Cause to Kill (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1) by Blake Pierce Page A

work.”
    “Are you religious?”
    “Nah,” he said, “just superstitious. If there is a god, I
want him to know I’m on his side, you know what I mean?”
    No, Avery thought, I don’t.
    Her father had been an abusive man, and while her mother
faithfully went to church and prayed to God, she was more of a fanatic than
anything else.
    The voice from her dream returned.
    There is no justice.
    You’re wrong, Avery replied. And I’m going to prove it.
     
    * * *
     
    Most Harvard seniors lived off-campus in some of the residential
housing units owned by the school. George Fine was no exception.
    Peabody Terrace was a large high-rise set along the Charles River
near Akron Street. The white, twenty-four-story building included an expansive
outdoor patio, beautiful lawns, and a clear view across the river for those
students lucky enough to be placed on the higher floors; George was one of
them.
    A number of buildings connected Peabody Terrace. George Fine lived
in Building E on the tenth floor. Ramirez parked his car along Akron Street and
they made their way inside.
    “Here’s his picture,” Ramirez said. “He should be asleep right
now. His first class isn’t until ten thirty.”
    The image was a smaller crop of a larger picture pulled of the
Internet. It showed a disgruntled, extremely cocky student with oily black hair
and dark eyes. A slight grin was on his face; he seemed to be challenging the
photographer to find a flaw with his perfection. A strong jaw and pleasant features
made Avery wonder why he was called a weirdo. He looks confident, she thought.
So why stalk a girl that obviously has no interest in him?
    Ramirez flashed his badge at the doorman.
    “You got problems?” the doorman asked.
    “We’ll know soon enough,” Ramirez replied.
    They were waved up.
    On the tenth floor, they turned left and walked down a long
hallway. Carpets were tan brown swirls. Doors were painted glossy white.
    Ramirez knocked on Apartment 10E.
    “George,” he said, “you around?”
    After a brief silence, someone said: “Get lost.”
    “ Police ,” Avery interrupted and banged on the door. “Open
up.”
    Silence again, then ruffling and then more silence.
    “Come on,” Avery called. “We don’t have all day. We just want to
ask you a few questions.”
    “You got a warrant?”
    Ramirez raised his brows.
    “Kid knows his stuff. Must be ivy educated.”
    “We can have a warrant in about an hour,” Avery called out, “but
if you make me leave and jump through hoops, I’m going to be pissed. I already
feel like shit, today. You don’t want to see me pissed off, too. We just
want to talk about Cindy Jenkins. We heard you knew her. Open the door and I’ll
be your best friend.”
    The bolt unlocked.
    “You really do have a way with people,” Ramirez realized.
    George appeared in a tank top and sweatpants, extremely muscular
and toned. He was about 5’6”, the same height Avery associated with the killer
based on Cindy’s records. Despite the look of someone that was either on drugs
or who hadn’t slept in days, a fearlessness burned in his stare. Avery wondered
if he’d been bullied for years and had finally decided to strike back.
    “What do you want?” he said.
    “Can we come in?” she asked.
    “No, we can do this right here.”
    Ramirez put his foot inside the room.
    “Actually,” he said, “we’d rather come in.”
    George looked from Avery to Ramirez—to the foot holding the door
open. Resolved, he shrugged and backed away.
    “Come on in,” he said. “I have nothing to hide.”
    The room was large for a double occupancy, with a living space,
terrace, two beds on opposite sides of the room, and a kitchen area. One bed
was neatly made and piled with clothing and electronic equipment; the other one
was a mess.
    George sat on the messy bed. Hands beside him, he gripped the
mattress. He appeared ready to lurch forward at any moment.
    Ramirez stood by the terrace window and admired the