Блейк Пирс
Cause to Kill
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Just after sunset on the Bentley University Campus in Waltham, the killer parked his car in a lot to the north of College Drive and walked south, across the pavement.
An uneasy feeling churned in his stomach.
He was on the hunt for his fourth victim, and yet it was such an unexpected activity.
Months before he began to plan for his first human kill, he was assured by the voice of the All Spirit – who had guided him in each and every phase of the operation – that three was the number of girls needed: three kills to unlock the doors of heaven.
The radical change had come during his drop-off of Molly Green.
As the killer had driven to the predetermined spot for her placement in Belmont, a spot that he was sure would please the All Spirit, an angry voice had screamed in his mind: More. It had to be a mistake, he was sure. The All Spirit had only needed three. More, the voice had repeated – again and again. Worried, sweaty, and unsure of himself, the killer knew the drop-off for Molly Green would have to be changed to account for the shift. In a panic – and he never panicked – he’d scouted Belmont and was lucky enough to find the children’s park with the mural that would at least hark to the future and please his god.
He, however, had not been pleased.
A new girl meant not just one, but more, a seemingly never-ending supply.
He had other interests, other desires. Animals, for one. His passion for collecting animals off the streets. He loved cats, a wounded bat had even made it into his house once, a creature that he had loved and cared for, before it was given immortality.
Botany was another hobby. No time had been allowed in the previous months to augment his mixtures and test them out on live animal subjects. Everything had been for the All Spirit, a god that had become an increasing presence in his life.
More girls…he thought.
More…
His reward for the trinity was supposed to be immortality in human form, and a place in heaven with the other celestial beings. But now, he didn’t feel immortal, in fact, he felt feverish and extremely emotional. This new game, this new plan, it went against his innermost desires, and he began to think cruel thoughts about the All Spirit.
High in the sky, the face of his god frowned, and a booming echo seemed to shake the land itself: More!
Yes, I know, the killer mentally shouted to the sky. More! Don’t you see, I’m here? I’ve been watching her? I know where she is. The plan is set. The placement is set. Everything is under control! he assured the All Spirit. Only he didn’t feel under control.
Unlike the other kills, where he’d been imperious, where he had felt the protection of the All Spirit – to the degree that if he’d killed someone in public, in broad daylight, not a single person would have noticed now, all eyes seemed to gaze on him.
Outside of the parking lot was an expansive grass lawn.
A movie screen had been erected.
It was Saturday Night Movie Night at Bentley, and the classic cinema on display was the black and white masterpiece Casablanca.
Hundreds of individuals and couples and groups of students were splayed out on the lawn to watch the movie. Some of them were on blankets, others in chairs. The boldest among them had brought wine and beer to the event.
He carried with him a blanket and sunglasses.
His target? A senior named Wanda Voles. A reconnaissance mission the night before had informed him of her destination this night. Apparently on the outs with her boyfriend, she’d decided to come to the movie and be alone. Her friends had begged her not to spend a precious Saturday night at such a lame event, but Wanda had been adamant. “Casablanca is like, my favorite movie,” she had told those in attendance.
He picked this night for several reasons. One of the main reasons was that in the back of his mind, he hoped she wouldn’t show up. The thought had been blasphemous and yet undeniable. “I don’t want to do it! I don’t want to do it!” he’d screamed. The All Spirit had refused to listen. Pain had wracked his body in that moment.
Now, he moved along the outskirts of the large crowd. Every so often, he peeked up to see Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman embrace or fight.
Wanda sat on the western edge of the lawn, alone but surrounded by other students.
He picked a spot about twenty yards behind her. Wanda’s dorm, he knew, was about a ten-minute walk east, through the parking lot and over a number of winding and narrow pathways where they might be alone.
On his blanket, the killer pretended to watch the movie.
Don’t do it, his mind blared. Don’t do it!
I have to do it, he roared back.
The pain in his stomach, like a hand that suddenly closed into a fist, made him curve forward. The All Spirit filled his mind. More! the god blared. More! More! MORE!
I know, he pleaded. I’m sorry.
No joy could be taken in the movie. Every climactic scene only reminded him of the desperate urgency of his own situation, and the people everywhere, and his guilt. It was wrong, all wrong, and he couldn’t say it out loud; he couldn’t even think it.
When the credits rolled, Wanda Voles collected her blanket and personal items and headed home. Many of the students remained on the lawn. There was a lot of kissing and laughing. Numerous small exoduses took place along the edges. A few people moved beside Wanda.
