Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) Read Free Page A

one day
and then the next day, the veil gets pulled down and everything changes.”
    He nodded.
    “Howard Randall,” he said, clearly realizing.
    The name made her more aware of everything—the cool air in the
car, her position on the seat, their location in the city. Nobody had said his
name aloud in a long time, especially to her. She felt exposed and vulnerable,
and in response she tightened her body and sat taller.
    “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to—”
    “It’s fine,” she said.
    Only it wasn’t fine. Everything had ended after him. Her life. Her
job. Her sanity. Being a defense attorney had been challenging, to say the
least, but he was the one that was supposed to make it right again. A
genius Harvard professor, respected by all, simple and kind, he’d been charged
with murder. Avery’s salvation was supposed to come through his defense.
For once, she was supposed to do what she had dreamed about since childhood:
defend the innocent and ensure justice prevailed.
    But nothing like that happened.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    The park had already been closed off to the public.
    Two plainclothes officers flagged down Ramirez’s car and quickly
waved them away from the main parking lot and over to the left. Among the
officers that were obviously from her department, Avery spotted a number of
state police.
    “Why are the troopers here?” she asked.
    “Their home base is right up the street.”
    Ramirez pulled over and parked next to a line of police cruisers.
Yellow tape had sectioned off a large area of the lot. News vans, reporters,
cameras, and a bunch of other runners and park regulars stood by the tape to
try to see what was happening.
    “Nobody beyond this point,” an officer said.
    Avery flashed a badge.
    “Homicide,” she said. It was the first time she’d actually
acknowledged her new position, and it filled her with pride.
    “Where’s Connelly?” Ramirez asked.
    An officer pointed toward the trees.
    They made their way across the grass, a baseball diamond on their
left. More yellow tape met them before a line of trees. Under thick foliage was
a walking path that wound its way along the Charles River. A single officer,
along with a forensics specialist and a photographer, stood before a bench.
    Avery avoided initial contact with those already on the scene.
Over the years, she’d come to find that social interactions strained her focus,
and too many questions and formalities with others sullied her point of view.
Sadly, it was yet another characteristic of hers that had incurred the scorn of
her entire department.
    The victim was a young girl placed askew on the bench. She was
obviously dead, but with the exception of her bluish skin tone, her position
and facial expression might have made the average passerby think twice before
they wondered if something was wrong.
    Like a lover waiting for her paramour, the girl’s hands were
placed on the bench-back. Her chin rested on her hands. A mischievous smile
curled on her lips. Her body was turned, as if she’d been in a sitting position
and had moved to look for someone or breathe out a heavy sigh. She was clothed
in a yellow summer dress and white flip-flops, lovely auburn hair flowing over
her left shoulder. Her legs were crossed and her toes rested gently on the
path.
    Only the victim’s eyes gave away her torment. They emanated the
pain and disbelief.
    Avery heard a voice in her mind, the voice of the old man that
haunted her nights and daydreams. In regards to his own victims, he had once
asked her: What are they? Only vessels, nameless, faceless vessels—so few
among billions—waiting to find their purpose.
    Anger rose up in her, anger born at being exposed and humiliated
and most of all, from having her entire life shattered.
    She moved closer to the body.
    As an attorney, she’d been forced to examine endless forensics
reports and coroner’s photos and anything else related to her case. Her
education had vastly improved as a cop,