Cause to Save Read online

She had kept it in check for the most part, not wanting to show that side of herself in the hospital and not wanting Ramirez to hear it, if he could hear her at all. She’d slipped into the bathroom of his room a few times and cried for a bit but she had never let it come out so freely.

  She wept in the tub and, like the thought of Ramirez possibly not making it finally blooming in her head, the crying was also a bit more staggering than she had anticipated.

  She let it all out and didn’t get out of the tub until the water went tepid and her feet and hands had started to wrinkle. When she finally climbed out, smelling like a normal human again and having soaked in some steam, she felt much better.

  After she got dressed, she even took the time to put on a little bit of makeup and made her hair look at least somewhat presentable. She then ventured out into the kitchen, poured herself a bowl of cereal as a form of a late lunch, and checked her phone, which she had left on the kitchen counter.

  Apparently, she’d been quite popular while she’d been in the bathroom.

  She had three voice mails and eight text messages. All of them were from numbers she knew. Two were landlines at the precinct. The others were from Finley and O’Malley. One of the texts was from Connelly. It was the last one that had come in—seven minutes ago—and he was not vague about his purpose. The text read: Avery, you’d best answer your fucking phone if you value your job!

  She knew it was a bluff, but the fact that Connelly of all people had texted her meant that something was up. Connelly rarely texted. Something big had to be going down.

  She didn’t bother checking the voice messages. Instead, she called O’Malley. She didn’t want to speak to Finley because he pussyfooted around awkward things. And there was no way in hell she wanted to speak to Connelly when he was in a miserable mood.

  O’Malley answered on the second ring. “Avery. Jesus…where the hell have you been?”

  “In the bathtub.”

  “Are you at your apartment?”

  “I am. Is that some sort of a problem? I saw that Connelly texted. He texted. What’s wrong down there?”

  “Look…we might have something pretty huge down here and if you’re up for it, we’d like for you to come in. Actually…even if you’re not up for it, Connelly wants you here.”

  “Why?” she asked, intrigued. “What is it?”

  “Just…just get down here, will you?”

  She sighed, realizing that the thought of returning to work actually appealed to her. Maybe it would give her some energy. Maybe it would get her out of this pitiful funk she’d been in for the last two weeks.

  “What’s so damned important?” she asked.

  “We’ve got a murder,” O’Malley said. “And we’re pretty sure it was Howard Randall.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Avery’s dread spiked when she reached the precinct. There were news vans everywhere, complete with scrambling news anchors jockeying for position. There was so much commotion in the parking lot and on the lawn that there were uniformed officers at the front doors, keeping them at bay. Avery drove around back to the other entrance, away from the street, and saw that there were a few vans parked there as well.

  Among the few officers at the back of the building keeping the peace, she saw Finley. When he saw her car, he stepped out of the crowd and waved at her, telling her to come to him. Apparently, Connelly had sent him out to serve as a guard of sorts to make sure she was able to make it inside through the throng of craziness.

  She parked her car and walked as quickly as she could to the back entrance. Finley drew up next to her at once. Because of her history as an attorney as well as the high-profile cases she’d tackled as a detective, Avery knew she had a face that some local new crews might recognize. Fortunately, thanks to Finley, no one got a good look at her until she was being ushered in through the back door.

  “What the hell is going on? We have Randall?” Avery asked.

  “I’d love to tell you what happened,” Finley said. “But Connelly told me to say nothing at all. He wants to be the first to speak with you.”

  “Fair enough, I guess.”

  “How are you, Avery?” Finley asked as they walked quickly to the conference room near the back of the A1 headquarters. “I mean, with everything going on with Ramirez?”

  She shrugged it off as best as she could. “I’m okay. Dealing with it.”

  Finley sensed her cue and dropped it. They walked the rest of the way to the conference room in silence.

  She was expecting the conference room to be just as packed as the parking lot. She’d thought something involving Howard Randall would have every available officer in the room. Instead, when she stepped inside with Finley, she saw only Connelly and O’Malley sitting at the conference table. The two men already in the room gave her expressions that were somehow polar opposites of one another; O’Malley’s look was one of pure concern while Connelly’s expression seemed to say What the hell am I supposed to do with you now?

  When she took a seat, she almost felt like a kid who had been sent to the principal’s office.

  “Thanks for coming in so quickly,” Connelly said. “I know you’ve been through hell. And trust me…I only wanted you here because I thought you’d want to be involved in what’s going on.”

  “Howard really killed someone?” she asked. “How do you know? Did you catch him?”

  The three men shared an uncomfortable glance around the table. “No, not exactly,” Finley said.

  “It happened last night,” Connelly said.

  Avery sighed. She’d actually been expecting to hear something like this on the news or through a text from the A1. Still…the man she had come to know from across a table in prison as she sought his advice and counsel did not seem capable of murder. It was strange…she knew him well from her past as an attorney and knew he was capable of murder. He’d done it numerous times; there were eleven murders that were attached to his file when he went to prison and there was speculation that there were many more that could be attributed to him with just a bit more evidence. But still, something about the news shocked her despite it sounding completely normal.

