CAUSE TO DREAD

by Blake Pierce

  “Same here,” Hancock said.

  Avery and Kellaway made their exit right away. The police cruisers were slowing down to turn into the driveway. The shape of the news van behind them was much clearer now. Avery figured that if someone inside was really paying attention, they’d see her and Kellaway charging across the lawn to the neighbor’s house.

  “You ever seen anything like that?” Kellaway asked as they approached the neighbor’s front porch.

  “No,” Avery said. “And believe me, I’ve seen a lot of surreal things.”

  Spiders…and now clowns. Avery didn’t think there was any doubt now. Fear was certainly an aspect of these murders.

  When they climbed the porch stairs to the neighbor’s house, there was a woman already standing at the front door. She was an older woman, perhaps sixty, staring out through a glass screen door at the commotion in Janice Saunders’s driveway. She took a cautious step backward as Avery and Kellaway approached. Avery showed the woman her badge and right away, the lady stepped forward and opened the door for them.

  “I’m Detective Black, and this is my partner, Officer Kellaway,” Avery said. “I was wondering if we might have a moment of your time—preferably before the people in those news vans notice we’re over here.”

  “What’s happened?” the woman asked.

  “I can tell you the basics, but I’d really prefer that we do it inside,” Avery said.

  The old woman nodded and allowed them into her home. Before she closed the door behind them, she took one more look outside. From what Avery could tell, she was the reclusive elderly type that thrived on gossip. Probably the type who wanted the news vans and the commotion.

  When the door was closed, the woman turned and frowned as if she already knew what had happened. “Has something happened to Janice?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Avery said. “She’s been murdered.”

  “Oh my God…”

  “Ma’am, can I get your name?”

  “Courtney Fowler…she’s been murdered?”

  “Yes. Were you close?”

  “We used to be. But her husband left her about a year ago and since then, she hasn’t done much socializing. I’d try to go by to invite her over for tea or coffee but she was always very distant.”

  “Do you know why her husband left her?” Kellaway asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think there was an affair of some kind. Those are the rumors I hear, anyway. That her husband got involved in an affair and chose the other woman over her.”

  “What do you think the chances are that the ex-husband might be capable of murder?”

  Courtney had led them slowly into her living room and sat down on her couch. She removed her eyeglasses and wiped a tear away. “No…he might have been a bastard for leaving her but he’s not the sort to act out in violence.”

  “You’re certain of that?” Avery asked.

  “I am. Unless he snapped at some point and I was unaware of it, he was a pretty reputable young man.”

  “I have another question for you,” Avery said. “And it might seem a little strange. But do you happen to know if Janice had any phobias?”

  Courtney thought about it for a moment before nodding slowly, a thought creeping up on her. “Actually, yes. I had a Halloween party here about two years ago, for the people in the neighborhood—a grown-up Halloween party. Janice and her husband came and they dressed up as a witch and her broom, if I recall. Anyway, the night was going splendidly and then one of our neighbors from up the street came over. Another nice couple, really. But the husband had dressed up as a clown. And when Janice saw it, she went into another room. I could tell that she was uneasy. Then when the party congregated all together in that one room—my den area, just on the other side of the living room—Janice freaked out. She was visibly frightened and borderline rude. She left right away.

  “Everyone thought she was playing around, you know? So the gentleman that had dressed up as a clown started goofing around with her as she tried to leave. He blocked the door and started chuckling at her, trying to be funny. Janice screamed at him and started crying before she finally pushed him out of her way and left.”

  “So you’d place a safe bet on the idea that Janice was afraid of clowns?” Avery asked.

  “Oh yes. She called me the following day to apologize. She said she knew it was a stupid and irrational fear, but she’d been scared of them for most of her life.”

  “Did she say why?” Kellaway asked.

  “I don’t believe so. But I just assumed it was something from her childhood.”

  Avery and Kellaway shared a look. They had gotten the information they needed and had also subsequently informed a neighbor that someone she had once known relatively well had been killed. It had only taken about five minutes but it felt much longer…it usually did when Avery had to inform someone of an untimely death.

  “Can I ask how she was murdered?” Courtney asked.

  “Sorry,” Avery said. “Not at this stage.”

  But even as she and Kellaway prepared to make their exit, Avery was now more certain than ever that this killer was somehow motivated by the fear of his victims. There was no tried and true smoking gun but she thought she might find a pretty clear link with another visit to the coroner once the body of Janice Saunders was taken away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Even before Janice’s body had arrived at the morgue, Avery had placed a call to Cho Yin, requesting that one of the first things to be looked into were cortisol levels. Avery was pretty sure she knew what Yin would find, given that Janice’s bladder had voided itself during whatever had happened to her.

  Even Avery, who had never been scared of clowns in any way, could not shake the sight of all of those creepy little leering faces, all pointed toward the front door in Janice’s house. Whoever the killer was, they were going to great lengths to terrify their victims.

