Avery sauntered into the A1 police department at just past ten in the evening. The first-floor receptionist was dealing with an officer and a prostitute. Throughout the rest of the office, plainclothes officers booked drunken college students and took statements. A fight broke out in the back and it took three cops to subdue a tremendous white man.
Police jobs weren't like normal jobs.
The majority of officers didn't just come in at eight or nine and leave at five everyday. Similarly, weekends were almost never free unless an employee had seniority or the entire department was on a revolving schedule. In the A1, everyone worked in shifts-five-day shifts that could be from Wednesday to Sunday, and if someone was on a case, they could work all night, every night, and well into the morning.
Avery recognized a few familiar faces. However, no one seemed to pay her much mind. Weekend night shifts had a certain feel to them, like being in a cemetery after staying up for forty-eight hours straight: everyone was in a haze and had a rhythm all their own.
On the second floor, Connelly was arguing with Thompson.
Thompson looked like two men rolled into one, a giant that loved to hit the gym, and combined with his pale skin and full lips and light blond hair, he usually made other police-and perpetrators-extremely uncomfortable.
"Why am I still here?" Thompson complained.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Connelly snapped. "I just gave you a job and you didn't do it. I don't care if you're here until four AM."
"Car dealerships!?" Thompson roared and stood to his full height. "How many fucking dealerships are open on Saturday night? My shift ended hours ago. Here's a list from Watertown and Belmont."
"I asked for Waltham, too. And I asked you for numbers, and for the direct contacts at each company. I don't see anything here for Belmont," he complained and flipped through a list.
Avery sat back on someone's desk and waited for them to finish.
Connelly glanced up.
"What the fuck are you doing here? Didn't the captain tell you to take a rest?"
"Can we talk?" she asked.
"No," he said. "I've got nothing to say to you. Get lost. You're not back until Monday."
She indicated Thompson.
"You're wasting his time."
"I told you!" Thompson followed. "This is a waste of my fucking time."
"Shut the fuck up!" Connelly snapped and pointed in his face. "Black, I swear to God. If you're not out of my sight in five seconds I'm going to personally see you off Homicide and back to beat for the rest of your life."
Avery lowered her head.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said in a calm, even tone. "And you need to listen to me. I've got a lead. A big one," she emphasized and looked him right in the eyes. "We need to talk this through. And we need to be on the same team. Do you want to catch a killer? Or do you want to stay pissed off at me because you think you know me, or because I was assigned to your team, or because I used to have a better life than you?"
She pushed off the desk.
"I'm sorry if I've done anything to offend you," she said, "but I'm right here. Right now. Just like you. Swimming in the shit. And I haven't let up on finding this killer, and I've finally got a lead. This can't wait until Monday. If you kick me out, I'll just call the captain, and then the chief, and then anyone else who will listen to me."
Thompson pointed at Avery with heartfelt concern.
"Listen to her," he pleaded.
"Shut the fuck up, Thompson! Sit down."
He curled a finger at Avery and pointed to the conference room.
"Three minutes," he said. "You've got three minutes."
Once they were alone, Avery laid it out. "I know I've made some mistakes."
"Some!?"
"Stupid mistakes," she added, "but it was all in the line of duty. I made a few other mistakes today. I went back to see Howard Randall."
Connelly howled and waved a hand.
"He gave me a clue," Avery continued, "or," she added, "something like a clue. I couldn't figure it out until I went to Brandeis."
Connelly slapped his head.
"You went to Molly Green's college? You were told to stay off this case."
"Will you shut up!" she yelled. "Just for once? Please?"
Surprised, he folded his arms and stood back.
"I talked to someone in the guidance department. She told me that Molly had a job lined up with Devante Accounting. Well, guess what? Cindy Jenkins also had a job with Devante. I don't know about Tabitha yet. Finley was supposed to talk to the mother. I haven't heard back from him. Tabitha was a junior, but if she was hired by them too, that's too much of a coincidence to ignore, don't you think?"
"Your last connection turned out to be shit."
"But it was a connection, the only one between two of those girls, until now. If we can link the third girl to Devante, we'll be closer than we've ever been."
"Finley's off duty," he mumbled.
"So?"
Connelly walked away and mulled over the situation. In a gray suit and blue shirt that appeared too small for his muscular frame, he rolled his shoulders and rubbed the blondish stubble on his skin, seemingly annoyed but intrigued.
"Wait here," he said.
"What are you-"
"I said wait!" he snapped and walked out.
Beyond the glass, she could see him give instructions to a very flustered Thompson before he went to his own desk and started to make a call.
Avery sat in the conference room for nearly twenty minutes. With nothing to do, the burden of her knowledge finally out, she felt more relaxed and oddly comforted. An intense desire to call her daughter made her reach for the phone.
What would you say? she wondered.
Tell her that you were an idiot, and that you still are. Tell her the truth: that you love her and you'll make this right, no matter what.
The conference door opened.
"Tabitha Mitchell was a junior," Connelly said. "She was graduating early, top of her class. And she was offered a job at Devante Accounting."
Avery sat up.
"Holy shit."
The connection was there. Howard Randall had been right. His words rang out: He has to find them, watch them, know them from somewhere. When she went down the list with Randall-one a senior, one a junior-he'd said no.
He knew, she realized.
The sickness Avery had felt at having to visit Randall and ask for help now began to wash away. The connection had been made, and if she could fit all the pieces together, there was hope: for her, for her future, to leave the past behind.
"Three of them," Connelly said. "All of them had jobs at Devante."
"How did you find out?"
"Finley's been calling the Mitchell house. I called the mother's cell. She was sleeping. Started crying the second I told her it was about her daughter. But she had the information we needed. What's fucked up is, I think the papers said the same thing yesterday or the day before."
That's how he knew, Avery realized. Randall read the papers.
They both stared at each other in silence.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"You tell me."
She glanced away and bit down on her lower lip.
"We need a name. Who was the hiring manager that met with all those girls?"
"Whoever it is," Connelly said, "he must know that at least two of the girls he hired are dead. It's been all over the news."
"If two girls you hired were found dead in under a week, would you call someone?"
"Not if I was guilty."
Connelly immediately put the conference room phone on speaker and called the captain. Agitated and sleepy, a remote O'Malley listened to both Avery and Connelly on speakerphone and took his time before he answered.
"Wait until the morning," he said. "There's nothing we can do right now. I'll call the chief and the mayor first thing Sunday. Shit," he mumbled. "Devante. They're huge."
"We'll start with the CEO and work our way down," Avery said. "Someone has to have a list of names and job titles. I'm assuming our killer works in human resources."
"Try to get some sleep tonight," the captain said, "both of you. It might be a big day tomorrow. I'll meet you in the office at eight. Avery, if you can't sleep, start on the warrants: one for the company and one for an unnamed individual within the company. You can also call Devante and see if there's a weekend staff. I doubt anyone will pick up at this hour, but it's April. You never know."
The line went dead.
Uneasy in his stance, Connelly refused to look at her.
"Let's hope this works out," he said and left.
Avery completed as much paperwork as she could on two warrants. She called at least ten numbers listed for Devante's Boston office. No one answered.
Go home, she told herself.
Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind.
