Cause to Run. Blake Pierce

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СКАЧАТЬ the TV. The sound was loud. Every so often, the husband cheered from his seat, settled down, and mumbled to himself.

      “Can you turn down the TV?” Ramirez asked.

      “Oh no,” she said. “John has to watch his Wheel of Fortune.”

      “This is about your daughter,” Avery added. “We really need to talk to you, and we’d like your full attention.”

      “Honey,” she said and touched her husband’s arm. “These two officers want to talk about Henrietta.”

      He shrugged and growled.

      Ramirez turned the television off.

      “Hey!” John yelled. “What are you doing!? Turn that back on!”

      He sounded drunk.

      A bottle of half-filled bourbon was beside him.

      Avery stood next to Ramirez and introduced them again.

      “Hi,” she said, “my name is Detective Black and this is my partner, Detective Ramirez. We have some very difficult news to share.”

      “I’ll tell you what’s difficult!” John snapped. “It’s difficult dealing with a bunch of cops when I’m in the middle of my television program. Turn on that goddamn TV!” he snapped and tried to get out of his seat, but he couldn’t seem to stand.

      “Your daughter is dead,” Ramirez said, and he squatted down to look him right in the eyes. “Do you understand? Your daughter is dead.”

      “What?” Mrs. Venemeer whispered.

      “Henrietta?” John mumbled and sat back.

      “I’m so sorry about this,” Avery said.

      “How?” the old woman mumbled. “I don’t…no. Not Henrietta.”

      “Tell us what you’re talking about!” John scoffed. “You can’t come in here and say our daughter is dead. What the hell do you mean?!”

      Ramirez took a seat.

      Denial, Avery thought. And anger.

      “She was found dead this morning,” Ramirez said, “and identified because of her position within the community. We’re not sure why it happened. Right now, we have a lot of questions. If you can, please just bear with us during this time and help answer some of them.”

      “How?” the mother cried. “How did it happen?”

      Avery pulled a seat beside Ramirez.

      “I’m afraid this is an ongoing investigation. We can’t talk about any specifics at this time. Right now, we just need to know anything that you might know to help us identify her killer. Did Henrietta have a boyfriend? A close friend you might know about? Someone that might have had a grudge against her?”

      “Are you sure it was Henrietta?” the mother wondered.

      “Henrietta had no enemies!” John shouted. “Everybody loved her. A goddamn saint she was. Came over once a week with groceries. Helped out homeless people. This can’t be right. This has got to be some kind of mistake.”

      Bargaining, Avery thought.

      “I assure you,” she said, “you’ll both be called later this week to make a positive identification of the body. I know this is a lot to absorb. You’ve just received some terrible news, but please, let’s stay focused on finding out who might have done this.”

      “No one!” John blared. “This is obviously a mistake. You have the wrong child. Henrietta had no enemies,” he declared. “Was she hit by a bus? Did she fall off a bridge? At least give us some idea what we’re dealing with here.”

      “She was killed,” Avery offered. “That’s all I can say.”

      “Killed,” the mother whispered.

      “Please,” Ramirez said. “Anything you can think of? Anything at all. Even if it seems insignificant to you, it might be a big help to us.”

      “No,” the mother replied. “She had no boyfriend. There’s a circle of girlfriends she keeps. They were over last year for Thanksgiving. None of them could have done something like this. You must be wrong.”

      She looked up with pleading eyes.

      “You must!”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Avery parked at an empty spot on the street between police cruisers and braced herself as she looked over at the A7 police department headquarters on Paris Street in East Boston. Outside the station was a media circus. A news conference had been called to discuss the case and a number of television vans and cameras and reporters barred the way, despite numerous officers trying to get them to move.

      “Your public awaits,” Ramirez noted.

      Ramirez seemed to want to be interviewed. His head was lifted high and he smiled at every reporter that turned his way. To his disappointment, none of them approached. Avery had her head down and walked as fast as possible to push her way into the station. She hated crowds. At one time in her life, when she was a lawyer, she’d loved when people knew her by name and flocked to her trials, but ever since she herself had been figuratively put on trial by the press, she’d learned to despise their attention.

      Instantly, the reporters converged.

      “Avery Black,” one of them said with a mic in her face. “Can you please tell us anything about the woman murdered at the marina today?”

      “Why are you on the case, Detective Black?” yelled another. “This is the A7. Were you transferred to this department?”

      “How do you feel about the mayor’s new Stop Crime campaign?”

      “Are you and Howard Randall still an item?”

      Howard Randall, she thought. Despite an overwhelming desire to cut all ties with Randall, Avery hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind Every day since her last meeting with Randall, he’d found some way to creep into her thoughts. Sometimes, a simple smell or an image was all she needed to hear his words: “Does it bring back something from your childhood, Avery? What? Tell me…” Other times, while working on different cases, she tried to think like Randall would think to uncover the solution.

      “Out of the way!” Ramirez yelled. “Come on! Make room. Let’s go.”

      He put a hand on her back and led her into the station.

      The A7 headquarters, a large brick and stone building, had recently received a major interior overhaul. Gone were the metal desks and typically sullen feel of a state-operated organization. In its place were sleek silver tables, colored chairs, and an open area for booking that looked more like the entrance to a playland.

      Like the A1 – only more modern – the conference room was encased in glass so that people could look out on the floor. A large, oval mahogany table was complete with microphones for each seat and a huge flat-screen TV for conferencing.

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