Cause to Fear Read online

  Richard let out a whimper and shook his head. He was still crying but was at least able to form words between his hitches for breath. “Not at all. She was actually sort of a tomboy. On any given day, I bet you’d find dirt under her nails before you found them with nail polish. She did get dolled up from time to time but only on special occasions. She sometimes paid a lot of attention to her hair, but she’s not—she wasn’t—a girl’s girl, you know?”

  Correcting himself on wasn’t seemed to break something within Richard Dearborne. Avery hid her own little cringe as her heart broke for him. It was enough to make her decide not to ask the next question she had planned—a question about the frequency in which Patty shaved her legs. Avery thought it was a safe bet that if she was a tomboy who cared little for her nails, she probably wasn’t obsessive about shaving her legs. There was no need to ask the question to a man who had just lost his daughter.

  “Do you know of any enemies Patty had? Anyone she had a history of problems with?”

  The question took a moment to sink in. When it finally did, the flicker of anger she had seen earlier returned to Richard Dearborne’s eyes. He got up from the couch but was held in place by his wife’s groping hand on his wrist.

  “That motherfucker,” Richard spat. “Yes. Oh yes, I can think of someone and I bet you anything…oh God…”

  “Mr. Dearborne?” Ramirez asked. He had slowly gotten to his feet, perhaps anticipating some sort of rage-filled lashing out from Richard.

  “Allen Haggerty. He was a high school boyfriend that just wouldn’t let go when things eventually ended two years into college.”

  “Did he cause any problems?” Ramirez asked.

  “Yeah. So much so that Patty had to get a restraining order placed against him. He was waiting outside of her classes for her. It got so bad that Patty lived here last year because she didn’t feel safe at the dorms.”

  “Did he ever get violent?” Avery asked.

  “If he did, Patty never said anything. I know he tried to touch her—hugs and kisses and things like that. But she never said anything about hitting her.”

  “The note…”

  Wendy Dearborne’s voice was so light that it was like wind. She would still not look at Avery or Ramirez. Her eyes were downcast, her mouth partially open.

  “What note?” Avery asked.

  “A note that Patty never showed us but we found in her pockets while doing laundry while she was living here,” Richard said. “The creep left a note pinned to her dorm room door. She never said so, but we think it was the deciding factor in her moving back here. I don’t remember it word for word but it talked about how he thought about killing himself because he could not have her but how it sometimes made him angry. Some dark stuff about how if he couldn’t have her, no one could.”

  “Do you still have the note?” Avery asked.

  “No. When we confronted Patty about it, she threw it away.”

  “How long did she stay here?” Avery asked.

  “Until last summer,” Richard answered. “She said she was tired of living in fear. We made the decision that if anything happened with Allen again, we’d directly get the police involved. And now…now this…”

  A heavy silence blanketed the room, until finally he looked up at them. Avery could feel the father’s grief and rage in that stare.

  “I know it’s him,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As Avery and Ramirez staked out the block surrounding Allen Haggerty’s address, she received Haggerty’s file via email. She was surprised to find little on it. He had three speeding tickets since the age of seventeen and had been briefly arrested at a mostly non-violent protest in New York City four years ago, but nothing serious.

  Maybe he just went a little nuts when Patty tried leaving him, she thought. She knew it happened from time to time. It was, in fact, one of the most prominent excuses given by violent husbands who beat their wives. It came down to jealousy, a lack of control, and feeling vulnerable.

  No one was home, so within an hour and a half of informing the Dearbornes that their daughter was dead, there was an APB out for him. While canvassing the neighborhood, Ramirez once again showed Avery just how in tune he was with her. “This whole thing is making you think of Rose, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “It is,” she admitted. “How did you figure that out?”

  He smiled. “Because I know your face very well. I know when you’re pissed, I know when you’re embarrassed, uneasy, and happy. I also noticed how you quickly looked away from the pictures of Patty in the Dearborne house. Patty wasn’t much older than Rose. I get it. Is that why you insisted on breaking the news to her parents?”

  “Yes. Good catch.”

  “It happens from time to time,” he said.

  It wasn’t until 10:08 that Avery’s phone rang. Connelly was on the line, sounding both tired and excited. “We’ve located Allen Haggerty coming out of a bar in the Leather District,” he said. “We’ve got two of our guys holding him for you. How soon can you be there?”

  The Leather District, she thought. That’s where Rose and I were earlier today, thinking how good our lives were and how timidly we were repairing our relationship. And now there’s a potential killer in that same location. It feels…weird. Like coming full circle in some strange way.

  “Black?”

  “Ten minutes,” she answered. “What’s the bar?”

  She took down the information and just like that, Ramirez drove them into the very same area of the city where she had, less than twelve hours ago, been enjoying time with her daughter.

  Knowing that was something that Wendy Dearborne would never again get to do sat heavy on her heart. It also made her a little angry.

  Quite frankly, she couldn’t wait to grill this little sonofabitch.

