Avery could tell that he was starting to get ruffled. If O'Malley were also here, he might have been a little more aggressive. Then again, Avery thought, if it gets any more aggressive, this could turn out very bad.

"You really want to make this an issue?" the B3 cop asked.

"We were here first," Connelly said. "It seems to me that you're making this an issue."

"d.a.m.n it! My captain is going to hear about this!"

"You already said that. Now stop threatening me and let us work here, would you?"

The cop looked to Connelly for a moment, as if trying to think of a reb.u.t.tal. When it was clear he had no interest in starting a district versus district fight before going through the proper channels, he retreated back to his car. He kicked up dust and squealed tires out on the road as he left.

"So that's going to be a mess if he actually complains about this," Connelly said. "He's actually more right than wrong...so let's do our work quickly."

Avery wasted no time. She started scouring the area and took note as other cars appeared. Forensics worked quickly and efficiently once they arrived, bagging up the remains and the porcelain shards, taking measurements of the area, and so on. Avery walked along beside them, looking for any additional clues the killer might have left behind.

If he did leave clues, I don't know that they'd be accidental, she thought. It could be another way of him showing off. But if he messed up and left a footprint, a thread, a hair, or some other d.a.m.ning evidence and we miss it because we're so thrown off by the nature of his crime, that could be bad.

She looked around the immediate area bordering the crime scene tape and found nothing. The guy moves like a ghost...which means he's careful and fast. The amount of planning he's doing is borderline obsessive.

Done with the immediate area around the crime scene tape, Avery made her way to the farthest edge of the lot. It was separated from the one-way street that ran alongside the building by a tall brick wall. She walked along this wall, looking for any sort of accidental evidence such as stray fibers, but found nothing. She then checked the other side of the wall, but other than scattered litter, there was nothing to be found there, either.

She then turned her attention to the old flour mill. Just about every window was broken and it was covered in graffiti. There was a large door along the back that was halfway open. It looked to be an old loading door, permanently frozen in a partially open position. She walked up a set of crumbling concrete stairs and slipped inside.

Morning sunlight came in through the broken windows, casting an almost ethereal glow to the place. Dust motes drifted here and there, floating up to toward the high ceiling. The place was nothing more than old posts and a single large machine in the far back of the building. It was all one large room, littered with old broken equipment, rotted pallet boards, and dust.

That's why it was so easy for her to spot the earring on the floor. The fact that the dusty sunlight was reflecting from it made it that much easier. She walked over to it and could tell right away that it had not been here for very long. Unlike everything else around here, it was not coated in dust. The small diamond in the earring still had its l.u.s.ter and shine.

She heard footsteps approaching, coming up the concrete stairs outside. She looked to the loading door and watched as Ramirez walked in. He took a moment to observe the interior of the place and then looked down at her.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said.

"Good morning," she said. "Hey, can you run out and get someone from Forensics in here? I have something I need them to pick up."

Ramirez nearly seemed disappointed by her quick transition from flirtatious to professional but nodded anyway. She took no time to think about his reaction; she was looking at the floor, noticing yet another sign of recent activity.

She saw her own footprints, treading across the dusty floor. But she also saw another series of prints...and then another. There were no clear prints, but many scuffed ones, indicating that someone had been moving with urgency. One of the pairs of footprints-the smaller ones-looked as if they were being dragged.

The larger set gave her about three whole prints to go from. It was likely a boot of some kind. A work boot. Around a size eleven or twelve if her guess was correct. The other was a flat-soled sneaker of some kind. Avery thought she saw part of a star in a pattern of tread. It reminded her of the Converse All-Star symbol.

Probably a younger person, then. No older than early twenties.

There had been an altercation here. And while the prints were not brand new, they had certainly not been here for very long. A few days at most.

As she got to her feet and trailed the course of the prints, she saw the earring was directly in the path of the footprints. A woman had been attacked. She had been wearing sneakers, maybe All-Stars, and the man in pursuit had likely been wearing boots.

She stepped back and traced the course of the tracks with her eyes. She tried to picture the chase and struggle. The strides of the prints made her think there had been an element of surprise to the attack.

One of them was in here already when the other arrived. The faintness of the maybe-Converse prints makes it seem like that person was in a hurry, running. So the younger one was running away-probably surprised and terrified. The remains outside probably belong to this person.

Ramirez came back inside with a member of Forensics, breaking her train of thought. "What do we have here?" the Forensics member asked.

"An earring and some pretty telltale footprints."

"Goldmine," Ramirez said. "Nice work."

Avery nodded her thanks but was too preoccupied with the prints to pay much attention to him. There was no blood, nor any visible remains. They might be able to get DNA results from the earring post but that was a stretch.

But even that didn't bother Avery as much as the trail of footprints in the dust.

While there was no blood or visible signs of violence, those prints told a story that she did not like at all.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

The day felt weighed down by the discovery they'd made in the morning. By the time four o'clock came around and results had started to pile in, Avery felt like she was wearing a set of lead weights around her shoulders. It was a weight she felt as she walked into the A1 conference room, growing heavier with every set of eyes that fell on her.

