by Blake Pierce
And it was not a feeling that Avery intended to take lightly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The moment she got to her car, she looked at the brief notes she had taken while looking over Biel’s file inside the prison. Among them was the name and number of the psychiatrist who had met with Biel during and immediately following the trial. She called the number and was handled by a receptionist. After having to use a few choice words and reciting her badge number to the woman on the other end, she was put through to Dr. Janelle Pearson.
When Pearson answered the phone, she sounded livid…but in that quiet and calm sort of way that psychiatrists tended to be well rehearsed in.
“I don’t what your issue is,” Pearson said, not bothering with introductions or formalities, “but I am currently with a client. This is highly unprofessional and rude.”
“I understand that, and I apologize,” Avery said. “However, it is quite urgent that I speak with you about Ronald Biel.”
There was a shocked silence on the line before Pearson responded. “I’ve put that behind me. No need to dig it up again. Now, if you—”
“He was released three week ago,” Avery said. “And in confidence, I can tell you that I am fairly certain he’s picked up where he left off.”
“Released?” Pearson said, nearly disgusted. “Already?”
“Yes. Look, Doctor…I’m about twenty minutes away from your office. Can you please push some things around so I can speak with you? I won’t take up too much of your time.”
Avery was again met with that shocked silence. She could almost hear Dr. Pearson trying to comprehend what Avery had said. Finally, she responded: “Yes, of course.”
“I’ll see you then,” Avery said, hanging up before the conversation got longer or more awkward than it needed to be.
She drove to the address, getting there easily due to the moderate lull in traffic. Being back on a case after two stagnant weeks in a hospital room, she was amazed at how quickly the day seemed to be passing. It was nearing eleven in the morning and although she’d already made three stops—first to see Jane Seymour, then by the now-deceased Mitchell Brennan’s residence, and lastly, the prison—she felt like she’d gotten nothing accomplished.
But it felt good to be moving forward—to be working toward something again. The fact that she apparently had a stalker somewhere out there who could place her and her loved ones in jeopardy only enhanced it.
She drove on toward Janelle Pearson’s office, her fists white-knuckled with determination as she gripped the steering wheel.
***
When she arrived at the psychiatrist’s office, Avery saw that a small placard-type sign had been placed in the glass door. It read: Unexpected Emergency. Be back in an hour.
Assuming the emergency was the fact that she was visiting, Avery approached the door and knocked. A woman came to the door right away. She was tall, had short-cropped red hair, and wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Avery showed the woman her badge. The woman on the other side unlocked the door right away and let her in.
“Dr. Pearson?” Avery asked.
“Yes. Sorry I was rude on the phone. It’s very uncommon to be interrupted mid-session, though. Fortunately, the client understood.”
“And thank you for understanding the grave nature of the situation I’m in right now,” Avery said.
“Please, come back to my office. I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on.”
Pearson hurriedly led Avery to the rear of the building. Her office sat in the back and was roughly the size of Avery’s apartment. A huge oak desk sat near the far wall, up three carpeted stairs. The rest of the office consisted of a lush couch and a gorgeous armchair. Calming abstract paintings hung on every wall.
“Please, have a seat,” Pearson said as she walked over to a miniature coffee bar and set about pouring their coffee.
Avery sat on the couch, not liking how it made her feel as if she were being studied. “So, just to confirm,” Avery said, “you did evaluate Ronald Biel around the time of his trial, correct?”
“I did. Not that it did any good, mind you.”
She had come back to the couch and armchair, handing Avery a cup of coffee and setting a small tray down with packets of sugar and cream. Avery added some sugar, stirred, and sipped.
“Why do you say it didn’t do any good?”
“Because by the end of the trial, I think the jurors and the judge had made up their minds. I know that Ronald was never convicted of the actual murders and that was tragic. But even aside from that, there was an energy in the air; everyone wanted him in prison. The jury, the judge, the entire city.”
“I’d be in that number as well,” Avery said. “I was the attorney representing him. And I admittedly tossed the case.”
“I thought your name was familiar when I spoke with you on the phone,” Pearson said.
“I take it you didn’t think prison was the best place for him?”
“God no. I recommended quite strongly that he be committed to a mental institution. In the end, it all fell on deaf ears.”
“Can you tell me exactly why you made that recommendation?” Avery asked.
Pearson drank from her coffee and looked down at the coffee table that sat between them. She stared dimly, as if trying not to recall that time of her life but knowing she needed to.
“Ronald Biel was a terrifying man,” she said. “I’m sure you must have sensed some of it, working so closely with him.”
Avery nodded. She had felt some sort of wrongness about him—an evil that seemed to come off of him in pulses of energy. It’s one of the reasons she so easily made the decision to half-ass the case to make sure he was found guilty.