  ***

  The two officers who had located Allen Haggerty seemed happy to hand him off. One of the officers was a guy Avery had gotten to know fairly well—an older man who would likely be retiring within a few years. His name was Andy Liu and he always seemed to have a smile on his face. But not now. Now, he seemed irritated.

  The four of them met outside of Andy Liu’s patrol car. In the back seat, Allen Haggerty peered out at them, confused and clearly pissed off. A few people passing by to bar-hop on a Friday night tried to see what was going on without being too obvious.

  “He give you any problems?” Ramirez asked.

  “Not really,” Andy’s partner said. “He’s just a little drunk. We were almost ready to take him to the precinct and give him a nice interrogation room, but O’Malley said he wanted you to talk to him before we made that sort of decision.”

  “Does he know why you want to speak with him?” Avery asked.

  “We told him about Patty Dearborne’s death,” Andy said. “That’s when he really lost his mind. I tried to keep it civil in the bar but in the end, I had to cuff him.”

  “That’s fine,” Avery said. She looked into the back of the patrol car and frowned. “Do you mind if we borrow your car for a second?”

  “Help yourself,” Andy said.

  Avery took the driver’s side while Ramirez slid into the passenger seat. They angled themselves to the side to peer easily into the back at Allen.

  “So how did it happen?” Allen asked. “How did she die?”

  “That’s still not clear,” Avery said, not seeing any reason to be vague with him. She’d learned a long time ago that honesty was always the best approach if you wanted to get a proper read on a potential suspect. “Her body was discovered in a frozen river, under the ice. We don’t have sufficient information to know if that was what killed her or if she was killed before being thrown into the river.”

  That might have been a little harsh, Avery thought as she watched a soft shock fill Allen’s face. Still, seeing that genuine expression on his face was all she needed to have a good feeling that Allen Haggerty had nothing to do with Patty’s death.

  “When was the last
time you saw her?” Avery asked.

  It was clear that he was having to struggle to think about it. Avery was pretty sure that by the time the night was over, Allen would shed more than a few years over his now-deceased lost love.

  “A little over a year ago, I guess,” he finally answered. “And that was purely coincidental. I ran into her as she was coming out of a grocery store. We looked at each other for like two seconds and then she hurried off. And I don’t blame her. I was an asshole to her. I got pretty obsessed.”

  “And there has been no contact since then?” Avery asked.

  “None. I faced the facts. She was done with me. And being obsessed with someone really isn’t the way to win them over, you know?”

  “Do you know of anyone in her life that might be capable of doing something like this to her?” Ramirez asked.

  Again, there was a struggle behind Allen’s eyes as he tried to piece it all together. As he thought about this, Avery’s phone rang. She glanced at the display and saw that it was O’Malley.

  “Yeah?” she asked, answering quickly.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Speaking with the ex-boyfriend.”

  “Any chance he might be the one we’re looking for?”

  “Highly doubtful,” she said, continuing to watch the sorrow overtake Allen’s face in the back seat.

  “Good. I need you back at the station on the double.”

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “That depends on how you look at it,” O’Malley replied. “We just got a letter from the killer.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Even before Avery and Ramirez were able to get into the precinct, Avery could tell that this situation had gotten out of hand. She had to carefully maneuver the car through the A1 parking lot to not hit reporters or clip news vans. The place was an absolute circus and they had not even gotten inside yet.

  “This looks bad,” Ramirez said.

  “It does,” she said. “How in the hell did the press find out about this letter if it came directly to the precinct?”

  Ramirez could only shrug as they got out of the car and hurried inside. A few reporters got in the way, one of whom practically stepped out in front of Avery. She nearly collided with him but sidestepped him just in time. She heard him call her a bitch under his breath but that was the least of her concerns.

  They fought their way to the door, with reporters clamoring for comment and flashbulbs going off. Avery felt her blood boiling and would have given anything in that moment to punch one of those nosy ass reporters directly in the nose.

  When they finally made it into the precinct with the doors closed and locked securely behind them, she saw that the inside wasn’t much better. She’d seen the A1 in a state of urgency and disarray before, but this was something new. Maybe there’s a leak in the A1, Avery thought as she walked quickly toward Connelly’s office. Before she reached it, though, she saw him storming down the hallway. O’Malley and Finley were marching behind him.

  “Conference room,” Connelly barked.

  Avery nodded, taking a right a few feet further down the hall. She noticed that no one else was milling around the conference room door, meaning that this meeting was going to be small. And those types of meetings were typically not pleasant. She and Ramirez followed Connelly into the room. The moment O’Malley and Finley were also inside, Connelly shut the door and locked it.

  He threw a sheet of paper down onto the conference room table. It was covered in a clear plastic sheet, causing it to slide almost perfectly in Avery’s direction. She picked it up carefully and looked at it.

  “Just read it,” Connelly said. He was frustrated and looked a little pale. His hair was in disarray and there was a wild look in his eyes.

  Avery did as instructed. Without removing the single sheet of paper, she read the letter. With each word she read, the room seemed to grow colder.

  Ice is beautiful, but it kills. Think of the gorgeous sparkle of a thin layer of frost on your windshield on a late fall morning. That same pretty ice is killing plant life.

