Dead silence lasted the rest of the way into Cambridge. At one point, slightly curious about Finley and their difficult past together, Avery cocked a brow and asked a question.
“Why are you always such an asshole?”
“To you?”
“Yeah, to me.”
Finley shrugged as if the answer was obvious.
“You’re a chick,” he said. “Everyone knows chicks don’t make good cops. Heard you were a lesbian too. You like to bang serial killers, right? Crazy shit. You’re a crazy chick, Black. Besides, you always look like you belong somewhere else. So I say to myself: why doesn’t she go work somewhere else if she don’t like it here? That’s all. Busting your balls. Gotta fight back if you want respect,” he said and punched the air. “Pop, pop, pop.”
Avery began to wonder if he was slightly special.
“Can I help you with something?”
Winston Graves looked just like he’d been portrayed by the sorority girls: cocky, aloof, tall, dark, and athletic. He had dreamy green eyes and a toned, tan body. Although not a perfect match to the man Avery had seen in the surveillance videos, she tried to imagine him in disguise and slumped over to make him seem shorter.
On the porch of his first-floor apartment house, he wore white and red basketball shorts, flip-flops, and a tank-top. Books were in his hand. He glanced over at Finley, who stood further away on the sidewalk and glared at Winston like a pit bull ready to strike.
‘My name is Avery Black,” she said and flashed her badge. “I’m with Homicide. I’d just like to ask you a few questions about Cindy Jenkins.”
“It’s about time,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I called the cops on Sunday. This is the first time anyone thought it might be important enough to talk to me? Huh,” he fake laughed, “I’m touched.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Avery said. “Did you have anything to add to the case? Is that why you wanted the police to call you back?”
“No,” he said, “I’m just forever amazed at the stupidity of our public servants.”
Avery winced.
“Ouch,” Finley said. “You better mind your smart-ass tongue, Harvard boy, or I’ll bring in your clean ass for Obstruction.”
Winston looked over at Finley, haughty at first; but then when he caught a good look at his raging eyes, he seemed to show the slightest bit of self-doubt and humility.
“What do you want?” Winston demanded.
“You can start by telling me where you were Saturday night,” Avery said.
Winston laughed.
“Are you serious?” he said. “I’m a suspect now? This just gets better and better.”
A powerful, protected air surrounded Winston, like he was untouchable, above them all, and blessed by money and birthright. He reminded Avery of all the multimillionaires she’d worked with as an attorney. During that time in her life, she probably acted just like him.
“Just going through the motions,” she said.
“I was playing poker with my friends. Everyone was at my house until about midnight. You want to check? Go right ahead. Here are some names,” and rattled off a few of his Harvard classmates.
Avery took notes.
“Thanks for that,” she said. “And, how are you?”
He frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, just trying to be empathetic. How are you feeling? I assume this must have been very difficult for you. The way I understand it, you and Cindy were in a long-term relationship. Two years, isn’t that right?”
“Great detective work,” he said sarcastically. “Cindy and I were over. Not officially, but in the past few months, it became painfully obvious that we were not meant to be together. We were moving in different directions. I was going to break up with her. So no, I wasn’t that broken up. It’s a terrible tragedy. I was upset when I heard what happened, but if you’re looking for tears, you came to the wrong place.”
“Wow,” Avery said. “It’s only been three days.”
“I’m sorry,” Winston snapped, “is there something I’m missing here? You come to my house, make me feel like I’m a suspect, question my relationship, and then try to make me feel guilty about my emotions? You might want to be careful with your words, Detective, or I’ll call my lawyer and make sure you’re put on a tighter leash.”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!” Finley yelled with a pointed finger.
Avery flashed him a look that said “you are not helping.”
Her phone rang.
“Black,” she said.
O’Malley was on the line.
“Stop whatever you’re doing,” he said in an urgent, soft-spoken tone. “Turn the car around and head over to Violet Path in the Mount Auburn Cemetery over in Watertown. Plug it into your phone and get there now. Ask for a detective named Ray Henley. He’s in charge. The cabin can wait.”
“What is it?” she asked.
There came a three-second pause.
“They just found another body.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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.”