She started to tremble and even felt a scream rising up in her throat. If she let out as much as a tiny moan, he'd know she was alive and then...well, she didn't know what would happen.

So she closed her eyes and played dead, the darkness behind her eyes much more favorable than his weird actions. But as hard as she tried, she could not help herself; she had to open her eyes a bit to see what was going on.

Time and time again, her eyes were drawn back to that golden urn sitting on the edge of the desk. Having heard the man speak of burning while holding an urn was bad enough. But having an almost supernatural certainty of what was inside the urn was what truly made Sarah's heart thunder and her mind tremble with the certainty that she would not be pretending to be dead much longer.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

When Avery arrived back at the A1, the conference room and just about every office in Homicide was alive with a flurry of activity. People who had looked confident and almost bored the day before were now bouncing from the walls with excitement and energy. The moment Connelly spotted her hurrying toward her own office, he cut her off in the hallway.

"See," he said with a smirk. "It's things like this that make you both very frustrating to work with and a prime candidate for a sergeant position. There's so much excitement around here that O'Malley isn't even all that mad at you for going against his orders again."

"So where are we?" she asked.

"I'm not so sure myself. We keep getting reports coming in on both avenues-the victims having cremated loved ones in the recent past as well as possible locations for a Roosevelt Toms. We've even got a few FBI a.n.a.lysts helping remotely. Duggan is also back in the A1. The FBI really is being generous with this one...handing us resources without trying to take it away from us...yet."

They walked as they talked, making it to the conference room where they both knew O'Malley would be doing his best to rein things in. When they entered, she saw that O'Malley was scribbling something on the room's whiteboard. One of the data guys was tapping something into a laptop while Finley was busy trying to connect a Skype call through his laptop and onto the projector screen on the wall opposite the white board. She also spotted Ramirez as she found a seat at the table. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment and nothing more.

Avery caught bits and pieces of conversations here and there and they all seemed to wrap up with the same point: there were still no definitive answers. The one thing she did hear that was on the positive side of things was that Phillip Bailey had been released to a psychiatric doctor and he was no longer being considered a suspect.

When the room was crammed with about fifteen people, O'Malley cleared his throat and yelled for order. He then looked to Officer Finley and asked: "We good?"

"Yes, sir. We're up."

With that, Finley projected a Skype window onto the screen on the far wall. A man Avery had never seen was on the screen, looking just as excited as everyone in the room with her.

"You're on, Agent Lewis," Finley said.

"Okay," Lewis said. "I'm Agent Don Lewis with the FBI out of the Boston office. I'm leading up the data and a.n.a.lysis team, trying to find Roosevelt Toms. We've got five other agents on this and so far, after about two hours, we have nothing. We have a ton of dead ends, but there is no definitive address to be found on record. It's almost like the man disappeared."

"And how is that possible?" O'Malley asked from the head of the conference table.

"Well, he could be dead, for one. I know that leads your team to a dead end but it's an avenue we have to consider. There's also the chance that he's now living under an alias. Given his past record, I think that might be a safe bet. And if that's the case we can still track him down, but it would be tricky as h.e.l.l. We do have one picture of him-it's about five years old, but should do the trick."

Lewis flashed a color printout of what looked like a candid Facebook profile picture to the conference room. Avery stared at it, committing the face to memory. "From what we can tell, this was a picture provided years ago, taken candidly by someone he once worked with when he was being investigated."

"Rest a.s.sured," O'Malley said, "we've got a team of officers and detectives on this thing here, too. Anything you need from us, just let us know."

"We will," Lewis said. "The bureau is taking this case very seriously. If there's no arrest made within the next few hours I'd fully expect at least one more agent to show on the scene down there. I a.s.sume Agent Duggan has been of some value?"

"Some," O'Malley said, and left it at that.

"Yes...well...just let us know what we can do to help."

"Sounds good," O'Malley said. Avery smirked because she knew the last thing O'Malley would want was another FBI agent in the midst of things. "Thanks, Agent Lewis."

With that, Finley ended the call and all eyes were back on O'Malley. "Well, you heard the man," O'Malley said. "We're basically looking for a ghost when it comes to Roosevelt Toms. Beyond that, we can now confirm that the three cremations we were looking into from the victims' families were not done at the same crematorium, knocking out that possible link and motive."

"What about landlords or renters?" Avery asked.

"We've got details on two and they all give us an address in Texas that leads to a dead end," O'Malley said. "If Roosevelt Toms is out there, he covered his tracks well. I hate to say it, but at this point it a snipe hunt. We have to beat the streets, make calls that are going to probably come up with dead ends, and hope to get lucky. Black, do you have anything to add?"

She was aware that all eyes were on her. It was a feeling she did not mind at all but could not seem to get used to. There was respect in most of the faces that looked at her and maybe even a little bit of anxiousness and antic.i.p.ation. It made her feel like the case hinged on what she chose to do next-and that was fine with her.