He stood up only seconds after Wanda had passed and followed her out. Just another ordinary student, he told himself. Lies, his mind blared. Stop it! he fought. More! the All Spirit roared. The decree shook him and reverberated throughout his being. To those nearby, he seemed to have an epileptic shiver.
Calm yourself, he thought.
He tracked Wanda through the parking lot. She passed right by the killer’s car. A few lines of students were headed in the same direction, only they were further away.
Alone, he thought. She’s alone. Now!
None of the joy, the ease, and the personal investment were there. The power of the All Spirit had left him. Yet he had to go on. As always, the All Spirit watched and waited.
Wanda was ten feet in front of him. She began to hum a tune.
His ruse was prepared. He would greet her, pretend that he’d come to see the movie with his daughter and then complain about his car tire. She would lower down to help him check the pressure and that’s when the needle would be placed. No fuss. No witnesses. Just a young girl that disappeared in a parking lot.
Five feet behind her.
He prepared his needle.
Four feet and she was about to enter a new line of cars.
Three feet and he opened his mouth to speak.
In front of Wanda, a student jumped out from behind a car.
“Rah!” he roared with his arms up.
Wanda jerked back in fright.
He instantly turned and walked in a perpendicular direction. Behind him, he could hear the boy laughing. “I got you good!” Wanda screamed back, “You scared me half to death!” “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he apologized, “but man, that was good! I saw you coming and I just had to do it. What are you up to? It’s too early to.”
Their conversation faded in the background.
Relief flowed through the killer, a desperate relief at being saved from his crime. It wasn’t right, he told himself. I knew it wasn’t right. I have to rethink. I have to replan. Don’t worry. Don’t worry, he placated his god. This will be fine. I promise.
High above, the All Spirit growled in disapproval.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A dreamy, surreal quality had taken control of Avery Black.
There was no memory of her final words with Jessica Givens, or when she’d hung up or where she’d put her phone.
She stood in the dark of the Brandeis campus. Ahead of her were a rolling green field and a line of trees and the stars. Behind her were red brick buildings illuminated by lower lights.
Calm down, she told herself.
You’ve been down this road before.
The memory of her near-assault on John Lang from Art for Life was still fresh in her mind, along with the captain’s reprimand and the extended weekend she’d been given to think about her actions.
You were taken off the case, remember?
Not anymore, she answered.
Cindy Jenkins had been hired by Devante. Molly Green had been hired by Devante. What about Tabitha Mitchell?
On the way to her car, Avery dialed Finley. The phone rang numerous times before his voicemail picked up. He’s avoiding me, she thought. Five more calls were placed. The results were the same. Every time, Avery left the same message, only with more urgency:
“Finley. We’ve got a connection. Jenkins and Green were both hired by the same firm in Boston. You have to get back to me. Did Tabitha Mitchell have any kind of job lined up for her senior year? Call me back as soon as you get this.”
Avery sat in her BMW and logged onto her dashboard computer.
Devante was a private company based in Boston.
General information was all she could find online: the founder of the company, chairman of the board, the CEO, and the statewide structure.
A quick search revealed the vast number of jobs within an actual accounting firm: staff accountant, junior and senior level accountants, tax manager, tax auditor, CPA… The list was seemingly endless.
Who hires college girls? she wondered. It has to be some kind of human resources head that scouts out colleges and finds likely applicants. That person would most likely then take resumes and distribute the promising ones to the people in charge of whatever positions happened to be open within the company.
How would I find out who scouted and saw the resumes of those two girls?
The answer was obvious, and tricky given her currently diminished status within the Homicide division. You have to get to the Chairman or the CEO, she realized. Only they can give you access to the right people. She laughed. OK, how do I do that?
A warrant, she thought.
You’re going to need a warrant.
Warrants were difficult to get. Probable cause was necessary. In this case, Avery was confident that the connection between the girls and the company that planned to hire them was enough probable cause for a warrant. However, a judge would also want to know that items connected to the crime might be found at the offices of Devante. That might be a problem, she thought, unless the affidavit included computer information. If the killer has anything related to the case on his computer, I can use that to bolster a warrant.
Sleep on it tonight, she thought. Don’t make a mistake. Wait for Finley to call. Get everything in place before you go to the captain.
Her mind blared back: Not on your life.
She put the car in gear and headed out.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
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.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Sunday felt like a Monday for Avery.
She was up and energized at seven. Strangely enough, she slept like a baby the moment she’d arrived home, probably the best night’s sleep she’d had in months.