As she took a seat across from Ramirez, she noticed the stir of energy in the air. She knew that bits and pieces of information had been coming in (mostly things being ruled out by Forensics) and that the earring had been confirmed as belonging to an expensive set. Other than that, though, Avery had heard nothing concrete. The hushed whispers around the table and the fact that O'Malley was running late made her pretty sure that there'd be plenty to go over in the coming minutes.

She also knew that there was some nastiness going on behind the scenes. The A1 higher-ups were having some very heated conversations with the B3 bra.s.s. While she was not interested in the politics of it all, she knew that if things didn't get settled in a civil way very soon, they were going to have a logistical nightmare on their hands that might hinder the case.

At exactly 4:07, the room was filled with nine officers and the growing volume of rumors. Someone speculated that local media had caught wind of the story and would be talking about it on the evening news. Someone else speculated that the value of the earring suggested the killings were financially motivated, as the earrings were valued at about five hundred dollars.

When O'Malley arrived and finally entered the room, all whispers and rumors fell flat. O'Malley looked anxious and maybe even a little fl.u.s.tered-two words that Avery would have never used to describe him before this afternoon. He held a thin stack of papers in his right hand and his cell phone in his left. When he entered the room, he shut the door a bit too hard. The slamming noise made a few of the officers in the room jump.

"Welcome to one h.e.l.l of a mess, everyone," he said as he stood at the front of the conference table. He instantly selected two stapled sheets of paper from his pile and slid them across the table to Avery.

Avery looked at the paper and was impressed at how quickly Forensics had gotten results. The paper in her hands identified the victim as Sarah Osborne, twenty-two years old.

"That name ring a bell?" O'Malley asked, nodding to the paper.

"The last name does," Avery said.

"Sarah Osborne," O'Malley said. "Niece of City Councilman Ron Osborne. The earring was confirmed as being hers exactly ten minutes ago. Turns out she also frequently wore Converse All-Stars."

A pair of Converses and five-hundred-dollar earrings, Avery thought. This was a young lady who was still struggling to find her ident.i.ty.

"We've already got more news crews on this now," O'Malley continued. "Given the nature of the killings and the high profile of this victim, we can expect tons of media attention. And that means I'd like to wrap it up before it hits national headlines, especially with the B3 b.i.t.c.hing about it. So someone...please tell me we're making some headway."

"There are no obvious connections between the victims," Avery said, still skimming the report on Sarah Osborne. "They lived in different parts of town and were from different financial backgrounds. I'm currently looking over the records for all traces of arson over the last ten years. It's slow going, but there are no links yet."

"I'll get three others to help with that," O'Malley said. "Meanwhile, let it be known that some of the guys from over at the B3 district are going to be working with us on this case. The newest body was on their grounds and seeing as how the victim had some notoriety about her, they're insisting on staying involved. I'm not a fan of this but it's just not worth the argument or media attention."

"Another thing," Avery said. "I think it's now safe to say that this is a serial killer. If you want this wrapped quickly, I think we need to consider bringing the FBI in."

"And in addition to the arson," Connelly said from his place at the table, "I think we should also cross-reference any records from former law enforcement. Maybe even Forensics, specifically. This guy cleans up after himself a little too well. It's almost like he knows the sort of things we would be looking for."

Avery bit back the comment that came to her tongue. She felt it was a good thought but was pretty sure Connelly's cross-reference suggestion would be a waste of time. Fire was the key. She was almost certain of it now...she just had to find solid proof.

"For now, that's all we've got," O'Malley said. "If any of you speaks to the media, I'll have your a.s.s. I give it about another two or three hours before we have vans and reporters lined up outside. So keep your head down, your nose clean, and your mouth shut. Finley, Smith, and Cho...I want you three working on the cross-references Black and Connelly discussed. Black and Ramirez, I'm going to need you to visit the Osborne family."

"When were they told about Sarah's death?" Avery asked.

"About an hour ago. If you're lucky, you'll get to speak with the parents before Ron Osborne pokes his political nose into it all. I'll have the address e-mailed to you within a few minutes."

O'Malley did not give a vocal dismissal, but his body language said it all. He was worried, irritated, and had nothing to say. Avery gathered up the papers he had slid to her and gave Ramirez a nod. They left together in a hurry. If there were any speculative eyes on them as they made their exit, she did not notice them. She was far too focused on having to tell the parents about their daughter's murder.

Terry and Julia Osborne lived in a gorgeous two-story house in the Back Bay area. The subdivision Avery and Ramirez drove down to reach their home was filled with lots reaching well into the million-dollar range. She knew that Terry Osborne had no political aspirations like his brother, but he was one of Boston's most coveted real estate agents. She was sure he got some of the most up-to-date scoops on available land through Ron Osborne, city councilman, but that was none of Avery's concern (nor did she really care) as she and Ramirez stepped up onto the Osbornes' porch.

She could hear a woman's wailing from within the house, apparently Julia Osborne in the midst of accepting news of her daughter's death. Still, the door was answered within twenty seconds. Terry Osborne was clearly in a state of shock. When he looked at Avery and Ramirez, he blinked his eyes rapidly, as if trying to adjust to some other part of the world that was not the misery currently within his home.