I guess it's my show now, she thought. Maybe this is like some messed up test from O'Malley to see if he's right about wanting me for a sergeant position.

"It might be a good idea to send some cars by the previous sites where the remains were found," Avery said. "If he's using fire as some symbolic device and has an arsonist's mentality, there's a good chance he might revisit the scene for some sick sort of motivation or nostalgia."

"I'll get two cars out on that right now," he said. "Anyone else?"

Silence around the table was the only answer. O'Malley waited less than two seconds before giving a thunderous clap of his hands. "That's it, then. Every single one of you will be notified when something new comes to us. For now, get out there and hunt this b.a.s.t.a.r.d down."

Everyone filed out of the room quickly, like they were in a fire drill. Avery noticed that Ramirez was hanging back, slowly making his way over to her. He did so confidently and she admired him for that. It seemed that he was remaining professional and trying to forget how she had treated him in terms of their romantic relationship. It had to take some serious fort.i.tude on his part.

He came over to her and stood close. He held eye contact with her and she felt something tug at her heart. I trust this man, she thought. I trust this man with my life and I'm pretty d.a.m.n lucky that he wants anything to do with me outside of work.

"Where do you need me on this?" he asked.

She wondered if this was his way of asking her if she needed him to be by her side. She nearly said exactly that but then put the job before her heart-the same thing that had caused her to lash out at him on two occasions in the last two days. But in this regard, she was pretty sure he appreciated it.

"Honestly, I don't even know. It's all research right now and I hate to waste your talents on that."

"Look. Put me where you need me. I'm fine with it."

"I wonder if we need to dig deeper into these three cremations. Maybe there's something else about the families that links them-not only to one another but to the killer."

"So you want me to talk to extended family members."

"I think it might be a good idea. It might even-"

"Detective Black?" someone said from behind her.

She turned and saw Agent Duggan coming quickly into the room through the last of the officers to file out. He was holding his phone in his hand and pointing it toward her.

"Agent Duggan," she said. "What is it?"

"I got this e-mail two minutes ago," he said. "It's a thin lead, but it's a lead. I had someone try to get in touch with the girlfriend that was living with Toms when he threatened suicide. That led to a dead end but it also led to the name and location of the man that lived with him as a roommate for six months. That roommate, by the way...arrested in 2009 on minor arson charges."

"Is he still local?" Avery asked.

"According to his electric and internet bills. But the weird thing is that he has some missing s.p.a.ces in his history, too."

"That's fine; it's still a great lead. Can you shoot me over his information?"

"I can, but I thought it might be best if I just rode over with you."

s.h.i.t, she thought. But she managed an excuse fast, hoping he'd bite. She didn't have much experience with FBI agents but from what she had heard, they tended to get large egos when they were asked to work with those in the lower ranks.

"If it was more than just a six-month roommate, I'd agree," she said. "But I think I'm good with this. I'd rather you stay here just in case something hard-hitting comes in. It's your call, though."

Duggan considered this for a moment and then nodded. "Good call. I'll stay here. But I'd appreciate it if you call me if this turns into anything."

"Absolutely," Avery said, having no intention of doing any such thing.

"Good luck out there," Duggan said, looking back down to his phone. "I'm sending you the information right now."

"Thanks," she said.

He gave a nod and a wave before turning to leave the room. When he was gone, Ramirez smiled at her and shook his head. "You don't want some hotshot FBI agent riding around with you?" he asked.

"G.o.d no," she said.

"How about an overreaching partner-slash-lover?"

She was embarra.s.sed that she felt herself trying not to blush. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "I actually think it's a good idea if you speak to the extended family. I'm not expecting much out of this visit. But when you're done, just give me a call. I'll forward you the information just in case you come up with nothing and have the time to join me."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she said. "And listen...about everything I said the other night...h.e.l.l, the last two nights..."

"Don't even go there," he said. "Not now, anyway. You were right last night. Business and pleasure need to be separated. I could explain to you why it's so difficult for me but it's small and unimportant compared to what we've got going on at work right now. So go on. Get out there and bring this guy in already."

If O'Malley hadn't been behind them studying his whiteboard, she would have kissed Ramirez in that moment.

"I'm serious," Avery said. "Call me to let me know what you find. If it's nothing, I want you by my side the rest of the way."

"I will," he replied, giving her a smile that communicated volumes. It let her know that he had forgiven her and that he still cared for her. He let her know that he would love to be by her side no matter what.

It also let her know that he had full confidence in her-that she would end up finding this creep and dragging him in.

