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

when she routinely analyzed murder
victims in person, and could make more honest assessments.
    The dress, she noticed, had been washed, and the victim’s hair
cleaned. The nails and toenails were freshly polished, and when she took a deep
whiff of skin, she smelled coconut and honey and only the faint hint of
formaldehyde.
    “You gonna kiss it or what?” someone said.
    Avery was bent over the victim’s body, hands behind her back. On
the bench was a yellow placard labeled “4.” Beside it, on the girl’s lower
waist, was a stiff orange hair, barely perceptible among the yellow of her
dress.
    Homicide Supervisor Dylan Connelly stood akimbo and waited for an
answer. He was tough and rugged, with wavy blond hair and penetrating blue
eyes. His chest and arms nearly tore out of his blue shirt. His pants were
brown linen, and thick black boots adorned his feet. Avery had noticed him
often in the office; he wasn’t exactly her type, but he had an animal ferocity
about him that she admired.
    “This is a crime scene, Black. Next time, watch where you’re
walking. You’re lucky we already dusted for prints and shoes.”
    She looked down, baffled; she had been careful where she had
walked. She looked up at Connelly’s steely eyes and realized he was just
looking for a reason to ride her.
    “I didn’t know it was a crime scene,” she said. “Thanks for
filling me in.”
    Ramirez snickered.
    Connelly bit down and stepped forward.
    “You know why people can’t stand you, Black? It’s not just that
you’re an outsider, it’s that when you were on the outside, you had no
real respect for cops, and now that you’re on the inside, you have even less
respect. Let me be perfectly clear: I don’t like you, I don’t trust you, and I
sure as hell didn’t want you on my team.”
    He turned to Ramirez.
    “Fill her in on what we know. I’m going home to take a shower. I
feel sick,” he said. Gloves were removed and thrown to the ground. To Avery, he
added: “I expect a full report by the end of the day. Five o’clock sharp.
Conference room. You hear me? Don’t be late. And make sure you clean this mess
up, too, before you leave. State troopers were kind enough to step aside and
let us work. You be kind enough and show them some courtesy.”
    Connelly walked away in a huff.
    “You have a real way with people,” Ramirez admired.
    Avery shrugged.
    The forensics specialist on the scene was a shapely young African
American named Randy Johnson. She had large eyes and an easy way about herself.
Short, dreadlocked hair was only partially hidden behind a white cap.
    Avery had worked with her before. They’d formed a fast bond during
a domestic violence case. The last time they’d seen each other was over drinks.
    Excited to be on another case with Avery, Randy held out a hand,
noticed her own glove, blushed, guffawed, and said, “Oops,” followed by a
wacky, eek! expression and the proclamation: “I might be contaminated .”
    “Good to see you too, Randy.”
    “Congrats on Homicide.” Randy bowed. “Moving up in the world.”
    “One wacko at a time. What have we got?”
    “I’d say someone was in love,” Randy replied. “Cleaned her up
pretty good. Opened her up from the back. Drained her body, filled her up so
she wouldn’t rot, and stitched her up again. Fresh clothes. Manicure. Careful
too. No prints yet. Not much to go on until I get to the lab. Only two wounds I
can find. See the mouth? You can either pin this from the inside, or use gel to
get a corpse to smile like that. From the puncture wound here,” she pointed at
the corner of a lip, “I’d guess injection. There’s another one here,” she noted
on the neck. “By the coloring, this came earlier, maybe at the time of
abduction. Body has been dead for about forty-eight hours. Found a couple of
interesting hairs.”
    “How long has she been here?”
    “Bikers found her at six,” Ramirez said. “The park is patrolled
every night around midnight