Part 19 (2/2)

”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 s.h.i.+rt 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 s.h.i.+rt.

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 s.h.i.+rt had also moved. Avery could clearly see that it was a woman's s.h.i.+rt. 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 s.h.i.+rt. Now that I'm closer to it, I think I also smell something...butane...lighter fluid or something like that.”

”For real?”

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