And it was that last bit that set her down the hall, walking at a near-sprint, more determined than ever to catch this killer before he could claim another victim.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

The information Duggan gave her was brief yet precise. It made her realize that even though the involvement of the bureau seemed tedious and almost invasive, they knew how to boil things down to the details. It made her wonder if she would have ever been able to cut it as an agent.

The information he had sent her told her that Roosevelt Toms's roommate for six months and two weeks was named Jason Inge. He was thirty-nine and worked as a car detailer, specializing in custom wraps and paint designs. He lived in a quiet neighborhood about two miles outside of the Dorchester area. The arson charge Duggan had mentioned was actually two: one for burning a playground at the age of sixteen and another at the age of twenty-three when he and a friend had attempted to burn an abandoned bar to the ground, apparently just for the h.e.l.l of it. Since 2005, there had been no charges against him. He actually seemed to be an upstanding citizen who had even donated money to the Boston PD at the end of every year since 2009.

Avery read through all of this again after she parked in front of Jason Inge's house. The arson charges obviously made him something of a suspect, but the rest of the material didn't make her feel like she had anything worthwhile here. Still, she did her duty and stepped out of the car. It was 5:37 in the afternoon and she hoped that would have given him enough time to get home, a.s.suming that car detailing was a nine-to-five sort of job.

She walked up the sidewalk to the small two-story house. It seemed idyllic, with its red shutters, immaculately clean porch, and recently mown lawn. When she stepped up onto the porch steps, she almost felt like she was trespa.s.sing.

There was no doorbell, just an iron knocker on the front door. She lifted it and clanged it down, knocking three times. When no one had answered after thirty seconds, she knocked again. When she still got no answer, she a.s.sumed that Jason Inge was still at work. She looked back to the street and saw the truck that was parked almost directly in front of the house. She nearly called Ramirez to ask him to run a plate for her but figured she could do some scouting herself before she bothered anyone else.

She left the porch and walked back down the sidewalk. She checked the truck-a small-bodied Toyota-and found it locked. There was nothing incriminating to be found from a simple glance through the pa.s.senger window. She turned back to the house and eyed its small yard. A stretch of gra.s.s on the right of the house led to a backyard while a picket fence separated the left side yard from the neighbor.

She walked to the right and along the edge of the house. As she did, she listened for any signs of talking, music, or a television making its racket. But she heard nothing other than her own quiet footfalls in the gra.s.s. When she reached the back of the house, it was more of the same: a clean and crisp yard, a small back porch with a grill, and a set of concrete stairs on the far right edge of the house that she a.s.sumed led into a bas.e.m.e.nt.

Even the mere thought of a bas.e.m.e.nt reminded her of Phillip Bailey and with that, she was not able to ignore the house simply because it appeared that no one was home. She walked toward the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs and along the way, noticed the green city trash bin tucked directly beside the far edge of the patio. A blue city-issued recycle bin sat beside it.

With a scowl, Avery popped open the top to the green can. A white garbage bag was on top, sitting on top of an identical bag. There were small bits of trash tucked between the two: junk mail, a milk carton, and- Her eyes stopped at the milk carton. There was a film of dust on it that looked very much like ash. The same gray residue was also on the white trash bag on the bottom of the bin. She reached it and removed the top bag.

The sight of the small bones that trickled down the side of the bin nearly made her jump back. There, mingled in with what was unmistakably ash, were the bones of some sort of animal. Further down she saw the rear of some other animal. Its hide was scorched almost down to the bone but its long tail made it clear that it was a cat.

She also saw a shirt down there. It was crumpled and balled up, but she could see that it was a light pink in color. What she could see of the collar indicated that it was low-cut-and almost definitely not a man's shirt.

Concerned now, she went ahead and tipped the garbage bin over. When she did, a cloud of dust came wafting out. But she knew better. It was not dust. It was ash. As it drifted by her pants, she took a step backward. She went down to a knee and peered into the bottom of the bin.

There was more ash at the bottom-a pile of it, in fact.

She looked back up to the back porch with wide eyes, almost expecting someone to be there. But the porch was empty. She was alone.

She peered back into the garbage bin, looking at all of that ash.

The shirt had also moved. Avery could clearly see that it was a woman's shirt. And it was torn down the back from the collar.

Her heart pounded.

This was not his roommate's address.

It was his address.

An alias.

And here she was, alone.

With a surprisingly steady hand, she grabbed her phone. She pulled up Ramirez's number as if by instinct and brought the phone to her ear.

He answered on the first ring. Hearing his calm confidence eased her a bit. "Hey," he said. "What's up?"

"I'm at Jason Inge's residence. No one is answering the door but there's a truck parked directly in front of the house. I peeked in a garbage bin around back. I've got a series of small bones, what looks like a partially burned cat, a huge amount of ash and what looks like a woman's shirt. Now that I'm closer to it, I think I also smell something...butane...lighter fluid or something like that."

"For real?"