by Unknown
“What promise?”
“I promise I’ll check in on you and ensure you get treated right. You don’t look like a bad guy to me, Fernando Rodriguez. You just look like you’ve had a rough life.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “I don’t.”
She held out a hand.
He let go of his hostage and handed over the gun. Instantly, his wife scrambled across the lawn and ran to safety. The aggressive cop that had been prepared to open fire came forward with a snarling look of thinly veiled jealousy.
“I’ll take it from here,” he sneered.
Avery got in his face.
“Do me a favor,” she whispered. “Stop acting like you’re better than the people you arrest and treat him like a human being. It might help.”
The cop blushed in anger and seemed ready to push past and destroy the tranquil vibe that Avery had created. Thankfully, the second officer reached the Latino man first and handled him with care. “I’m going to cuff you now,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get treated right. I have to read you your rights. Is that OK? You have the right to remain silent…”
Avery backed away.
The Latino aggressor glanced up. The two held each other’s gaze for a moment. He offered a nod of thanks, and Avery responded with a nod of her own. “I meant what I said,” she reiterated before she turned to leave.
Ramirez had a big smile on his face.
“Shit, Avery. That was hot.”
The flirtation bothered Avery.
“Makes me sick when cops treat suspects like animals,” she said and turned back to watch the arrest. “I bet half the shootings in Boston could be avoided with a little respect.”
“Maybe if there was a female commissioner like you in charge,” he joked.
“Maybe,” she replied and seriously thought about the implications.
Her walkie-talkie went off.
Captain O’Malley’s voice came over the static.
“Black,” he said. “Black, where are you?”
She picked up.
“I’m here, Cap.”
“Keep your phone turned on from now on,” he said. “How many times do I have to tell you that? And get over to the Boston Harbor Marina off Marginal Street in East Boston. We have a situation here.”
Avery frowned.
“Isn’t East Boston A7 territory?” she asked.
“Forget about that,” he said. “Drop whatever you’re doing and get over here as fast as you can. We’ve got a murder.”
CHAPTER TWO
Avery reached the Boston Harbor & Shipyard by the Callahan Tunnel, which connected the North End to East Boston. The marina was off Marginal Street, right along the water.
The place was crawling with police.
“Holy shit,” Ramirez said. “What the hell happened here?”
Avery took it slow into the marina. Police cars were parked in a haphazard pattern, along with an ambulance. Crowds of people that wanted to use their boats on this bright morning ambled about, wondering what they were supposed to do.
She parked and they both got out and flashed their badges.
Beyond the main gate and building was an expansive dock. Two piers jutted out from the dock in a V shape. Most of the police had clustered around the close end of one dock.
In the distance stood Captain O’Malley, dressed in a dark suit and tie. He was in deep discussion with another man in full police uniform. By the double stripes on his chest, Avery guessed the other guy was captain of the A7, which handled all of East Boston.
“Look at this character.” Ramirez pointed at the man in uniform. “Did he just come from a ceremony or something?”
Officers from the A7 gave them hard stares.
“What’s the A1 doing here?”
“Go back to the North End,” another shouted.
Wind whipped across Avery’s face as she walked down the pier. The air was salty and balmy. She tightened her jacket around her waist so it wouldn’t fly open. Ramirez was having a difficult time with the intense gusts, which kept messing up his perfectly combed hair.
Docks jutted out at perpendicular angles on one side of the pier, and each dock was filled with boats. Boats were also lined on the other side of the pier: motorboats, expensive sailing vessels, and tremendous yachts.
A separate dock formed a T shape with the end of the pier. A single mid-sized white yacht was anchored in the middle of it. O’Malley, the other captain, and two officers talked while a forensics team scoured the boat and took pictures.
O’Malley sported the same gruff look as always: dyed black hair cut short, and a face that looked like he might have been a boxer in a former life, scrunched and wrinkled. Eyes were squinted from the wind and he seemed upset.
“She’s here now,” he said. “Give her a shot.”
The other captain had a regal, stately quality about him: graying hair, lean face, and an imperious glance below a furrowed brow. He stood much taller than O’Malley and appeared slightly befuddled that O’Malley, or anyone outside of his team, would encroach on his territory.
Avery nodded to everyone.
“What’s up, Captain?”
“Is this a party or what?” Ramirez smiled.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” the stately captain spit. “This is a crime scene, young man, and I expect you to treat it as such.”
“Avery, Ramirez, this is Captain Holt of the A7. He was gracious enough to—”
“Gracious my ass!” he snapped. “I don’t know what kind of show the mayor is running, but if he thinks he can just walk all over my division, he has another think coming. I respect you, O’Malley. We’ve known each other a long time, but this is unprecedented and you know it. How would you feel if I walked over to the A1 and started to bark orders?”
“No one is taking over anything,” O’Malley said. “You think I like this? We have enough work on our own side. The mayor called both of us, didn’t he? I had a whole different day planned, Will, so don’t act like this is me trying to make a power play.”
Avery and Ramirez shared a look.
“What’s the situation?” Avery asked.
