Cause to Kill

* * *

An hour later, Avery had the alleyway blocked off on both sides by yellow tape. On Brattle Street, a police car and the forensics van were pulled up onto the sidewalk. One officer had been stationed to discourage visitors.

The alley opened into a wide, darkened street about halfway into the block. One side of the street housed a glass real estate building and a loading dock. On the other side were housing complexes. There was a parking lot that could support four cars. Another police car, along with more yellow tape, was at the end of the alley.

Avery stood in front of the loading dock.

“There,” she said and pointed to a high camera. “We need that footage. It probably belongs to the real estate company. Let’s get in there and see what we can find.”

Ramirez shook his head.

“You’re crazy,” he said. “That tape didn’t show shit.”

“Cindy Jenkins had no reason to walk down this alley,” Avery said. “Her boyfriend lives in the opposite direction.”

“Maybe she wanted to go for a walk,” he argued. “All I’m saying is, this is a lot of manpower for a hunch.”

“It’s no hunch. You saw the tape.”

“I saw a bunch of black blurs I couldn’t understand!” He fought. “Why would the killer attack here? There are cameras everywhere. He’d have to be a complete idiot.”

“Let’s go find out,” she said.

Top Real Estate Company owned the glass building and the loading dock.

After a brief discussion with front desk security, Avery and Ramirez were told to wait on the plush leather couches for someone of higher authority to arrive. Ten minutes later, the head of security and the president of the company appeared.

Avery flashed her best smile and shook hands.

“Thanks for seeing us,” she said. “We’d like to access the camera right above your loading dock. We don’t have a warrant,” she frowned, “but what we do have is a dead girl that was abducted on Saturday night, most likely right outside your back door. Unless something comes up, we should be in and out in twenty minutes.”

“And if something comes up?” the president asked.

“Then you made the right choice to assist the police in an extremely timely and delicate matter. A warrant could take an entire day. The body of that girl has already been dead for two days. She can’t talk anymore. She can’t help us. But you can. Please help. Every second we waste, the trail gets cold.”

The president nodded to himself and turned to his guard.

“Davis,” he said, “show them up. Give them whatever they need. If there are any problems,” he said to Avery, “please come and find me.”

When they were on their way, Ramirez whistled to himself.

“What a charmer,” he said.

“Whatever it takes,” Avery whispered.

The security office at Top Real Estate was a buzzing room filled with over twenty television screens. The guard sat down at the black table and keyboard.

“OK,” he said. “Time and place?”

“Loading dock. About two fifty-two and then let’s move forward.”

Ramirez shook his head.

“We’re not going to find nothing.”

The real estate cameras were of a much higher quality than the smoke shop, and in color. Most of the viewing screens were of a similar size, but one in particular was large. The guard put the loading-dock camera on the larger screen and then spun the image backwards.

“There,” Avery called. “Stop.”

The image halted at two-fifty. The camera showed a panoramic view of the parking lot directly across from the loading dock, as well as left, toward the dead-end sign and the street beyond. There was only a partial view of the alley that led toward Brattle. A single car was parked in the lot: a minivan that appeared to be dark blue.

“That car’s not supposed to be there,” the guard pointed.

“Can you make out the license?” Avery wondered.

“Yeah, I got it,” Ramirez said.

All three of them waited. For a while, the only motion came from cars on the perpendicular street, and the motion from trees.

At two-fifty-three, two people came into view.

They might have been lovers.

One was a smaller man, wiry and short, with thick, bushy hair, a moustache, and glasses. The other was a girl, taller with long hair. She wore a light summer dress and sandals. They appeared to be dancing. He held one of her hands and spun her around from the waist.

“Holy shit,” Ramirez said, “that’s Jenkins.”

“Same dress,” Avery said, “shoes, hair.”

“She’s drugged,” he said. “Look at her. Feet are dragging.”

They watched the killer open the passenger door and place her inside. Then, as he turned and walked around to the driver’s side, he looked directly into the loading-dock camera, bowed in a theatrical way, and twirled to the driver’s side door.

“Holy shit!” Ramirez howled. “Motherfucker is playing with us.”

“I want everyone on this,” Avery said. “Thompson and Jones are full-time surveillance from now on. Thompson can stay at the park. Tell him about the minivan. That will narrow down his search. We need to know what direction that car was heading. Jones has a harder job. He needs to get over here now and follow that van. I don’t care how he does it. Tell him to track down any cameras that can help him along the way.”

She turned to Ramirez, who stared back, shocked and impressed.

“We’ve got our killer.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Exhaustion finally hit Avery at close to six forty-five in the evening, on the elevator ride up to the second floor of the police station. All the energy and impetus she’d received from the morning revelations had culminated in a day well spent, but a night with countless unanswered questions. Her light skin was partially burned from the sun, her hair a mess, the jacket she’d worn earlier strung over her arm. Her shirt: dirty and untucked. Ramirez, on the other hand, appeared even more refreshed than he had in the morning: hair slicked back, suit almost perfectly pressed, eyes sharp and only a dab of sweat on his forehead.

“How can you possibly look so good?” she asked.

“It’s my Spanish-Mexican bloodline,” he proudly explained. “I can go twenty-four, forty-eight hours and still keep this shine.”