  It’s efficient in its beauty. And the flower comes back…always comes back. Rebirth.

  The cold is erotic, but it maims. Think of being extremely cold coming out of a winter storm and then curling up naked with a lover under the sheets.

  Are you chilled yet? Can you feel the iciness of being outsmarted?

  There will be more. More cold bodies, floating into the afterlife.

  I dare you to try to stop me.

  You’ll succumb to the cold before you find me. And while you’re freezing, wondering what happened just like the flowers burdened with frost, I’ll be long gone.

  “When did this come in?” Avery asked, setting the letter back on the desk for Ramirez to read.

  “Sometime today,” Connelly said. “The envelope itself wasn’t opened until about an hour ago.”

  “How in the hell did the press know already?” Ramirez asked.

  “Because every local news network also received a copy of it.”

  “Holy shit,” Ramirez said.

  “Do we know when the media got their copies?” Avery asked.

  “It was sent via email a little over an hour ago. We assume it’s so it would get there in time to make the eleven o’clock news.”

  “Where was it emailed from?” Avery asked.

  “Oh, this is the screwed up part…well, one screwed up part,” O’Malley said. “The email address is registered to a woman named Mildred Spencer. She’s a seventy-two-year-old widow that only has the email address to keep in touch with her grandkids. We’ve got someone talking to her right now, but all signs point to the account being hacked.”

  “Can we trace the hack?” Avery asked.

  “No one at the A1 has the capabilities. We’ve called the State Police to try to crack it.”

  Ramirez was done with the letter, sliding it back to the center of the table. Avery slid it back over to her and eyed it again. She did not read it again, but just studied it: the paper, the handwriting, the odd placement of sentences on the paper.

  “Any initial thoughts, Black?” Connelly asked.

  “A few. First, where’s the envelope it came in?”

  “Back at my desk. Finley, run fetch it, would you?”

  Finley did as he had been asked while Avery continued to pore over the letter. The handwriting was pristine but also sort of childlike. It looked like someone had gone to great lengths to perfect it. There were also a few key words that jumped out to her as being quite odd.

  “What else?” Connelly asked.

  “Well, a few things right off the bat. The fact that he sent us a letter makes it clear that he wants us to know it’s him—without knowing his identity. So while it might not be a game to him per se, it’s something he wants credit for. He also enjoys being hunted down. He wants us to go after him.”

  “Are there any clues in there?” O’Malley asked. “I’ve looked it over at least a dozen times and I’m getting nothing.”

  “Well, the wording is weird in some places. The mention of a windshield in a letter where the only other concrete thing he references are flowers and bed covers seems strange. I think it’s also worth noting that he used the words erotic and lover. Pair that with the fact that the victim we found today was pretty much gorgeous and there’s got to be something there. The mention of afterlife and rebirth is unsettling, too. But we could go a million different ways with that until we know more.”

  “Anything else?” Ramirez asked with his usual not-so-concealed smile. He loved to see her on a roll. She tried to push this to the back of her mind as she went on.

  “The way he breaks his lines up…it’s almost like fragmented stanzas of poetry. Most every other letter I’ve ever seen in old case studies where the killer contacted the police or media was usually in blocks of text.”

  “How’s that a clue?” Connelly asked.

  “It might not be,” Avery said. “I’m just free-s
tyling here.”

  A knock came at the door. Connelly opened it and Finley stepped back in. He closed the door behind him, setting the lock. He then carefully placed the envelope on the table. There was nothing remarkable about it. The address to the station had been written in the same carefully practiced script that was on the letter. There was no return address and a Forever stamp in the left corner. The postmark was high on the envelope and mostly to the left, its edges touching the stamp.

  “It came from zip code 02199,” O’Malley said. “But that means nothing. The killer could have gone miles outside of his area to mail it.”

  “That’s true,” Avery said. “And this guy seems too smart and determined to lead us right to him via a zip code. He’d have thought about that. The zip code is a dead end, I can guarantee it.”

  “So then what does that leave us to go on?” Finley asked.

  “Well,” Avery said, “this guy seems to be preoccupied with the cold, with ice in particular. And not just because that’s where we found the body. It’s all over the letter. He seems to be fixated on it. So I wonder…can we run a search for anything dealing with ice or the cold? Ice skating rinks, meat lockers, labs, anything.”

  “You’re certain the location isn’t purposeful?” Connelly asked. “If he wants to be known, maybe the zip code was like a calling card.”

  “No, I’m not certain. Not at all. But if we can find a business or some other organization that deals in ice or just the cold inside of that zip code, I’d maybe start there.”

  “Okay,” Finley said. “So do we need to check security tapes around the locations of post offices or drop boxes?”

  “God no,” Connelly said. “It’ll take forever and there’s no way we’d know when this particular letter was sent.”

  “We need a list of those businesses and organizations,” Avery said. “That’s going to be the best place to start. Can anyone think of any right off the top of their heads?”

  After several moments of silence, Connelly let out a sigh. “I don’t know right off the top of my head,” he said. “But I can have you a list within half an hour. Finley, can you get that request rolling?”