ll get the door.”

  Cindy spotted people farther off in the distance. Thinking was difficult. Nothing would move; an effort to speak failed.

  The passenger side of a blue minivan was opened. He plopped her inside and carefully closed the door so that her head rested on the window.

  On the driver’s side, he entered and placed a soft, pillow-like sack over her head.

  “Sleep, my love,” she said, turning the ignition. “Sleep.”

  The van pulled away, and as Cindy’s mind faded into darkness, her final thought was of her future, her bright, unbelievable future that had suddenly, horribly been snatched away.

  CHAPTER ONE

  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 do
wn.

  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.”