She threw on a black pantsuit and white button-down. As always, she wore black Skechers sneakers on her feet. The days of high-heel Manolo Blahniks were long gone. After breakfast and a cup of coffee, she stood in her foyer and stared at herself.
Go get him, she said.
A twinge of doubt invaded her thoughts. There had been so many close calls already, so many leads that had turned up dead. No, she thought. This is the one. It has to be.
On the way to her car, she surveyed the landscape of her life as a cop: traffic duty, petty crimes, domestic disputes, gang warfare, and now this, her biggest case, a homicide detective on the trail of a serial killer. This is what you’ve been working toward for the last three years, she told herself: a chance to make amends for the past, to close the Howard Randall chapter for good and to step out of the shadows of miserable regret, and live.
Weekend morning shifts at the A1 changed at eight. Most of the office was empty from the transition, with a large majority of the force either on the streets or on their way into work. Connelly was already there, along with the chief and Thompson.
The chief was in jeans and a red BPD T-shirt, the most casual Avery had ever seen him. On the phone, he waved her into his office with the rest of the group.
“Hold on,” O’Malley said into the line, “I’ve got Black here. Let me put you on speaker and we can get this handled right now.”
A gravelly voice emanated through the room.
“Hello? Can everyone hear me?”
O’Malley mouthed “The mayor.”
“We’re here,” he said.
“Detective Black,” the mayor said as if the words were distasteful in his mouth, “I hear you’ve been relentless on this case, even after you were dismissed. How sure are you about Devante? You know Miles Standish is a good friend of mine.”
O’Malley mouthed “The owner.”
“I highly doubt that Mr. Standish has anything to do with this,” Avery said. “We believe the killer is someone within his offices, most likely a human resources manager or liaison that would have met with these girls, read their resumes, and then passed them on to the proper departments.”
“I asked how sure you are about Devante, Ms. Black. Are you positive this is the best lead? I have a very difficult call to make.”
“Three girls are dead,” she said. “Each one of them is from different schools, and yet they all had jobs lined up at Devante. It’s the only connection that makes sense. I’m one hundred percent sure.”
“Good,” the mayor said. “Mike,” he added, “I’ll call Miles now. Expect to hear from him soon. If he doesn’t cooperate, get your warrant and do what you have to do. I want this case wrapped up by Monday.”
“Yes sir,” O’Malley said.
When the mayor hung-up, O’Malley addressed the group.
“OK,” he said, “here’s how we’ll do this. Avery, you’re lead. That shit you pulled the other day was way out of line, but since you cracked this thing, you should see it through. We’ll discuss your future later on. Connelly is your supervisor. You’ll have Thompson and whomever else we can pull together once we have all the information. Thompson.” he said and paused for a minute to find the right words, “I used to think you were this freakish Irish giant that would come into this office and make things happen. Sadly, none of that happened In fact, I think you’re lazier than Finley. Scratch that,” he instantly corrected, “I was wrong about Finley. He’s been working his ass off. Everyone makes mistakes. You, however, had better amaze me today. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Thompson swore.
Fifteen minutes later, the call they’d been waiting for arrived. O’Malley instantly touched speakerphone.
“O’Malley here,” he said.
A perky young voice filled the room.
“Hi there!” she said. “This is Laura Hunt. I’m the personal assistant to Mr. Miles Standish. I was told to call and provide whatever information you might need about Devante.”
O’Malley waved at Black.
“You’re on,” he said.
“This is Avery Black,” she said. “I’m not sure if you’ve been informed, but we have a serial killer on the loose with a possible connection to the Devante Accounting Firm.”
“Yes, Ms. Black, I’ve been fully briefed.”
“What we need is a name, someone that would have met with each of these college students and then either offered them jobs, or rerouted them to another department within the company where they were hired.”
“OK,” she said. “Can I ask which Devante firm we’re talking about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we have offices in Boston, Chicago, and San Antonio.”
“The Boston office.”
“OK, hold on one second. Here it is. Timothy McGonagle is the president of Human Resources for the Boston office. I don’t think he deals directly with college recruiting, but you can either talk to him or someone on his staff,” and she offered his cell phone number, home number, and home address.
“How many people does McGonagle have under him?” Avery asked.
“There are twenty-eight other human resources workers.”
“If I have problems, can I call you directly?”
“Absolutely,” she said and gave Avery her number. “Mr. Standish wants to help in any way possible. He simply asks that you try and keep the Devante name out of the papers if possible. We wouldn’t want people to associate any crimes with our accounting firm.”
“Understood,” Avery said.
The phone call ended shortly after and O’Malley surveyed the group.