“I don’t say that to be dramatic,” Pearson said. “I’ve been in this line of work for eighteen years and I can say without any hesitation that Ronald Biel was one of the most horrific people I have ever met. He all but came out and admitted to committing the murders, but never quite enough for me to go to the police with—and yes, I would have taken the risk of breaking doctor-patient confidentiality in that case. The man had a bloodlust like I had never seen before. He’d talk about things he had seen during the course of his life: gory movies, alleged snuff films, roadkill, a deer he shot as a teenager. He spoke about this stuff the way a scholar would speak about literature or philosophy.”
“Certainly that’s not enough for someone to be labeled insane, though,” Avery said.
“No. But after logging more than forty hours with him, there was more than enough. I can practically recite the list of diagnoses that I sent to the courts. I even considered suggesting that he wasn’t fit to stand trial.”
“What were some of the diagnoses?” Avery asked.
“On the lighter side of things, he was obsessive compulsive. The man also had a memory like a bank vault. He also clearly had a case of antisocial personality disorder. He lacked empathy or compassion for his fellow man. He showed no remorse. There were several times when I allowed him to sort of free roam during our conversations. I’d ask him what was on his mind that day and he’d up come with some very morbid things. He’d talk about his curiosity concerning the human body. He speculated on how much blood could be lost from a very small wound to the neck, how long it would take to bleed out someone. He talked about some of the things he had seen while in the mob and how he had very badly wanted to be a part of it. We’re talking about dismembered bodies, execution-style shootings. He spent a good fifteen minutes during one session telling me what the brain matter of a man that had been shot at point-blank range looked like. He said it was beautiful and inspiring.”
“My God. How do you….I mean, how do you think the courts were able to push all of that aside? Surely he needed some sort of clinical help.”
“I agree. But while it angered me, I also understand it. You have to think about it through the eyes of the public, Detective. You and I are accustomed to seeing killers and psychopaths through lenses that education and our c
areers have placed over our eyes. But the public…that’s a different creature.”
“How so?”
She smirked nervously. “I always use the example of John Wayne Gacy. Horrid serial killer. You know his profile, I assume?”
Avery nodded. She’d done a fake case study on the infamous killer while in college.
“The media has made him out to be this mythical figure over time. But aside from his atrocious crimes, he didn’t fit the stark profile of a serial killer—or, at least, what the public thinks a serial killer is supposed to act, look, and behave like. There are many reports about Gacy that state that those who knew him well or even just barely said that he came across as just an average man. Maybe even slightly charming. So when you have a man like Ronald Biel who is not presenting any of the monstrous serial killer tropes the jury is expecting, there’s a sort of humanization that occurs. They don’t see him as a crazy monster that clearly needs mental help. They seem him as a human…a flawed human capable of monstrous acts. Do you follow me?”
“I do,” Avery said thoughtfully.
“And the scary thing about Gacy is this,” Pearson said. “After his execution, his brain was removed and examined by a specialist. Do you know what results they found?”
“None,” Avery said. “That study showed not a single abnormality.”
“That’s right,” Pearson said. “According to the science of it all and the results of that study, the brain of John Wayne Gacy was just as normal as yours and mine. I’m willing to bet the same is true of Ronald Biel.”
“So what you’re trying to tell me…” Avery started.
“…is that you need to be careful. Biel, in my estimation, is a normal human with no clear mental breaks—no detachment from reality at all. Yet he is a man of no remorse. He is a man capable of monstrous things. And if he has started killing again after six years away, I can’t help but wonder if he has killed off the man and become the monster.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Her talk with Pearson had Avery feeling scared and jittery—an alarming chain of events, as Avery wasn’t someone who spooked easily. With no clear next step, she felt the urgent need to head back to Ramirez’s place to make sure Rose was still holding up okay. She was sure her daughter was irritable by now, a prisoner of her mother’s mess and having to put her life on hold. Of course, in the process, her life was likely being saved but Avery didn’t expect Rose to quite understand and appreciate that just yet.
The drive to Ramirez’s place took about forty minutes because of the congested flow of lunch-hour traffic. She wondered who was currently on surveillance detail and thought about being bold and driving out in front of the place just to see. But in the end, she stuck with the safer route. She parked behind the building and then entered along the side. The side door led to the elevators and the building’s small laundry room.
As she took the elevator up to Ramirez’s apartment, she considered calling Connelly, just to give him an update. She then thought better of it, not wanting to poke at the bear until there was just reason to.
Avery stepped off on the third floor and walked halfway down to the hall to Ramirez’s door. She slipped her key in the lock and turned it. She also called out to Rose at the same time, not wanting to alarm her.
“Rose? It’s just me.”
She pushed the door, stepping inside and realizing only then that there had been no resistance at all when she had unlocked the door. It was already unlocked, she thought.
She took two steps into the apartment and her heart leaped up into her throat. A chill raced through her as she drew her Glock.
The place was trashed.
Couch cushions were strewn everywhere. A few wine glasses from the kitchen had been shattered against the living room wall. The refrigerator door was open; milk, tea, and juice were puddled on the floor. Pictures and their frames were all over the floor.
“Rose!”