  “We’re sure it’s him?” she asked.

  Connelly got instantly uncomfortable. He let out a sigh and stood up from his chair, starting to pace.

  “We don’t have hard evidence. But it was a college girl and the murder was gruesome enough to make us think it’s Randall.”

  “Is there a file yet?” she asked.

  “It’s being put together now and—”

  “Can I see it?”

  Again, Connelly and O’Malley shared an uncertain look. “We don’t need you very deep in this,” Connelly said. “We called you in because you know this psycho better than anyone. This isn’t an invitation to jump into the case. You’re dealing with far too much right now.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment. Are there crime scene photos I can see?”

  “There are,” O’Malley said. “But they’re pretty gruesome.”

  Avery said nothing. She was already a little pissed that they had called her in with such urgency but were approaching her with kid gloves.

  “Finley, could you run to my office and grab the material we have?” Connelly asked.

  Finley got up, as obedient as ever. Watching him go, Avery realized that the two weeks she’d spent in a state of uncertain mourning seemed much longer than just two weeks. She loved her job and she had missed the hell out of this place. Just being around the well-oiled machine was boosting her spirits, even if it was only to be something of a resource for O’Malley and Connelly.

  “How’s Ramirez?” Connelly asked. “The last update I got was two days ago and that update was still the same.”

  “Still the same,” she said with a tired smile. “No bad news, no good news.”

  She nearly told them about the ring the nurses had found in his pocket—the engagement ring Ramirez had been prepared to offer her. Maybe that would help them understand why
she was so close to his injury and had elected to stay by his side the entire time.

  Before the conversation could go any further, Finley came back into the room with a file folder that did not contain much. He placed it in front of her, getting a nod of approval from Connelly.

  Avery opened up the pictures and looked them over. There were seven in all, and O’Malley had not been exaggerating. The pictures were quite alarming.

  There was blood everywhere. The girl had been dragged into an alley and stripped to her underwear. Her right arm looked to have been broken. Her hair was blonde, though most of it was matted with blood. Avery looked for gunshot wounds or stab marks but saw none. It wasn’t until she reached the fifth picture that a close-up of the girl’s face revealed the method of killing.

  “Nails?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” O’Malley said. “And from what we can tell, they were put in with such precision and force that it had to be one of those pneumatic nail guns. We’ve got forensics working on it, so we can only speculate the order of it all for now. We think the first shot was one that took her just behind the left ear. It must have been shot from a distance because it didn’t pierce all the way through. It punctured the skull but that’s all we know for now.”

  “And if that one wasn’t the one that killed her,” Connelly said, “the one that went in under the jaw, at an angle, sure as hell did. It tore through the bottom of her mouth, slanted in through the roof of her mouth, and tore into her nasal passage and into her brain.”

  The violence involved does sound like Howard Randall, Avery thought. There’s no denying that.

  Still, there were other things in the picture that didn’t line up with what she knew about Howard Randall. She studied the images, finding that despite all of the cases she had seen, these pictures were among the bloodiest and most disturbing.

  “So what, exactly, do you need from me?”

  “Like I said…you know this guy pretty well. Based on what you know, I want to know where he might be staying. I think it’s safe to say he stayed here in the city based on this murder.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous to just assume this is the work of Howard Randall?”

  “Two weeks after he escaped prison?” Connelly asked. “No. I’d say it lines up pretty well and screams Howard Randall. Do you need to go back and review the photos from the murder scenes from his cases?”

  “No,” Avery said with a bit of venom. “I’m good.”

  “So what can you tell us? We’ve been looking for two weeks now and we’re coming up with nothing.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want me on this yet.”

  “I need your advice and assistance,” Connelly said.

  Something about it was almost insulting to her but she didn’t see the point in arguing. Besides, it would give her mind something to focus on other than Ramirez’s state.

  “Every time I spoke with him, he would never just give me a straight answer. It was always a riddle of some sort. He did it to mess with me—to make me work for the answer. He also did it just to have some fun on his end. I think, honestly, he viewed me as some sort of acquaintance. Not a friend, really. But someone he could go back and forth with on an intellectual level.”

  “And he never resented you for all of that drama back when you were an attorney?”

  “Why would he resent me?” she asked. “I got him off…a free man. Remember, he essentially turned himself in afterwards. He killed again just to show how incompetent I was.”

  “But these little visits you’ve paid him in prison…he welcomed those?”

  “Yes. And honestly, I never understood it. I think it was a respect thing. And as stupid as it might sound, I think there’s a part of him that always regretted that last kill—of making me look bad in the process.”

  “And did he ever talk about trying to escape during any of your visits?” O’Malley asked.

  “No. If anything, he was comfortable there. No one messed with him. Everyone had this weird sort of respect for him. Fear, maybe. But he was basically king of that place.”

