Part 15 (1/2)

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

It was 4:47 when Avery and Ramirez pulled up to the residence of Phillip Bailey. As Avery parked the car, Ramirez was getting off the phone with someone from records at the A1. When he ended the call, he looked out to the house on their right and nodded his head.

”Well, his record sure as h.e.l.l checks out. This guy is a creep, all right. According to the reports, there was one thing that Wallace left out of the story about Bailey sleeping on those graves.”

”What's that?”

”He was mostly naked and when they found him, he was...well, he was aroused.”

”Well, if this guy isn't the one we're looking for, it seems like he's certainly worth looking into,” Avery said. ”Especially if he is actively trying to get jobs at crematoriums.”

”You sure you don't want me to call this in?” Ramirez asked. ”This guy is straight up spooky if you ask me.”

”No, not until we know for sure. If I'm wrong on this, it could be my a.s.s.”

With a shared look that was filled with far too much emotion and anxiousness to make sense of, Avery and Ramirez opened their doors and stepped out onto the street. Bailey's house was a modest-looking home, complete with a rickety porch swing hanging from old chains.

They came up to the front door quietly, seeing that the door was open, leaving the house protected by only a flimsy screen door. As they approached, Avery could hear the slight murmur of a television from inside. Elsewhere, very faintly, she could hear muted tapping noises. It sounded almost as if someone was hammering something from within the house.

Avery knocked on the screen door and waited for a response but all there was to hear was the TV. It sounded like it was tuned to a late-afternoon talk show. Then, after ten seconds or so, the tapping noise sounded again. This time, it was louder. Almost violent.

Avery knocked once more, louder this time. The screen door rattled, drowning out the television. ”Phillip Bailey?” she called through the screen door.

Almost immediately, the tapping sound stopped.

”Was that hammering?” Ramirez asked quietly.

Avery shrugged and then called through the door. ”I'm looking for Phillip Bailey. This is a police matter.”

There was still no response. Avery thought things out and wondered if perhaps she should have remained quiet. She looked to Ramirez and said, ”Head around back to see if there's a back door or cellar he could leave through. If I don't see you in twenty seconds, I'm going to a.s.sume there is a back way and you're standing by it. At that point, I'm going in.”

Ramirez gave a nod, hurried down the stairs, and sprinted around the side of the house. Avery turned her attention back to the screen door and started counting. As she did, she peered into the house through the screen door.

The place was a bit of a mess. A small coffee table was littered with papers and magazines. A laptop sat on a small couch that was cluttered with more paper, a plate with half of a sandwich, and several crumpled paper towels. Further back, she could see part of a hallway, but little else.

When she reached twenty seconds in her head, she knocked once more, waited, and then opened the screen door. She stepped in and saw that the TV was indeed tuned to an afternoon talk show. She went to the laptop on the couch and saw what looked to be a resume in progress. At the bottom of the screen, along the task bar, she saw the Google Chrome icon. She pulled it up and saw that whoever had been using it was logged into a career website.

She stepped away from it and started toward the hallway.

That's when the smell hit her.

It was ghastly, like being slapped in the face with the carca.s.s of an animal that had been rotting on the side of the road. It was so powerful that Avery took a step back and held her breath. Making a conscious effort to breathe through her mouth, Avery continued down the hallway. To her right, a small kitchen opened up to reveal a surprisingly clean counter and sink. A bowl of fruit sat decoratively on a tiny kitchen table.

The smell was not coming from here. More importantly, she noticed that the sounds of faint hammering had stopped as soon as she had come inside the house. If Phillip Bailey was here, he apparently knew that he was not alone now.

She nearly called out again but if he was inside, there was no sense in purposefully giving herself away. She continued down the hallway. Every door she pa.s.sed was open, revealing a bathroom, a bedroom, and a cluttered study. Inside the study, another laptop glowed from a tattered desk otherwise littered with books.

Her instincts told her she'd find answers in there but right now, she was more worried about locating Phillip Bailey. She turned away from the office and started forward again. The hall came to an end ahead of her, but not before one more door broke up the hallway to her left. It was closed, but light s.h.i.+ned through the cracks along the bottom and the sides.

She reached for the handle, turned it, and was surprised to find that it opened. She pulled it open and found herself staring not only at a set of stairs that led down into a bas.e.m.e.nt, but at a man standing on those stairs.

He was startled, but also looked as if he had been caught doing something. She a.s.sumed he had been creeping up the stairs as she had been investigating the house, hoping to get the drop on her.

”Are you Phillip Bailey?” she asked.

”I am,” he said. ”Who the h.e.l.l are you?”

Before she answered, she made a show of slowly reaching for her sidearm. She started to answer him but then saw his hands. They were covered in something that was either black or very dark red.

”I'm Detective Avery Black with the Boston Police,” she said. ”Homicide.”

Bailey looked confused at first but then smiled. ”Really?”

”What's on your hands, Mr. Bailey?”

He looked to his hands as if he hadn't known there was anything on them. As he studied them, Avery was very much aware that the smell that had nearly bowled her over earlier seemed to be coming from below the stairs.

”Would you believe paint?” he asked.

”Mr. Bailey,” she said, drawing her gun. ”I'm going to ask you to lift your hands in the air, turn around, and lead me into the bas.e.m.e.nt.”

”We don't need to do that,” Bailey said.

”Oh, I think we do. Do it now, Mr. Bailey.” She then leaned her head to the left and gave a quick shout. ”Ramirez! Come on in!”

With a sigh of defeat, Bailey did as he was asked. When he did, Avery saw more of the black or dark red substance on his s.h.i.+rt.

That's blood, she thought. No way in h.e.l.l that's not blood.

She followed Bailey down the stairs. The smell grew stronger and she started to realize that it was two separate things she was smelling. The first was of something very much like the smell a dead animal leaves on the side of the road.

The other was the unmistakable smell of smoke and something that had been badly burned.

We got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, she thought. I can't believe it was this easy, but we- But when she reached the bas.e.m.e.nt floor and looked to Phillip Bailey's grisly work area, she wasn't so sure.

She had been right: Phillip Bailey had been worth checking out. He might not be guilty of the recent deaths they were investigating, but he was certainly guilty of something.

Behind her, Ramirez came down the stairs. ”Everything okay down h-?”