The sound of her screaming her daughter’s name filled the place like a boom of thunder. As she stalked into the living room, her gun drawn and ready to fire at a moment’s notice, she took in more of the destruction. DVDs were scattered all over the living room. A large hole had been punched into the screen of the television.
And still, she had heard nothing from Rose.
She checked behind the kitchen counters and bar to make sure the area was clear before moving on to the bedroom. The door was mostly closed so she kicked it and went rushing in, certain that someone was there on the other side.
But there was no one.
She did see something that made her go cold again, though.
There was a message on the bedroom wall, centered directly over the bed. From what she could tell, it had been written in magic marker. The handwriting appeared to be the same as the note on the cat and the dummy in the warehouse. The message read: ONE BY ONE, EVERYONE YOU LOVE. THEN JUST YOU AND I.
Rose.
Her heart broke to think that Biel had come here and taken Rose. But how had he gotten by police surveillance? How had he—
She interrupted her own thoughts as she pulled out her cell phone. Her hands were trembling and there was a sob welling up in her throat. She was going to call O’Malley to see who the hell had been stationed as lookout. And God help whoever it was.
But before she could place the call, she heard a noise from the living room.
Her teeth gritting and her fingers wanting something to give her a reason to fire, Avery went quickly and quietly to the doorway’s edge between the bedroom and living room.
The front door was creaking open. Hesitant footsteps shuffled forward. Avery readied herself to spring, still struggling down a sob. She kept repeating Rose’s name in her head like a mantra while she thought of the deplorable things she would do to Biel when she caught him.
But then she heard another noise that dashed all of those thoughts.
Rose’s voice, coming from the living room.
“Mom?”
There was fear and panic in her voice but even so, it was the sweetest sound Avery could ever remember hearing in her life. She finally let the sob out, holstered her sidearm, and went running into the living room.
Rose was frozen a few steps inside the entryway, taking the state of the apartment in with a horrified expression.
“Rose,” Avery said in a whisper, running to her daughter and taking her in her arms.
“Mom…what the hell happened?”
“I thought you were gone,” she said. “I thought he had taken you…”
“No…Mom, my God. Is it this serious now?”
Avery nodded, not yet comfortable enough to let Rose go. She hugged her tight, perhaps as tight as she ever had. When she finally felt at peace, she released Rose and took a step back to give her daughter some space.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“I left here like an hour and a half ago,” she said. “Sawyer and Dennison gave me a lift over to my place. I needed some new clothes. I took a shower, made a few eggs. Jesus, Mom…this place was not like this when I left.”
Avery nodded, trying to determine what it meant. Had Biel known Rose and the surveillance had been gone so he made his break-in in their absence? Or had he come here hoping for Rose to be home so he could take her? Or kill her…
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Rose asked.
Avery wanted very badly to provide Rose with a comforting response but in that moment, she simply could not find the right words.
***
Avery mostly stood aside in a state of shock while Sawyer and Dennison looked the apartment over. Avery knew that O’Malley was on the way but she didn’t think it would matter. Biel clearly had no worries about being caught. It was almost like he had her movements mapped out. She felt sure that a police presence around Ramirez’s place so soon after he had entered would not bother him in the least. Hell, he had probably moved on by now to taunt her some other way.
She stepped into the bedroom and looke
d at the note scrawled over Ramirez’s bed again. One by one, everyone you love. Then just you and I.
It was broken down in terms of lines to resemble a poem on a page. And hell, even the phrasing and breaking of the words felt and sounded like a poem.
As she looked at the message, Rose came to the doorway. She no longer looked terrified but she looked tired. This whole ordeal had certainly taken it out of her.
“You’re a trouper, kid,” Avery said.
“Well, I’m a scared trouper,” Rose said. “And, quite frankly, a pissed off trouper, too.”
“I know,” Avery said. “And I’m sorry. But I honestly don’t know what else to do.”
“They’re going to move us again, aren’t they?” Rose asked.
“Probably.”
“I have a life, Mom. You know that, right?”
“I do. And by trying to keep you safe right now, I’m trying to make sure that life is not in danger. You know that, right?”
Rose only nodded as she looked at the message on the wall.
“You think he was coming for me or did he know I was gone?”
Eerie how much she thinks like me, Avery thought. “I don’t know yet,” she answered honestly. “But either way, I’m sure he enjoys knowing that he has us on the run.”
“Are you working on it?” Rose asked. “Are they letting you on the case?”
“As of this morning, yes.”
“Then catch the fucker already,” Rose said. She couldn’t suppress the small smile that touched the corner of her lips.
The tense yet somehow bonding moment was interrupted by O’Malley’s voice. It came from the living room like a bullhorn.
“Black?”
“In here,” she called back.
O’Malley came into the room, looked around, and settled his eyes on the message scrawled on the wall. “This is bad, Black.”
“I know.”
“And it gets worse,” O’Malley said. “I got a call literally as I was coming into the building. We’ve got another body. Don’t know for sure if it’s linked to Biel or not, but it’s looking like it.”