Cause to Fear Page 4

  “On it,” Finley said.

  When he was out of the room again, Avery raised an eyebrow in Connelly’s direction. “Is Finley an errand boy now?”

  “Not at all. You’re not the only one up for a promotion. I’m trying to get him more involved in every aspect of high-profile cases. And as you know, he thinks you walk on water so I’m giving him a chance on this one.”

  “And why are we locking ourselves in the conference room?” she asked.

  “Because the press is on this. I don’t want to take any chances with bugged rooms or tapped phone lines.”

  “Seems paranoid,” Ramirez said.

  “Seems smart,” Connelly said with a bit of venom.

  Wanting to prevent a pissing match between the two, Avery pulled the letter closer to her. “You mind if I eyeball this letter some more while we wait on results?”

  “Please do. I’d much rather have someone on the A1 figure it out before the media blasts it all over TV and some nerdy kid in a basement figures it out.”

  “We need to get Forensics on this. A handwriting analysis should be done. The envelope needs to be looked over for any trace evidence: fingerprints, dust filaments, anything.”

  “They’ve been notified and the letter is going to them right away the moment you’re done with it.”

  “It’s got to be done quickly,” she said. “I know you were just making a joke about some kid in his basement figuring it out, but it’s a legitimate concern. And when this thing hits social media, there’s no telling what sorts of eyes and minds might be analyzing it.”

  As she started to take a closer look at the letter, Finley came back in the room. “That was fast,” O’Malley said.

  “Well, it just so happens that one of the women on dispatch has a father that works near the Prudential Center. And that’s within the 02199 zip code, by the way. Maybe just a coincidence, but you never know. Anyway, her husband works at a tech lab over that way. She says they do these crazy experiments with quantum mechanics and things like that. Some sort of arm of the tech school at Boston University.”

  “Quantum mechanics?” O’Malley asked. “That’s doesn’t fit with our guy, does it?”

  “It depends on the experiments,” Avery said, instantly interested. “I don’t know much about the field, but I do know that there are areas in quantum mechanics that deal with extreme temperatures. Something to do with finding the durability and central origin points of different kinds of matter.”

  “How the hell do you know all of this?” Connelly asked.

  She shrugged. “I watched a lot of Discovery Channel in college. Some of it stuck, I guess.”

  “Well, it’s worth a shot,” Connelly said. “Let’s get some information on the lab and get out there to speak to the brass.”

  “I can get that done,” Avery said.

  “In the meantime,” Connelly said, looking at his watch, “the nightly news goes live in about three minutes. Let’s tune in and see how badly the media is going to fuck this case for us.”

  He stormed out of the conference room with O’Malley on his heels. Finley gave Avery an apologetic look and then followed out after them. Ramirez looked at the letter over Avery’s shoulder with a shake of the head.

  “You think this guy is deranged or just wants us to think he’s nuts?” he asked her.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said, rereading the cryptic letter. “But I do know that this lab is the perfect place to start.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Esben Technologies was disguised among other normal-looking buildings about a mile and a half away from the Prudential Center, the block essentially a row of featureless gray buildings. Esben Technologies occupied the center building and looked exactly like the surrounding buildings—it hardly seemed like a lab.

  As Avery stepped inside with Ramirez, she noticed the front lobby consisted of little more than a gorgeous wooden floor, highlighted by morning sun that poured in through a skylight overhead. A huge desk sat along the far wall. On one end, a woman was typing into a computer. On the other end, another woman was writing something down on a form of some kind. When Avery and Ramirez entered, this woman looked up and gave them a perfunctory smile.

  “I’m Detective Avery Black and this is Detective Ramirez,” Avery said as she approached the woman. “We’d like to have a word with whoever is in charge here.”

  “Well, the supervisor of the whole outfit lives in Colorado, but the man that sort of runs the ship here in the building should be in his office.”

  “He’ll do just fine,” Avery said.

  “One moment,” the receptionist said, getting to her feet and walking through a large oak door at the far side of the room.

  When she was gone, Ramirez stepped close to Avery, keeping his voice low from the other woman who remained at the desk behind her laptop.

  “Did you even know this place was out here before yesterday?” he asked.

  “No clue. But I guess the low profile makes sense; technology centers that are tied to colleges but aren’t actually on campus generally try to keep a low profile.”

  “More Discovery Channel?” he asked

  “No. Good old research.”

  A little less than a minute passed before the woman returned. When she did, there was a man with her. He was dressed in a button-down shirt and khakis. A long white coat that resembled the sort doctors often wore partially covered it all. He wore an expression of worry and concern that seemed to be magnified by the glasses he wore.

  “Hi there,” he said, stepping toward Avery and Ramirez. He extended his hand for a shake and said, “I’m Hal Bryson. What can I do to help you?”

  “You’re the supervisor here?” Avery asked.

  “More or less. There are only four of us that work here. We sort of rotate in and out but yes, I oversee the experiments and data.”

  “And what sort of work is done here?” Avery asked.