  Knowing that it might take up to an hour to get the results she was looking for, Avery contacted the A1. She asked for the home and cell phone numbers of Abby Costello’s mother. She got her information back within five minutes: Trisha Costello lived in an upscale community near Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia. She owned a small yet successful boutique shop, which she had been running for the better part of ten years. Also, she had been informed of her daughter’s death yesterday afternoon after her husband had finally worked up the nerve to call her. Trisha had then called the A1 for information about the case, demanding that it be of the utmost importance to everyone involved.

  So when Avery got her on the phone, Trisha Costello was more than happy to help. She felt as if the police were taking her seriously. While there was an underlying tone of over-importance and contempt in the woman’s voice, she was still as helpful as she could be.

  Avery spoke with her while sitting with Kellaway, parked in front of the morgue and waiting to go in.

  “I know it has to be a difficult time for you,” Avery said, “but I have a few questions. Some may seem a bit odd, but I think they might potentially help us find who did this to your daughter.”

  “It’s okay,” Trisha said. “I’m actually on the way to the airport right now to go to Boston to attend the funeral.”

  She spoke as if she was on the phone with a client rather than discussing the murder and burial of her only daughter.

  “Well, speaking with your ex-husband, we discovered that Abby had a fear of open bodies of water. I assume you were aware of this?”

  “I was. Were you told about the water-skiing mishap?”

  “Yes, I was. But let me ask you…once you and your ex divorced, how often did you see Abby?”

  “Three times a year. Though over the last few years, we FaceTimed a few times a month.”

  “And how was the relationship?” Avery asked.

  “Strained, I suppose. But over the last several years, it got better.”

  “Did she ever come to you with problems or issues that she might not have discusse
d with her father?”

  “Well, yeah, for the woman stuff. Periods, crushes, things like that.”

  “So Abby actually spoke with you about men?”

  “To a degree. Never any details, though. She was very private about that sort of thing.”

  “Did she ever mention any men that she was uneasy about? Maybe a man she was actually scared of?”

  “Not that I remember,” Trisha said.

  “Okay, so what about the water thing? Did she ever mention it to you?”

  “Actually, yes. Sometime last year, we got into a discussion about a beach trip she went on and she told me how embarrassing it was. She asked me to go over the details of the skiing incident again. So I did and when she realized that it really wasn’t as traumatic as she remembered it, she asked how someone might get over a fear.”

  “And what did you tell her?” Avery asked.

  “I told her that there were all kinds of support groups for that sort of thing. I mentioned a psychiatrist but she shot that idea down right away.”

  “And do you know if she ever sought the help of a support group?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. We never talked about it again. I figured it was one of those ideas mothers offer that ultimately get ignored.”

  “I see,” Avery said. “Well, that’s all for now. Would you please reach back out to me if you happen to recall any details about men she might have mentioned?”

  “Absolutely,” Trisha said. She did not sound like a grieving woman at all, but rather like as woman who had been delegated with a task that she simply had to do.

  When Avery ended the call, she saw that Kellaway was placing a call on her phone. Avery cast her a what-are-you-up-to glance, feeling like maybe Kellaway was preoccupied with something else rather than the tasks at hand.

  “Support groups,” Kellaway said. “That’s a great angle, I’m going to place a call to A1 and have someone compile a list of support groups that deal with phobias.”

  Avery smiled her approval. “Thanks.”

  As she listened to Kellaway place the request, once again impressed by her get-it-done attitude, Avery received a call of her own on her phone. She checked the number and found it familiar, though not yet saved.

  It was Cho Yin. She had the results Avery had asked for and was requesting a quick meeting.

  ***

  Yin had them meet her in her tiny office, tucked away in the back of the morgue but close enough to the exam rooms where it was impossible to forget what she did for a living. She already had a few different reports waiting for Avery on her tidy desk when they came into the office.

  “I assume you found something interesting if you thought we should meet face-to-face?” Avery asked.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Yin said. “The cortisol levels were indeed spiked. But what’s even crazier than that is the apparent surge of adrenaline that hit her the moment before Janice Saunders died. From what I’m seeing—and this is, of course, all just preliminary—it looks like a massive surge of adrenaline slammed through her. There’s a good chance she died of a heart attack before the knife wounds did her in.”

  “So you’re saying her fear caused a heart attack?” Avery asked.

  “Possibly. The amount of adrenaline I’m speculating on would cause the heart to go crazy—to kick into overdrive. And in some cases when this happens, the heart goes into cardiac arrest.”

  “So she literally died of fright?” Kellaway asked.

  “That or one of the eighteen stab wounds. But I’ve honestly never seen a case of this kind of fear-induced irregularities in an exam. I’ve read about them, sure, but never actually seen it with my own eyes.”

  “And it can actually happen?” Avery asked. “Dying of fright?”

  “Yes indeed. People can literally die of broken hearts, too; that’s not just an urban legend. The physiological processes of both are the same. The heart gets overwhelmed with an emotion and locks up. The trauma has to be pretty damned severe, though.”