"Mr. Osborne," Avery said, "I'm Detective Black and this is my partner, Detective Ramirez. I know this is an impossible time for you, but we were hoping you could help us by answering some questions. We'd obviously like to catch the killer as quickly as we can."

"Yes, come on in," Osborne said. He turned away without much of an expression and walked deeper into his house like he was sleepwalking.

They followed him into the kitchen where he went to a very nice and elaborate wine rack. He selected a bottle of red and poured himself a very tall gla.s.s. Avery noted that it was a bottle of Houdini Napa Valley-a bottle Avery was pretty sure went for at least two hundred dollars. He sipped on it absently, almost like he had forgotten the two detectives were standing there.

"We'll make this as quick as possible," Avery said, still hearing the sniffling and wails coming from elsewhere in the house. "First of all, do you know why Sarah would have been out on that side of town?"

Terry shook his head. "She was working part time with a public outreach group...helping kids read and all that. I'm ashamed to say that I don't know where that took her. I guess it's possible she was there for work...I don't know."

"Do you know the name of the outreach program?" Avery asked.

"Helping Hands," he said. "I've got a card somewhere, I think..."

He started to walk out of the kitchen but Avery stopped him. "That's okay, Mr. Osborne. We can contact them."

She could tell that he was trying to keep busy. He was trying to occupy himself, to busy his mind with something else. But she also knew that when he ran out of things to do and questions to answer, he was going to crumble.

"Do you know if Sarah had any friends that might have been questionable? Anyone you weren't really a fan of her hanging out with?"

"No. I don't think so. I never really...well, I didn't know anything about her life, you know? I was always working and-"

She sensed him about to break and did her best to keep him afloat a while longer by offering another question.

"How about a boyfriend?" Avery asked.

Terry's face went blank, but they got an answer from a woman's voice from behind them. Julia Osborne had come into the kitchen. Her face was streaked with running mascara and she looked like a phantom. Her bottom lip was quivering and her hair was a mess.

"No boyfriends," she said. Her voice was raspy from having wept so much during the last hour and a half. "She ended a pretty serious relationship last year and has been single ever since. And in terms of friends...she didn't really have many. Just the kids she helped at Helping Hands. She was a sweet girl but...always kept to herself."

"Do you know the name of the ex?" Avery asked.

"Yeah. Denny c.o.x. But looking at him would be a waste of your time. He's a pretty good kid. Used to be a cop."

"Used to be?" Ramirez asked.

"Yes. He was fired not too long ago. After he and Sarah broke up."

Avery and Ramirez shared a look that they had come to use as almost another sort of language. With a simple nod of her head, Ramirez took his leave from the kitchen and headed back outside to call the station and ask for a check on Denny c.o.x.

"Is there anything else you can think of that I might need to know?" Avery asked.

Julia looked at the floor, as if embarra.s.sed, and then nodded. "I was in her room just now...looking through her things...wanting something to hold just to sort of be with her-"

She started weeping here, her breath coming in huge hitching sobs. She held out her hand and offered something to Avery. Avery took it and saw that it was a plastic bag. There were six pills inside of it. Two had dollar signs on them and the other four had smiley faces.

Ecstasy, she thought. And this is how her mother finds out. My G.o.d...

"I don't want to know what it is," Julia said. "I want you to have it to see if it helps you find the man that did this."

Avery took it and said nothing. She looked back to the kitchen, where Terry was quickly downing the contents of his wine gla.s.s.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Avery said. "Please don't hesitate to call the station if you think of anything else that might be of use. Until then, please take care. Do you have anyone to come be with you?"

"My brother-in-law is on his way," Julia said. "He'll be d.a.m.ned sure we find who did this."

Avery nodded and gave her quick goodbyes to Terry and Julia. She did not want to be there when Ron Osborne showed up with a million questions and his inflated ego. She made her way back through the kitchen and the long hallway toward the front door. When she stepped out onto the porch, Ramirez was just getting off of the phone.

"Anything?" Avery asked.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Denny c.o.x, fired from the force ten months ago. And once I got the details, I actually remember hearing about it. He got caught with a prost.i.tute in his patrol car. And he wasn't arresting her, if you get my drift."

"That's pretty lewd, but it doesn't really make him a suspect for-"

"Oh, it gets better," he said. "When Denny was fifteen, his father's shed caught on fire in their backyard. No reason...the fire department never found a source. This was the same year that there was a small fire started behind the dugouts on the baseball field at Desmond High School. Want to guess who was seen scampering away from the field when the teachers arrived?"

Avery wasted no time with guessing. She headed for the driver's side of the car and asked, "You got an address?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

When the address led them back into D3 territory-about six miles away from where the remains of Sarah Osborne had been ditched-it seemed like Denny c.o.x was indeed their man. It all seemed too circ.u.mstantial to not be a hot lead. Avery, though, always felt a degree of suspicion when something came together a little too easily. And this whole procurement of information on Denny c.o.x had basically fallen into her lap.