  “Quite a lot,” Bryson said. “At the risk of seeming demanding, if you could perhaps let me know why you’ve come here, I can probably be a bit more exact.”

  Avery kept her voice low, not wanting the women at the desk to hear her. And since it was clear that Bryson had no intention of inviting them back beyond the door to the lobby, she figured they’d have to just have the conversation right then and there.

  “We’re dealing with a case where a suspect seems to have an interest in ice and cold temperatures,” she said. “He sent a taunting letter to the precinct yesterday. We’re taking a chance to see if there might be some sort of research that goes on here that could be related. It’s a very strange case so we’re starting with the only clue we really have—the cold.”

  “I see,” Bryson said. “Well, there are indeed a few experiments that take place here that involve extremely cold temperatures. I could take you back into the lab to show you but I’d have to insist that you are fully sanitized and put on the appropriate covering.”

  “I appreciate that,” Avery said. “And maybe we will take you up on it later. Hopefully, we won’t have to. Could you just give us the abridged version of some of these tests?”

  “Of course,” Bryson said. He seemed quite pleased to be able to help, taking on the manner of an expressive teacher as he started to explain things. “The bulk of tests and work we do here that involve frigid temperatures involves getting beyond what is known as the quantum back action limit. That limit is a temperature just barely above absolute zero—roughly ten thousand times colder than the temperatures you’d encounter in the vacuum of space.”

  “And what’s the purpose of such work?” Avery asked.

  “To aid in the research and development of hypersensitive sensors for more advanced work. It’s also a great avenue to understanding the structure of certain elements and how they respond to such extreme temperatures.”

  “And you’re able to reach those temperatures here in this building?” Ramirez asked.

  “No, not in our labs. We’re working as sor
t of an outreach for the National Institute of Standards and Technology in Boulder. We can get relatively close here, though.”

  “And you say there are only four of you,” Avery said. “Has it always been that way?”

  “Well, there were five of us until about a year ago. One of my colleagues had to step down. He was starting to have headaches and other health issues. He really just wasn’t well.”

  “Did he step down of his own accord?” Avery asked.

  “He did.”

  “And could we have his name, please?”

  A little concerned now, Bryson said: “His name was James Nguyen. But please forgive me for saying so…I very seriously doubt he’s the man you’re after. He was always very kind, polite…a quiet man. Sort of a genius, too.”

  “I appreciate your candidness,” Avery said, “but we have to follow up with whatever avenues are presented to us. Would you happen to know how we can get in touch with him?”

  “Yes, I can get that information for you.”

  “When did you last speak with Mr. Nguyen?”

  “It’s been at least…oh, I don’t know…eight months ago I’d say. Just a call to see how he was doing.”

  “And how was he doing?”

  “Fine, as far as I know. He’s working as an editor and researcher for a scientific journal.”

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Bryson. If you could get Mr. Nguyen’s contact information, that would be helpful.”

  “Sure,” he said, looking rather sad. “One moment.”

  Bryson walked over to the receptionist behind the laptop and spoke quietly to her. She nodded and started typing something new. While they waited, Ramirez once again stepped in close to Avery. It was an odd feeling; to remain professional when he was standing so close was difficult.

  “Quantum mechanics?” he said. “Vacuums in space? I think this one might be out of my league.”

  She smiled at him, finding it hard to not playfully kiss him. She did her best to stay focused as Bryson started back toward them with a printed slip of paper in his hand.

  “It’s above my head, too,” she whispered to Ramirez, quickly flashing another smile at him. “But I sure don’t mind swimming for the surface.”

  ***

  Some days, Avery was rather amazed at just how fluid and smooth things seemed to go. Bryson had given them the phone number, email address, and physical address for James Nguyen. Avery had placed a call to Nguyen and not only had he answered, but he had invited them to his home. He had seemed rather pleased to do so, in fact.

  So when she and Ramirez walked to his front door forty minutes later, Avery couldn’t help but get the feeling that they might be wasting their time. Nguyen lived in a gorgeous two-story house in Beacon Hill. Apparently, his career in science had paid dividends. Sometimes, Avery found herself in awe of people with mathematical and scientific minds. She loved to read texts by them or just listen to them speak (one of the reasons she had once been so drawn to things like the Discovery Channel and the Scientific American magazines she sometimes glanced through in the college library).

  On the porch, Ramirez knocked on the door. It took no time for Nguyen to answer it. He appeared to be in his late fifties or so. He was dressed in a Celtics T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He looked casual, calm, and almost happy.

  As they’d already introduced themselves on the phone, Nguyen invited them in. They entered an elaborate foyer that led into a large living area. It appeared that Nguyen had prepared for them; he had set out bagels and cups of coffee on what looked like a very expensive coffee table.

  “Please, have a seat,” Nguyen said.

  Avery and Ramirez took a seat on the couch facing the coffee table while Nguyen sat down opposite them in an armchair.

