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  And with that thought, she pulled out her phone and called up the A1 headquarters. She asked to be put through to Sloane Miller, the A1 psychologist and in-house shrink for the officers and detectives. If anyone could tap into the mind of a killer with fire on the brain, it would be Sloane.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Avery was back at A1 headquarters half an hour later. Upon entering, she did not take the elevator up to her office. Instead, she remained on the first floor and walked toward the back of the building. She’d been here before when she had been ordered to speak with Sloane Miller, the on-hand psychologist, during her last big and daunting case and it had affected her in a way she had still not quite come to terms with. But now she was visiting for another reason…for insight into a killer’s mind. And, being in her element, the visit felt more natural.

  She came to Sloane’s office and was relieved to find the door cracked open. Sloane had no real set schedule and was more of a first-come-first-serve sort of resource for the police force. When Avery knocked on her door, she could hear Sloane typing something into her laptop.

  “Come in,” Sloane said.

  Avery did, feeling much more at ease than the last time she’d met Sloane. Here in her office rather than her lobby-like setting for patients, things were a little more formal.

  “Ah, Detective Black,” Sloane said with genuine cheer as she looked up from her laptop. “It’s so good to see you! I was very pleased to hear from you when you called. How have you been?”

  “Things are good,” Avery said. But in the back of her mind she knew that Sloane would jump at the opportunity to analyze her issues with Rose and her complicated relationship with Ramirez.

  “What can I do for you today?” Sloane asked.

  “Well, I was hoping to get your insights into a particular personality type. I’m leading up a case involving a man that we are fairly certain is burning his victims. He’s left only bones and ash behind at the crime scene—cleaned bones, with no charring or damage. There’s also a pile of ash and a slight chemical smell to the air…coming from the ash, I think. It’s pretty clear he knows what he’s doing. He knows how to burn a body, which seems like a very specific knowledge to have. But I don’t think he’s using the fire solely as a tool for his acts. I need to know what sort of person would not only use fire in such a way but also use it as some sort of symbolism.”

  “The idea that he’s using the fire as a symbol of sorts is a great deduction,” Sloane said. “In a case like this, I can almost guarantee you that’s what’s going on. At the heart of it, I think you might be dealing with someone that has an interest or maybe even a background in arson. Maybe he once had a job or hobby that included fire as a part of it. Studies have shown pretty resolutely that even children who are fascinated with campfires or matches show signs of an interest in arson-related acts.”

  “Can you tell me anything about that sort of personality that might help us get this guy sooner rather than later?”

  “I can certainly try,” Sloane said. “First of all, there’s going be some sort of mental issues, but nothing too deep. It could just be something as simple as a tendency towards anger in even the most innocent of situations. He’ll likely also be undereducated. Most repeat arsonists didn’t graduate high school. Some see it as a way to rebel against a system they could never understand—the whole some men just want to watch the world burn nonsense. Some will claim they set fires as an act of revenge but can never define what it is they are seeking revenge against.

  “They usually feel isolated or set apart from the world. So there’s a good chance you’re looking for either a single man or a man that is part of a loveless marriage. I’d expect he lives alone in a small house—probably spends a lot of time in a home office, basement, or garage of some kind.”

  “And what happens when you mix all of that with someone that clearly has no issue with killing people?”

  “That does make it tricky,” Sloane admitted. “But I think the same rules apply. Arsonists are usually very interested in people seeing what they’ve done. Setting fires is a way to attract attention. They’re almost proud of it, like it’s something they created. As for your suspect leaving the remains…that’s a strange one. I suppose it could be linked to reports of arsonists visiting the scene of their fires to watch firemen put them out. The arsonist sees the firefighters working hard and feels that he made that happen—that the arsonist is, in a sense, controlling the firefighters.”

  “So do you think our suspect might be hanging out nearby, watching?”

  Sloane considered it for a moment and then shrugged. “It’s certainly a possibility. But the precision which you said he’s burning the bodies—right down to clean bone—makes me think that this guy is also patient and organized. I don’t think he’d so something as foolish as revisiting the scene of a crime.”

  Patient and organized, Avery thought. That goes right along with his exquisite planning, using fog as cover to get his victims and dump the remains.

  She thought of the way the bones had been put almost on display—almost as jarring and as obvious as a raging fire.

  “Do you have any opinions on the case yet?” Sloane asked.

  “I’m thinking it’s a serial killer. As far as we know, this is his first victim but the blatant way he displayed the remains irks me. More than that, there’s something very organized about collecting a victim, burning them just right, and then dumping the remains in a specific manner. It screams serial tendencies to me.”

  “I’d agree with that,” Sloane said.

  “I just wish some of the men I work with were that bright,” Avery said with a smirk.

  “So how are you doing these days, Avery? No bullshit, please.”

  “I really am okay, all things considered. For the first time in my life, my problems seem sort of normal compared to my past.”

  “What sort of normal problems?” Sloane asked.

  “Problems with my daughter. Relationship confusion with a guy.”

  “Ah, the perils of a hard-working woman.”

