After staring at the scene for a moment, Avery turned and looked down the street. Her eyes followed the path that Donald Greer must have been taking, all the way down to her right, where Kirkley intersected with Spring Street. She walked down the street, came to the intersection, and then turned.
Several thoughts entered her mind as she started to walk forward. Had the killer been on foot the entire time? And if so, why had he come in from Spring Street-a street just as barren and washed up as Kirkley? Or perhaps he had come by car. If that was the case, where would he have parked? If the fog had been thick enough, he could have parked anywhere along Kirkley and his car could have gone unseen.
If the man in the long black coat was indeed their killer, he had walked along this same route less than eight hours ago. She tried to envision the scene shrouded in thick morning fog. Because it was such a desolate area of town, it was not hard to do. As she walked slowly forward to the lot where the bones and the shards hard been found, she kept her eyes open for potential places the man could have ducked out of sight.
There were plenty of them, to be sure. There were six empty lots and two side streets that the man could have hidden in. If the fog had been thick enough, any of those locations would have made for ample cover.
That raised an interesting thought. If the man had hidden in one of those areas, he had let Donald Greer go by without bothering him. That took out the possibility of the murder being an act of sheer violence. Most people capable of that sort of violence would not have let Donald pass by so easily. In fact, Donald would have become a victim in most cases.
If she needed any further proof that the body had been burned somewhere else, this thought gave it to her. Perhaps, then, the item the man had been shifting beneath his coat had been a container holding the remains that he had dumped in the lot.
It made sense and she slowly started to feel a ramped-up sense of accomplishment. Now she was getting somewhere.
She walked to the lot where the remains had been found. Ever efficient and prompt, O'Malley had already cleared police away from the scene. She assumed he had done this just as soon as forensics had come by and collected the remains.
She walked to where the bones and ash had been dumped and simply stood there, looking around. The marshy area behind the lot was more visible than ever now. It was so close and much less open than the lot. So why would someone dump the bones in the middle of the lot rather than a weeded-over creek? Why would they put the remains right out in the open rather than ditching them in mud and stagnant water?
It was a question they had already approached. And in her mind, the answer was proof that they were dealing with a serial killer.
Because he wants people to see his work. He's proud and maybe a little arrogant.
She thought he might be clever, too. The use of fog to hide himself indicated that he had planned things very well. He'd have to be persistent about checking the weather to make sure there would be ample fog. He also had to know the area relatively well. It would have to have taken some serious planning.
And fire…he'd have to know fire well. To burn a body so cleanly without charring or otherwise damaging the bones spoke of dedication and patience. The killer would really have to know a great deal about fire and the process of burning.
Burning, she thought. Fire.
As she studied the crime scene and envisioned the killer standing in this same place, she felt like she was missing something-that some crucial clue was staring her right in the face. But all there was to see was the marshy and muddy area at the back of the property as well as the small square of space where some poor victim had been dumped out as if they were nothing more than a standard pile of trash.
She looked around the empty lot again and wondered if perhaps the location of the remains was not as important as she thought. If the killer was using fire as a way to send a message to someone (either the victim or the police), maybe that was what she needed to focus on.
With an idea coming to her mind, she pulled out her phone and called up the closest cab company for a ride out of there. After the call was placed and the cab had been requested, she looked through her contacts and stared at her daughter's name for five seconds.
I'm so sorry, Rose, she thought.
She pressed CALL and brought the phone to her ear as her heart broke a little.
Rose answered on the third ring. She sounded happy right away. Avery could hear music playing softly in the background. She could imagine Rose getting ready for their afternoon out and hated herself a little.
"Hey, Mom," Avery said.
"Hey, Rose."
"What's up?"
"Rose…" she said. She felt tears coming on. She looked out at the empty lot behind her, trying to convince herself that she had to do this and that one day, Rose would understand.
Without Avery having to say another word, Rose apparently caught on to the emotion. She let out a little angry laugh. "Perfect," Rose said, the joy now gone from her voice. "Mom, are you fucking serious right now?"
Avery had heard Rose curse before but this time it was like a dagger to her heart because she deserved it.
"Rose, a case came up. A pretty bad one and I have to-"
"I know what you have to do," Rose said. She did not scream. She barely even raised her voice. And somehow, that made it that much worse.
"Rose, I can't help this. I certainly didn't expect this to pop up. When I made those plans with you, I had a wide open schedule for a few days. But this thing popped and…well, things change."
"I guess they do sometimes," Rose said. "But not with you. With you, things pretty much stay the same…when it comes to me, anyway."
"Rose, that's not fair."
"Don't you even try telling me what's not fair right now! And you know what, Mom? Just forget about it. This time and any other time you might want to pretend to play Good Mother in the future. It's not in the cards for us."
"Rose-"
"I get it, Mom. I do. But do you know how much it sucks to have this woman as your mother…a kick-ass woman with a demanding job? A woman I respect the hell out of…but a woman that time and time again disappoints me?"
Avery had no idea what to say. Which was just as well, since Rose was done.
"Bye, Mom. Thanks for letting me know in advance, though. Better than being stood up altogether, I guess."
"Rose, I-"
But the line went dead.
Avery shoved her phone back into her pocket and took a deep breath. A single tear rolled down her face from her right eye and she wiped it away as quickly as she could. She then walked purposefully over to the area that had been cordoned off with crime scene tape earlier in the morning and stared at it for a very long time.
Fire, she thought. Maybe it's more than something the killer is using for his acts. Maybe it's symbolic. Maybe fire offers more of a clue than anything else.
So as she waited for the cab to arrive, she thought of fire and what sort of person might use it to deliver some sort of a message. It was hard to get a grasp on it, though, as she knew very little about arson.
I'll need a second mind at work on this, she thought.
And with that thought, she pulled out her phone and called up the A1 headquarters. She asked to be put through to Sloane Miller, the A1 psychologist and in-house shrink for the officers and detectives. If anyone could tap into the mind of a killer with fire on the brain, it would be Sloane.