“Call came in this morning,” Holt said and motioned to the yacht. “Woman found dead on that boat. She’s been identified as a local bookseller. Owns a spiritual bookshop over on Sumner Street and has for the last fifteen years. No record on her. Nothing outwardly suspicious about her.”
“Except for the way she was murdered.” O’Malley took over. “Captain Holt here was having breakfast with the mayor when the call came in. The mayor decided he wanted to come down and see it for himself.”
“The first thing he says is ‘Why don’t we get Avery Black on this case,’” Holt concluded with dagger-eyes at Avery.
O’Malley tried to ease the situation.
“That’s not what you told me, Will. You said your guys came in, they didn’t understand what they were looking at, and so the mayor suggested you ask someone who’s had some experience in this kind of thing.”
“Either way,” Holt snarled and pompously lifted his chin.
“Go take a look,” O’Malley said and pointed to the yacht. “See what you can find. If she comes up empty,” he added to Holt, “we’ll be on our way. Does that seem fair?”
Holt stomped off toward his two other detectives.
“Those two are from his homicide squad,” O’Malley indicated. “Don’t look at them. Don’t talk to them. Don’t ruffle any feathers. This is a very delicate political situation. Just keep your mouth shut and tell me what you see.”
Ramirez practically gushed as they walked up to the large yacht.
“This is one sweet ride,” he said. “Looks like a Sea Ray 58 Sedan Bridge. Double decker. Gives you shade up top, AC inside.”
Avery was impressed.
“How do you know all that?” she asked.
“I like to fish.” He shrugged. “Ne
ver fished on anything like this before, but a man can dream, right? I should take you out on my boat sometime.”
Avery had never truly enjoyed the sea. Beaches, sometimes; lakes, absolutely; but sailboats and motor vessels far out on the ocean? Panic attacks. She’d been born and raised on flat land, and the thought of being out on the bobbing, crashing tides, with no idea what might be lurking just beneath the waves, made her mind go to dark places.
As Avery and Ramirez passed by and prepared to board the boat, Holt and his two detectives ignored them. A photographer at the bow snapped one last picture and signaled to Holt. He made his way along the gunwale on the starboard side and wiggled his eyebrows at Avery. “You’ll never look at a yacht the same way again,” he joked.
A silver stepladder led to the ship’s side. Avery climbed up, placed her palms on the black windows, and shimmied toward the front.
A middle-aged, saintly looking woman with wild red hair had been positioned on the front of the ship, just before the bow sidelights. She lay scrunched up on her side, facing east, with her hands gripped to her knees and her head down. If she’d been sitting upright she might have appeared asleep. She was completely naked, and the only visible wound was the dark line around her neck. He snapped it, Avery thought.
What made the victim stand out, beyond the nudity and the public display of her death, was the shadow she cast. The sun was up in the east. Her body was slightly angled upward, and it produced a mirror image of her scrunched form in a long, warped shadow.
“Fuck me,” Ramirez whispered.
As Avery did when she was cleaning surfaces in her home, she got down low and glanced at the ship’s bow. The shadow was either a coincidence or a meaningful sign by the killer, and if he’d left one sign, he might have left another. She moved from one side of the ship to the other.
In the glare of the sun, on the white surface of the ship’s bow, right above the woman’s head, between her body and her shadow, Avery spotted a star. Someone had used their finger to draw a star, either in spit or saltwater.
Ramirez called down to O’Malley.
“What did forensics say?”
“Found some hairs on the body. Could be from a carpet. The other team is still over at the apartment.”
“What apartment?”
“The woman’s apartment,” O’Malley called up. “We believe she was abducted from there. No prints anywhere. Guy might have been wearing gloves. How he transferred her here, to a very visible dock, without anyone seeing, we don’t know. He blacked out some of the marina cameras here. Must have been done right before the murder. She was possibly killed last night. Body seems unmolested, but the coroner has to give the final say.”
Holt scoffed at nothing.
“This is a waste of our time,” he snapped at O’Malley. “What can that woman possibly offer that my men haven’t already discovered? I don’t care about her last case or her public persona. As far as I’m concerned she’s just a washed-up attorney who got lucky on her first major case because a serial killer, that she defended in court, helped her!”
Avery stood up, leaned on the railing, and observed Holt, O’Malley, and the two other detectives on the dock. Wind ruffled her jacket and pants.
“Did you see the star?” she asked.
“What star?” Holt called up.
“Her body is angled to the side and up. In the sunlight, it creates a shadow image of her form. Very distinct. Almost looks like two people, back-to-back. Between her body and that shadow, someone drew a star. Could be a coincidence, but the placement is perfect. Maybe we can get lucky if the killer drew it in spit.”
Holt consulted with one of his men.
“Did you see a star?”
“No sir,” replied a lean, blond detective with brown eyes.
“Forensics?”
The detective shook his head.
“Ridiculous,” Holt mumbled. “A drawn star? A child could have done that. A shadow? Shadows are created by light. There’s nothing special about that, Detective Black.”
“Who owns the yacht?” Avery asked.