  “So…a woman who has a genuine fear of clowns could be scared to death by an unexpected appearance of roughly thirty clown dolls and figurines?”

  “Yes, I think it’s very likely,” Yin said. “And based on what I’m seeing, I’d place my money on fear. I truly believe that Janice Saunders was quite literally scared to death.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Kellaway received a text from Finley as Avery opened the morgue doors and headed back to the parking lot. Avery found herself wanting to know more about Kellaway’s past. While it was a little silly to assume that Kellaway was more hardened because she had spent time on the NYPD, it was clear that she had a level head on her shoulders. And it apparently took quite a bit to get under her skin.

  “Is that our support group list?” Avery asked.

  “It is,” Kellaway said. “And surprisingly, there are only two that deal specifically with phobias. Even more surprisingly, someone at the A1 already went ahead and checked to see if any of the victims attended any of the groups.”

  “And?”

  “Janice Saunders attended both groups. But get this…all three of our recent victims attended the second one. And here’s the best part: Alfred Lawnbrook attended as recently as two weeks ago.”

  “You got an address?”

  “I just plugged it into my GPS,” Kellaway said.

  Avery felt like part of a machine as she got back behind the wheel of the car. Dimly, in the back of her head, she felt a stab of guilt for being so caught up in this case when Rose was still in the hospital. Even though Rose had basically given her a blessing and a command to get back to work and bring this guy in, Avery’s maternal instinct was cringing.

  Maybe, she thought as she followed the instructions Kellaway gave her, I’ll work on merging those two parts of myself when this case is over. And if I can get them to coexist, it might make me a better mother…and maybe even a better detective.

  ***

  The support group met several times a week. The most prominent one was after hours, on Wednesday and Thursday evenings according to the placard in the window of Room 3A of the Etheredge Community Center. As Avery’s luck would have it, today’s meeting was at noon just twenty minutes shy of the moment she and Kellaway parked in front of the building.

  Kellaway had called the center to get the name of the group leader. Luck was on their side there, as well. The primary lead counselor for the weekday group was already in the meeting room, brewing the coffee and setting up chairs. She said she’d be happy to meet with Avery and Kellaway before the meeting.

  When they entered Room 3A, the coffee was brewing and a very pretty middle-aged woman was setting up a tray with crackers, cheese, and chips on a table in the back. The room and the way it was set up was what Avery imagined Alcoholic Anonymous meetings might look.

  The woman turned to them and gave a bright, genuine smile. They knew her name from the call—Delores Moon. She was fifty-one but looked significantly younger. She was dressed professionally, as if she might be heading back to her office when the group was over, but also not too stuffy. She looked warm and welcoming—probably a necessity for an environment like this.

  “Thanks so much for meeting with us,” Avery said. “I know it must be stressful to lead something like this.”

  “It can be at times. But the weekday crowds tend to be small. And I thought about it after speaking with you…people with phobias aren’t like the majority of people that attend support groups. With most other issues that require attention or support, people are typically hesitant to share about their problems. But people that suffer from intense fear of things tend to want to talk about it. It makes them feel like they can maybe better understand it and, as such, get a grip on it.”

  “That makes sense,” Kellaway said.

  “I say all of that,” Moon said, “because I think the people that will start coming in here in a few minutes wouldn’t mind you sitting in on the meeting—especially not if you tell them why
you’re here. Especially Alfred’s case…it’s been a point of conversation with a few of the regulars. I’ve gotten several calls and emails. Alfred wasn’t much for sympathizing with others, but he was really starting to make progress towards overcoming his fears. It seemed liked it, anyway.”

  “And what about Abby Costello and Janice Saunders?”

  “Well, Janice has been struggling with hers for a while. She was truly embarrassed by it. At first it was just scary clowns. She was literally traumatized for about a week when one of her childhood friends made her watch It—you know, the Stephen King movie with the clown? But more digging revealed that she’d seen a clown on stilts fall at a carnival. When he got up his face was all bloody and he was screaming. Something about that moment altered something in her mind and she was legitimately terrified of clowns. It hurts my heart to hear that she died.”

  Avery nodded, fully aware that Moon had not yet heard about how Janice Saunders had died. She almost told her then and there but the murder was so new that it would almost feel like a security breach. Of course, given why they were here, Avery assumed Moon could probably figure it out easily enough.

  “So, you just said that people with phobias tend to want to talk about their fears,” Avery said. “But based on the cases we’ve been seeing, a lot of family and friends say that the victims were usually hesitant.”

  “Yes, admitting it to those closest to you can be hard. It’s embarrassing for some. But once you get around people you know can sympathize with what you have always thought of as irrational fears…it makes you feel safe. It makes you feel normal.”

  Avery thought of Alfred Lawnbrook, escaping to the butterfly garden at the museum. Had he been escaping or maybe looking for someone who knew about spiders to ask them questions in the hopes of better understanding them? It would certainly explain why he entered into the relationship with Stefon Scott.

  “Do you think some of them would be open to having us ask questions about the victims?”