  “Help yourself,” Nguyen said, gesturing to the coffee and bagels. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, as I said on the phone,” Avery said, “we spoke with Hal Bryson and he told us that you had to step down from your work with Esben Technologies. Could you tell us a bit about that?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, I was putting too much of my time and energy into my work. I started to get double vision and cluster headaches. I was working up to eighty-six hours a week for a stretch of about seven or eight months at one time. I just became obsessed with my work.”

  “With what aspect of the work, exactly?” Avery asked.

  “Looking back, I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he said. “It was just knowing that we were so close to creating temperatures in the lab that could mimic what someone might feel in space. To find ways to manipulate elements with temperatures…there’s something sort of godlike about it. It can get addicting. I simply didn’t realize this until it was too late.”

  His obsession with his work certainly fits the description of whoever we’re working for, Avery thought. Still, from just having spoken to Nguyen for a grand total of two minutes, she was pretty sure Bryson had been right. There was no way Nguyen was behind it.

  “What exactly were you working on when you stepped down?” Avery asked.

  “It’s quite complicated,” he said. “And since then, I’ve moved on from it. But essentially, I was working to get rid of the excess heat that is caused when atoms lose their momentum during the cooling process. I was tinkering with quantum units of vibration and photons. Now, as I understand it, it’s been perfected by our folks in Boulder. But at the time, I was working myself crazy!”

  “Outside of the work you’re doing for the journal and things with the college, are you still doing any of the work?” she asked.

  “I dabble here and there,” he said. “But it’s just things here at home. I have my own little private lab in a rental space a few blocks away. But it’s nothing serious. Would you like to see it?”

  Avery could tell that they weren’t being baited or given false enthusiasm. Nguyen was clearly very passionate about the work he used to do. And the more he talked about what he had once done, the deeper they dug themselves into a world of quantum mechanics—something that was a world away from a crazed killer dumping a body in a freezing river.

  Avery and Ramirez shared a look, which Avery ended with a nod. “Well, Mr. Nguyen,” she said, “we truly appreciate your time. Let me leave you with one question, though: during the time you spent working in the lab, did you ever come cross anyone—coworkers, students, anyone—that struck you as eccentric or a little off?”

  Nguyen took a few moments to think this over but then shook his head. “None that I can think of. Then again, us scientists are all a bit eccentric when you get right down to it. But if anyone pops into my head, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And if you change your mind and think you’d like to see my lab, just let me know.”

  Passionate about his work and lonely, Avery thought. Damn…that was me up until a few months ago.

  She could relate. And because of that, she gladly accepted Nguyen’s business card when he offered it to her at the door. He closed the door as Avery and Ramirez made their way down the porch stairs and back to their car.

  “Did you understand a single word that guy said?” Ramirez asked.

  “Very little,” she said.

  But the truth was that he had said one thing that still clung to her mind. It did not make her think Nguyen was worth further investigation, but it did give her a new insight into how to think about their killer.

  To find ways to manipulate elements with temperatures, Nguyen had said. There’s something sort of godlike about it.

  Maybe our killer is acting out some godlike fantasy, she thought. And if he thinks he’s godlike, he could be more dangerous than we think.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The hamster looked like a furry block of ice when he took it out of the freezer. It felt like a block of ice, too. He couldn’t help but giggle at the clink sound it made when he placed it on the cookie sheet. Its legs were sticking up in the air—a stark contrast to the way they had been
pedaling back and forth in panic when he had first placed it in the freezer.

  That had been three days ago. Since then, the police had discovered the girl’s body in the river. He had been surprised at how far the body had made it. All the way to Watertown. And the girl’s name had been Patty Dearborne. Sounded pretentious. But damn, that girl had been beautiful.

  He thought idly of Patty Dearborne, the girl he had taken from the outskirts of the BU campus as he ran his finger along the hamster’s frigid belly. He’d been so nervous, but it had been quite easy. Of course, he hadn’t meant to kill the girl. Things had just gotten out of hand. But then…then it had all sort of unlocked for him.

  Beauty could be taken, but not in any mortal sort of way. Even when Patty Dearborne had been dead, she’d still been beautiful. Once he had gotten Patty naked, he’d found the girl to be damn near flawless. There had been one mole on her lower back and a small scar along the upper part of her ankle. But other than that, she had been spotless.

  He had dumped Patty in the river and when she’d hit the frigid water, she had been dead. He’d watched the news with great anticipation, wondering if they would be able to bring her back…wondering if the ice that had held her for those two days would preserve her in some way.

  Of course, it had not.

  I was sloppy, he thought, looking to the hamster. It’ll take some time, but I’ll get it figured out.

  He was hoping the hamster might be part of it. With his eyes still on its little frozen body, he retrieved the two heating pads from the kitchen counter. They were the sort of warming pads used in athletics to loosen muscles and promote relaxation for strained parts of the body. He placed one of the pads beneath the body and the other over its stiff little legs and frigid underside.

  He was sure it would take some waiting. He had plenty of time…he was in no real hurry. He was trying to cheat death and he knew death was not going anywhere.