  Avery smiled, although she sensed a deeper conversation coming on. This was why she sighed internally when her phone rang at that exact moment. She dug it out of her pocket and saw Connelly’s number. “I have to take this.”

  She nodded.

  Avery stepped out of the office and answered the call in the hallway.

  “Black, don’t let this go to your head, but you were right. Dental records came back from the remains. You nailed it. The victim is Keisha Lawrence. Thirty-nine years old and lived within a mile of the area.”

  “What else do we know?” Avery said, looking past the compliments.

  “Enough to ramp this thing up a bit,” he said. “I’ve got some guys digging on this but right now we know for sure that she had no immediate family in the area. The only person of interest we have is a boyfriend and a mother that died pretty recently.”

  “Has anyone spoken with the boyfriend yet?”

  “I’ve got someone on it right now. Meanwhile, I ran his background. This jack-off has a rap sheet of domestic abuse and bar fights. A real champ, this one.”

  “Want me to get to him after your current guy?”

  “Yes…go talk to this creep next. I’ll call Ramirez and get him off of the Boston College detail. He’s all yours for the rest of the day.”

  Did she pick up a hint of sarcasm in his voice? She was pretty sure she had. Either that or she was getting paranoid.

  Your sex life is not that important, she thought. Get over yourself.

  “Haul ass, Black,” Connelly said. “Let’s get this guy before another pile of bones turns up.”

  Avery ended the call and hurried down to the parking garage for a car. She thought of what Sloane had said about arsonists often watching firemen at work, feeling that they were controlling the firemen in a way.

  Maybe we need to add potential voyeur to the list of potential suspect characteristics, she thought.

&nbs
p; As for arsonists wanting to feel that they were controlling the people working to understand his crimes…Avery Black was no fireman and she sure as hell didn’t like feeling like someone was controlling her.

  She pulled out of the parking garage quickly, the tires making a quick and satisfying shriek of traction as she sped out. Keisha Lawrence’s boyfriend was their first real lead on this case and Avery wanted to pay him a visit before anyone else.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Avery parked in front of the boyfriend’s apartment just as Ramirez was getting out of his own car in front of her. He gave her a smile that felt different than usual. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, they were bonding in a way that went much deeper than a simple partnership at work.

  “How were things at the college?” Avery asked as they met at the stairs to the house.

  “Stuffy. Some stupid protest-related thing. So what’s the deal here?”

  “Boyfriend with an aggressive past. Pretty rough abuse-related rap sheet. I got a call on the way over that says he was almost confrontational with the police who broke the news.”

  “So fun times ahead, huh?” Ramirez asked.

  Avery nodded as they started up the stairs. She buzzed the doorbell and listened to heavy footsteps approaching the door. Within seconds, a slightly heavyset man answered the door. He was thick in the gut, but shoulders and arms that had clearly seen some time in the gym stood out from the tank top he wore. Both arms were decorated with several tattoos, one of which was a naked woman straddling a skull.

  “Yeah?” he said, sounding more irritated than sad.

  “Are you Adam Wentz?” Avery asked.

  “Who’s asking?”

  Avery flashed her badge and said, “I’m Detective Black and this is Detective Ramirez. We’d like to ask you some questions about Keisha.”

  “I’ve talked about her enough today,” Adam Wentz said. “Having two policemen come to your house early in the morning to tell you that a woman you’re seeing is dead is a hell of a way to start your day. So I’m done talking about it.”

  “Forgive me for saying so,” Avery said, “but I’d expect a man who had just lost his girlfriend in such a tragic way would want to help in any way he could while the police try to get to the bottom of it all.”

  “No matter what you find, it won’t bring her back now, will it?” Adam said.

  “No, it won’t,” Avery said. “But any information you can give us might help find the man that did it.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “So am I supposed to invite you in and weep on the couch about how much I miss her and how badly I want the killer brought to justice? Some shit like that?”

  “Would that be so bad?” Ramirez asked.

  With that, Adam stepped out of the doorway, closed the door behind him, and stood on the front stoop. It was clear that Avery and Ramirez were not going to be invited inside.

  “I’m really not in the mood for this,” Adam said. “So let’s make it quick. What do you want?”

  Avery took a moment to try to figure out his hostile attitude. Was it some sort of weird way to express his grief? Was he hiding something? It was too early to know for sure.

  He either knows something or was more hurt by the news than he expected, she thought. We have to be careful with our questions here.

  “For right now,” Avery said, “we’re just trying to narrow down our options and figure out a timeline.”

  Adam crossed his arms and gave a quick and gruff “All right.”

  “Can you provide a timeline of where you were over the course of the past two days?” Avery asked.

  “I went to work yesterday and the day before. Clocked in at eight, clocked out at five thirty both times. I came home, had a sandwich and a few beers for dinner. A very exciting life, as you can see.”

  “Did you see Keisha during any of that time?” Avery asked.

  “Yeah. She came over around seven the night before last. We watched some TV and then had sex on the couch.”

  Avery felt anger flaring up in her—that a man like Adam Wentz could speak about his recently deceased girlfriend in such an offhanded way placed a drop of acid in her stomach. Behind her, she sensed Ramirez taking a step closer. She knew from working with him that he wasn’t taking well to Adam’s mood, either.