Avery wanted to see Timothy McGonagle for herself, up close and personal. Even if he wasn’t the person directly responsible for the crimes, it was becoming almost certain that he hired a killer, or he hired someone that had hired a killer. A quick background check revealed nothing on McGonagle: not even a parking ticket.
“All right,” he said, “get to it. I have a sweet sixteen to attend.”
* * *
McGonagle wasn’t far from the A1. He lived in the affluent neighborhood of Beacon Hill just north of the offices, close to Lederman Park. Connelly stayed behind to oversee two gang-related squads and to try and pull together a team for Avery if needed.
Thompson was assigned as her partner for the day. He kept his mouth shut for most of the ride and sat awkwardly in Avery’s passenger seat, his body scrunched in tight.
“Where you from?” Avery casually asked.
“Boston,” he mumbled.
“Where in Boston?”
“All over.”
“What made you want to be a cop?”
A frown appeared on his albino-like face, and his fat lips curled in a sneer.
“What is this? Twenty questions?” he barked.
Avery parked on Pinckney Street.
McGonagle lived in a large, brick-faced home with white shutters and a red door sunken into an outdoor foyer space. Thompson remained on the edge of the entrance and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but around Avery Black. His size and strange appearance, however, were a magnet for people that walked by; even if they were on the other side of the street, they crossed and stared closely into his face as they passed.
The bell rang and was quickly answered.
“Hello?” someone called.
Tim McGonagle was younger than Avery had expected, maybe in his mid-thirties, with black hair and bright green eyes that seemed to always be calculating figures. He was dressed in gray slacks and a pink button-down shirt and a green tie.
Five eight or five nine, she thought. Too tall. The height doesn’t match up.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
“Avery Black,” she said, “Boston Homicide.”
“Yes, I see. A celebrity officer in person.” He smiled.
He noticed Thompson before he turned back to Avery.
“What can I do for you?”
“Have you been following the serial killer case?” Avery asked.
“I have,” he said.
“Are you aware that three of the victims were recently hired by your firm?”
“No,” he said, “my god, that’s awful.”
‘What exactly do you do at Devante?”
He waved inside.
“Would you like to sit down?”
“No, thank you.”
A female voice called out from somewhere deep in the home.
“Timmy? Who is it?”
“Hold on one second, Peg,” he called. “I’m the president of the Devante Human Resources Department for the Boston Division,” he said to Avery. “My main responsibilities are to hire and manage the staff. I oversee problems within the company, any major employee/employer disputes, things of that nature. The only resumes I see are for high-level staff we may need, such as a CEO position or a head auditor.”
“Who recruits for the colleges?”
“One of my employees. His name is Gentry Villasco, but honestly, I can’t imagine him doing anything like this. He’s an administrative director. He heads up a team of four. They oversee colleges, college resumes, and they do scouting on campuses.”
“If a college student wanted a position at your firm, they’d have to go through him?”
“That’s right. His team might sift through applicants and weed out the best resumes, but eventually they’d go to him. If Gentry liked what he saw, he would then pass them onto the appropriate department where a position had opened.”
“Can you tell me anything about him? Is he single? Married? What does he like to do on weekends? Does he have friends?”
Timothy laughed.
“Gentry is definitely not a killer,” he said. “He’s a loner, that’s for sure, a little older than I am. Maybe in his fifties? Has a house out in West Somerville. Commutes to work. He’s a people-person but he keeps to himself, if you know what I mean? He’s worked at Devante longer than I have, about fifteen years.”
Avery gave him the hard stare.
“Are you sure you have no knowledge of the three victims in question? Let me tell you their names again, in case you forgot: Cindy Jenkins, Tabitha Mitchell, and the last one hasn’t hit the papers yet. Molly Green.”
“I’ve never heard of any of them,” he said and then instantly corrected himself. “Well, I’ve heard of the first two, but not within the company. I read the papers. I’m familiar with the case,” and he stood taller and held her gaze.
“Are you going to be home all day?” Avery asked.
“Well, my family and I are planning on going to church in a little while. We’re just having breakfast with the kids.”
He seemed both honest and genuinely disturbed by the connection to Devante. A family man, Avery thought. She stepped back and tried to imagine a killer with a wife and family.
“Here’s my card,” she said. “Please call me if you can think of anything else.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear about all this.”
Thompson was leaning on the brick facade with his foot kicked up, oblivious to everything except the sky.
Avery slapped him in the chest as she walked past.
“Hey!” he complained.
“Next time you want to act like a doorstop,” she said, “go back to the office.”