  “Then why would he break out?” Connelly asked.

  Avery knew where he was going with it, what he was trying to get her to say. And the hell of it was that it made sense. Howard would only break out if he had something to do on the outside. Some unfinished business. Or maybe he was just bored.

  “He’s a smart man,” Avery said. “Scary smart. Maybe he wanted to be challenged again.”

  “Or to kill again,” Connelly said with disgust, pointing to the pictures.

  “Possibly,” she conceded. She then looked at the pictures. “When was she found?”

  “Three hours ago.”

  “Her body still there?”

  “Yeah, we just came back from the scene. The coroner is due in about fifteen minutes. Forensics is there with the body until they arrive.”

  “Call them and tell them to wait. Don’t touch the body. I want to see the scene.”

  “I said you’re not on this,” Connelly said.

  “You did. But if you want me to tell you what sort of frame of mind Howard Randall is in—if he did commit this murder—then looking at pictures isn’t going to do it. And at the risk of sounding cocky, you know I’m the best crime scene investigator you have.”

  Connelly gave a quick curse under his breath. Without saying anything else, he turned away from her and pulled out his cell phone. He pushed a number through and, a few seconds later, got someone on the other end.

  “It’s Connelly,” he said. “Look. Hold off on moving the body. Avery Black is on her way.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Oddly enough, Connelly tasked Finley with heading down to the crime scene with her. Finley didn’t talk much on the way and instead looked out the window thoughtfully most of the time. She knew Finley had never really gotten deep into the weeds of any high-profile cases. If this was to be his first, she sort of pitied him.

  I guess they’re preparing for the worst—someone needs to step up if Ramirez doesn’t make it through. Finley is just as good as anyone. Better, maybe.

  When they arrived at the crime scene, it was clear that the forensics and crime scene investigators were done with their duties. They were milling around, most of them by the crime scene tape looped around the entrance to the alleyway. One of them had coffee in his hand, making Avery realize that it was morning. She checked her watch and saw that it was only 8:45.

  God, she thought. I seriously lost all concept of time over the last few days. I could have sworn it was at least nine when I got to my apartment.

  This thought made her feel tired all in one moment. But she waved it off as she and Finley approached the gathered investigators. She absently waved her badge as Finley nodded politely from her side.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Finley asked.

  She only nodded as they entered the alleyway, ducking under the crime scene tape. They walked down the alley for several feet and then took a left where the alleyway emptied into small area filled with dust, debris, and graffiti. A few old city garbage bins sat in the corner, neglected. Not too far away from them was the woman Avery had seen in the crime scene photos. Those images had not fully prepared her for seeing it in real life.

  The blood, for one, was somehow much worse now. Without the glossy finish of the photos, it was muted and deadly looking. The startling nature of the murder snapped her back to reality quickly, pulling her mind and thoughts almost entirely out of Ramirez’s hospital room.

  She stepped as closely as she could without stepping in blood and let her mind do its thing.

  The bra and underwear aren’t sultry or provocative at all, she thought. This was not a girl heading out in search of a good time. If the underwear looks like this, chances are good her outfit wasn’t very revealing, either.

  She slowly circled the body, her mind taking in the small details more than the gore now. She saw the puncture wound where the nail had driven in through the bottom of her
jaw. But then she also saw several other wounds, all exactly the same—all inflicted with a nail gun. One between her eyes. One just above her left ear. One in each knee, one in the base of the chest, one through the jaw, and one at the back of the head. The flow of the blood and the brief description Connelly had given her suggested that there were similar wounds on the back of the girl’s body, which was currently pressed against the far brick wall like a rag doll.

  It was brutal, excessive, and violent.

  The icing on the cake was the fact that her left hand was missing. The still-bleeding stump suggested that it had been cut off no more than six hours ago.

  She called over her shoulder to the handful of gathered investigators. “Any preliminary signs of rape?”

  “Nothing visible,” one of them called back. “Won’t know for sure until we get her out of here.”

  She heard the bite to his comment but ignored it. She circled the woman slowly. Finley watched her from a safe distance, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. She studied the body, the nature of it. This was done by someone who needed to prove a point. That much was clear.

  That’s why they want to jump straight to Howard, she thought. He just escaped, was put away for his crimes, and now wants to prove that he’s still dangerous—to himself as well as to the police.

  But that didn’t feel right. Howard was demented but this was almost barbaric. It was beneath him.

  Howard does not have a problem killing—and doing it in ways that grab the media’s attention. He scattered the body parts of his victims around Harvard, after all. But nothing like this. This is beyond the point of being obscene. Howard’s murders were violent, but there was something almost clean to them…evidence suggests he strangled them first and then came the cutting. But even the cuts to the severed body parts had been done with something akin to precision.

  When she finally stepped away, logging it all in her head, Finley stepped forward. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I have a thought,” she said. “But Connelly sure as hell isn’t going to like it.”