  “Did she sleep over?” Avery asked.

  “No. She hasn’t slept here in a while. She says it makes her late for work.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with your history of abusing women?” Ramirez asked.

  Avery cringed, not liking that Ramirez had taken the conversation in that direction. Adam looked directly at him, totally unthreatened, and scowled.

  “No, actually,” Adam said. “It’s because her apartment is about twenty minutes closer to her work, you prick.”

  Ramirez stepped closer, now standing beside Avery and about three feet away from Adam.

  “What did you do after she left two nights ago?” Avery asked.

  “I went to bed, just like I did last night,” Adam said. “Woke up this morning and started getting ready for work. That’s when I got the call that Keisha had died. Your two cop friends were over about half an hour later.”

  “How did you feel when getting the news?” Avery asked.

  “What kind of stupid question is that?”

  Ramirez stepped up one more time, now on the stairs. He glared up at Adam with far too much contempt in his gaze for Avery’s liking. “Can you just answer the question?” Ramirez asked.

  “I was surprised,” Adam said. “A little sad, I guess. Yeah, she was sort of my girlfriend but it wasn’t too serious.”

  “How long had you dated?” Avery asked.

  “About seven months. We weren’t committed or anything.”

  “And is there any way you can prove you were at home last night? Maybe you went online at some point and we could check your internet history. Something like that?”

  “No, and I don’t…wait…are you actually thinking I did this? You think I killed her?”

  “No, I didn’t say that,” Avery said. “I’m just trying to establish where you were when we believe she was killed. Trust me…I would love nothing more than for you to provide a reason to eliminate you from the equation.”

  “Well, I can’t prove when I was sleeping, now can I? And I don’t know why in the hell you’d think I did it anyway.”

  “Sir,” Ramirez said, trying his best to remain civil. “We just have to go on what we have. And your history really leaves us no choice but to question you.”

  “Look, I only hit Keisha once. Ever. I’m not one of those losers that gets off on beating women.”

  “Your record says otherwise,” Ramirez said.

  “Drop it, Ramirez,” Avery said.

  I don’t know if he’s being protective over me or just showing off, but this could get pretty bad if he doesn’t check himself.

  “Yeah, listen to the pretty lady,” Adam said.

  “You don’t know when to shut your mouth, do you?” Ramirez asked. He surged forward, reaching for his cuffs. “If you’d kept your mouth shut, I wouldn’t have to arrest you.”

  “Arrest me?” Adam said. “For what?”

  Ramirez didn’t bother with an answer. He grabbed Adam by the shoulder and tried to spin him around, pulling his arm back to cuff him. Adam, however, wasn’t having it. He jerked away and held his hand out—not pushing Ramirez, but keeping him at bay.

  “Get your hand off of me,” Ramirez said as calmly as he could.

  “You’re not arresting me,” Adam said. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’ve been hostile and rude from the moment you answered your door.”

  “My girlfriend just died…burned right the fuck up! Of course I’ve been rude!”

  “Oh, now you care about her dying?”

  Adam gave a slight shove then, nearly making Ramirez fall down the stairs. Avery saw the look on Adam’s face; he knew he had messed up with that one action.
Ramirez responded by quickly squatting and launching himself into Adam. Both men stumbled backward and slammed into the closed front door.

  Avery would have handled things totally differently but she saw where Ramirez was coming from. The guy did seem shady. She didn’t think he was the killer, but he was certainly worth looking into…only not like this.

  By the time she had dashed up the few steps and to the small stoop of a porch, Ramirez had Adam Wentz pushed face-first against the door and was slapping his cuffs on him.

  “You’re under arrest,” Ramirez said.

  “For what?” Adam asked, his face still pressed against the door.

  “I’ll have to check the books for the proper terminology for being an asshole,” Ramirez said. “Accosting an officer won’t look good, either.”

  Avery stepped back for a moment as Ramirez led Adam Wentz down the stairs and to the car. Adam did not put up a fight. Avery wondered if this was some sort of resigned defeat on his part or just being smart and making sure he didn’t get himself into any further trouble. She watched as Ramirez shut the door on Wentz and then opened his own door to get in.

  Avery stood at the hood of the car and nodded him over. “Come here,” she said.

  “Yeah?” he asked, closing the door and meeting her in front of the car.

  “You could have handled that better,” she said. “This was an unnecessary arrest.”

  “You don’t think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t. He’s certainly worth further questioning, but not worthy of what just happened. If he’s a smart man—and that’s probably a stretch, let’s be honest—he could go after you with a lawyer.”

  “Are you…what? Are you upset about this?”

  “A little.”

  “He was being really rude and inappropriate with you.”

  “I’ve had tons of people be rude and inappropriate to me in this line of work,” Avery countered. “This is no different. I have to wonder if you might not have cared quite as much if we weren’t sleeping together.”

  He looked offended at first but then grinned at her. She was a bit disarmed by it because, even in the midst of her frustration with him, it was damned sexy.