Mount Auburn Cemetery was a luxurious property of winding roads, lakes, and lush forests with gravestones strewn throughout.
A number of Watertown police cruisers, along with unmarked cars, an ambulance, and a forensics van, made it impossible to drive very far into Violet Path. Trees obscured most of the overhead sunlight. Multiple groups of onlookers and bikers craned their necks to see something just outside of Avery's view. She parked at the bottom of a grassy knoll, just at the intersection of Walnut Avenue and Violet.
"Hey you," a plainclothes cop shouted when she exited her car, "you can't park there. Move that car. This is a crime scene."
Avery flashed her badge.
"Avery Black," she said, "Homicide. Boston PD."
"You're out of your jurisdiction, Boston. We don't need you here. Go home."
Avery smiled: reasonable and pleasant.
"I was told to contact Ray Henley?"
"Lieutenant Henley?" Suspicious, the officer grumbled, "Wait here."
"What's up his ass?" Finley interjected.
He stood right behind Avery, practically against her shoulder.
"Am I being punished?" she asked. "Is that why you're here?"
"This is my big break, Black. You're going to help me reach detective."
"God have mercy on my soul."
A lean, attractive man in slacks and a red plaid shirt came over the hill. He looked more like an outdoorsman than a detective; only the badge around his neck and the gun on his hip gave it away. He had a sunburned face and wavy brown hair. An aura of wellness and patience exuded from his being, and he smiled at Avery as if they knew each other.
"Detective Black." He waved. "Thanks for coming."
A strong hand gripped hers, and when he peered into her eyes, a calm feeling came over Avery, like she could sink into his arms and instantly be forgiven for all her sins.
An awkward pause followed.
"I'm Ray Henley?" he said.
"Right," Avery replied, flustered, "sorry. I was told you found another body, similar to the one we discovered over in Lederman Park?"
Her immediate discussion of the case turned him off slightly, and he breathed a wistful sigh and rubbed his cheeks.
"Yeah," he said, "come up and see for yourself."
He updated her on the way.
"A runner found her this morning around six. For a second, she thought the girl was some kind of Satan worshiper from the way she was positioned. We believe her name is Tabitha Mitchell, an MIT junior that never showed up at her dorm last night. Her roommate called the police around two, and then again eight. Cambridge police would have normally waited forty-eight hours to post a picture but since she's a connected college student, we caught a break."
"What's she doing out here?"
"I thought you could help us with that."
The body was at the top of the knoll. Small gray tombstones marked the area. She was draped over a larger stone that resembled a chess piece pawn. He had once again done incredibly lifelike work. She was squatted and hugging the monument. Her cheek rested on the top. Eyes were open and there was a lasciviousness about her appearance. Red blush painted her cheeks. Some kind of glue had been sprayed on her forehead and hair tips to imitate sweat, and her mouth was puckered in a sense of breathlessness.
"She's not wearing any undergarments," Ray said.
Cindy Jenkins wore undergarments: panties and a bra. What does that mean? Avery wondered. Is the killer becoming bolder? Did she just leave the house that way?
Tabitha's eyes were open and focused on something in the distance.
Avery tracked the line of sight to a bunch of white, short tombstones on an opposite, grassy decline.
"Finley," she said, and inwardly bristled at his name, "write down whatever you see on those graves over there. Mark them down so I know which one's first, second, third, got it? Then take a walk around the area. Serial killers usually return to the scene of the crime to get a cheap thrill. Maybe ours is still here."
"A serial killer?" He beamed. "Oh wow. You got it, Black," and he flashed her a can-do attitude and pointed a finger in her face to express seriousness.
"Is that your partner?" Ray asked.
"No," she insisted.
Once again, he tried to start a conversation.
"Saw you in the paper a couple of days ago." He smiled. "And," he emphasized, slightly embarrassed, "I saw you in a lot of papers a few years ago."
His implication wasn't clear until Avery glanced at him and realized: He's flirting.
It was hard for her to do anything in front of a dead body except analyze what happened and try to piece together the puzzle. She wondered if that was some kind of mechanical flaw born from her past guilt and torment, but then she remembered she'd always been that way, even as an attorney: focused, relentless, and eager to find the connections that would lead to success. Now, the only difference was that those connections weren't just ways to get her clients off-they were ways to stop murderers.
Ray sensed her discomfort and changed the subject.
"You think this is your guy?"
Avery cleared her throat.
"Absolutely," she said. "This is his work."
"Well then," he sighed, "I'll share whatever we have. We don't get many crime scenes like this in Watertown. And, if you like, we can even have the body sent to your lab and you can take things over from there. You OK with that?"
"Of course," she said, genuinely appreciative. "That would be great."
"Don't get the wrong idea," he added with a smile, "I'm not just a nice guy. Truth be told? I'm a little OCD when it comes to sharing. It makes my skin crawl trying to imagine two sets of paperwork on something this important, and timely."
"Still," she offered, "thank you."
He held her look for as long as possible; Avery blushed and turned away, excited by the attention but eager to get back to work. Thankfully, another officer flagged him down.
"Lieutenant, we have a situation over here."
"Be right back," Ray said.
The cemetery was peaceful, calming, just like the area where Cindy Jenkins was placed in Lederman Park. Why? Avery wondered. What's the significance of parks? Mentally, she checked off avenues to pursue: Was Tabitha a sorority girl like Cindy? She's a junior, and half Asian. So the killer can't be hunting down seniors, or specifically white girls. Cindy came from an established family. What about Tabitha? They were both abducted from Cambridge. Why? Is that where the killer lives? Where was Tabitha last seen? Who saw her alive? Can we get surveillance? The list seemed endless.
What do we know? she pushed.
Nothing, she mentally replied. We know absolutely nothing.
No, she rallied, we know something: the relative size and shape of the killer, his ethnicity, MO, and the specific drugs he used. Ramirez was compiling a list of hallucinogenic plant suppliers, as well as car dealerships and Internet sites that sold Chrysler blue minivans. We can pursue those leads. We can also share the killer's sketch with Cambridge police. See if there's a match. We can also try to track that minivan from Lederman.
I just need more people, she thought. And not Finley.
Police sirens blared.
Cops spun into action.
"We got a runner! We got a runner!"
Farther off, on another path visible from her position, a black car, maybe a Mustang, revved up and burned smoke out of the cemetery. Ray was below shouting orders. Two police officers and a photographer around the body perked up and started to head toward the action.
"No, no," Avery called and pointed. "You stay here. Someone has to guard the body."
Finley, she thought. Where is Finley?
Her walkie-talkie buzzed to life.
"Hey, Black," came Finley's voice, "we got him! I got him!"
"Where are you?" she demanded.
"I'm in a Watertown police cruiser with-hey, what's your name," he said to someone. "Shut up, man!" came a different voice. "I'm trying to drive!" "I don't know," Finley added, "some cop. We're the first ones out. Following a black Mustang. Heading northwest out of the cemetery. Hop in that pretty white pony of yours and back us up. We got him!"