“A dead end.” O’Malley shrugged. “Bigshot real estate developer. He’s away in Brazil on business. Been gone for the last month.”
“If the boat’s been cleaned in the last month,” Avery said, “then that star was put there by the killer, and since it’s in perfect placement between the body and the shadow, it has to mean something. I’m not sure what, but something.”
O’Malley glanced at Holt.
Holt sighed.
“Simms,” he noted to the blond officer, “get forensics back here. See about that star, and the shadow. I’ll call you when we’re finished.”
Miserably, Holt glanced at Avery, then finally, he shook his head.
“Let her see the apartment.”
CHAPTER THREE
Avery walked slowly down the hall of the dim apartment building, flanked by Ramirez, her heart pounding with anticipation as it always did when entering a crime scene. At this moment, she wished she was anywhere but here.
She snapped out of it. She put her game face on and forced herself to observe every detail, however minute.
The victim’s apartment door was open. An officer stationed outside moved away and allowed Avery and the others to duck under the crime scene tape and enter.
A narrow hallway led to a living room. A kitchen branched off from the hall. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary anywhere; just someone’s very nice apartment. Walls were painted a light gray. There were bookshelves everywhere. Piles of books were stacked on the ground. Plants hung from the windows. A green couch faced a television set. In the only bedroom, the bed was made and topped with a lacy white blanket.
The only obvious disturbance to the apartment was in the living room, where a central rug was clearly missing. A dusty outline, along with a darker space, had been marked with numerous yellow police tags.
“What did forensics find here?” Avery asked.
“Nothing,” O’Malley said. “No prints. No camera shots. We’re in the dark right now.”
“Anything taken from the apartment?”
“Not that we know. Change jar is full. Her clothes were neatly placed in her hamper. Money and ID were still in the pockets.”
Avery took her time in the apartment.
As was her habit, she moved in small sections and observed every section thoroughly—the walls, the floors and wooden floorboards, any trinkets on shelves. A picture of the victim with two female friends stood out. She made a mental note to learn their names and contact each one. The bookshelves and piles were analyzed. There were stacks of female romance novels. The rest were mostly on spiritual subjects: self-help, religion.
Religion, Avery thought.
The victim had a star above her head.
Star of David?
Having observed the dead body on the boat and the apartment, Avery began to form a picture of the killer in her mind. He would have attacked from the hall. The kill was quick and he left no marks, made no mistakes. The victim’s clothing and effects had been left behind in a neat spot, so as not to disturb the apartment. Only the rug was moved, and it was dusty in that area and around the edges. Something about that harked to anger in the killer. If he was so meticulous in every other way, Avery wondered, why not clean the dust from the rug sides? Why take the rug at all? Why not leave everything in perfect condition? She worked it through: He snapped her neck, undressed her, put the clothing away and left everything in order, but then he rolled her in a rug and carried her out like a savage.
She headed over to the window and stared down at the street. There were a few places where someone could hide and observe the apartment without being noticed. One spot in particular called to her: a dark, narrow alleyway behind a fence. Were you there? she asked herself. Watching? Waiting for the right moment?
“Well?” O’Malley said. “What do you think?”
“We have a serial killer on our hands.”
; CHAPTER FOUR
“The killer is male, and strong,” Avery went on. “He obviously overwhelmed the victim and had to carry her to the dock. Seems like a personal vendetta.”
“How do you know that?” Holt asked.
“Why go through so much trouble with a random victim? Nothing appears to be stolen so it’s not a robbery. He was precise about everything except that rug. If you spend so much time planning a murder, undressing the victim and putting her clothes in a hamper, why take any of her items? Seems like a planned gesture. He wanted to take something. Maybe to show he was powerful? That he could? I don’t know. And leaving her on a boat? Naked and in full view of the harbor? This guy wants to be seen. He wants everyone to know he made this kill. You might have another serial killer on your hands. Whatever decision you’re going to make about who handles this case,” and she glanced at O’Malley, “you might want to make it quick.”
O’Malley turned to Holt.
“Will?”
“You know how I feel about this,” Holt sneered.
“But you’ll go with the call?”
“It’s a mistake.”
“But?”
“Whatever the mayor wants.”
O’Malley turned to Avery.
“Are you up for this?” he asked. “Be honest with me. You just came off a very high-profile serial murder. The press crucified you every step of the way. Once again, all eyes will be on you, but this time, the mayor is paying special attention. He asked for you specifically.”
Avery’s heart beat faster. Making a difference as a police officer was what she truly loved about her job, but catching serial killers and avenging the dead was what she craved.
“We have a lot of other open cases,” she said. “And a trial.”
“I can give everything to Thompson and Jones. You can oversee their work. If you take this on, this is priority number one.”
Avery turned to Ramirez.
“You in?”
“I’m in.” He nodded in earnest.
“We’ll do it,” she said.
“Good.” O’Malley sighed. “You’re on the case. Captain Holt and his men will deal with the body and the apartment. You’ll have full access to the files and their full cooperation throughout this investigation. Will, who should they go to if they need information?”