When Connelly’s eyes settled back on Avery, she let some of the smile slip out. She also gave a little shrug as if to say: Told ya. And she has a point.
“If you think there’s anything to be found,” Connelly said, looking directly at Avery now, “then yes. I’m fine with you doing whatever you want. Just don’t undermine the work of the officers that went before you in the process. Be respectful of the work they’ve already put in.”
“Of course,” Avery said.
“And since the two of you seem to be of a like mind, I want Kellaway to ride along. Let her sit in on some of that grief and see if she thinks it’s still such a great idea.”
Avery winced internally but she could tell that this news pleased Kellaway greatly; she did a very bad job of hiding her enthusiasm.
“Sir, I don’t want to seem like we’re teaming up on the family members,” Avery said. “I don’t want to intimidate them.”
This time, it was Connelly’s turn to shrug. “This might be your final case with us, right? I see it as a fine opportunity to have a bright and promising up-and-comer under your wing. Show her the ropes, how you shine, and all that. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”
With that, he turned back into his office. He made an almost theatrical show of closing the door behind him.
Avery turned back to Kellaway, hoping that her annoyance wasn’t showing on her face. She actually respected the hell out of the woman for daring to speak so boldly to Connelly. She figured she may as well give her a chance.
“Kellaway, right?” Avery said.
“Yes.”
“Can you go pull the records for Alfred Lawnbrook’s next of kin? There should be some sort of report from Officer Miles or Mackey with it. Bring them to my offi—Finley’s office—as soon as you can get them and we’ll head out.”
“Sure thing,” Kellaway said. “And hey…sorry you got stuck with me. I was just trying to help.”
“It’s not a problem,” Avery said, already heading for the office that had once belonged to her.
And just like that, she had an unofficial partner. She felt the sting of it trying to rise up, to remind her of the chemistry she and Ramirez had enjoyed. But she pushed it down as hard as she could. She was not going to let the ghosts of the past sneak up on her in the middle of this case. She could deal with them later in some other way but for now, she was busy getting her life back into some kind of familiar state.
But as she walked back into her old office and realized that she felt like a stranger inside of it, she wondered if it was going to be as easy as she had originally thought.
***
The truth of the matter was that Avery liked Kellaway. She knew this by the time they were in the car and she was driving them to the residence of Phyllis Lawnbrook. Avery rarely felt such a certainty about someone at first, but something about Kellaway simply clicked with her. She could imagine Kellaway several years before, perhaps Rose’s age. She’d probably had one of those thin nose rings. She probably had at least two tattoos hidden under her police uniform. In college, she’d probably listened to industrial music and experimented with acid.
All assumptions, of course. But there was something about Kellaway’s look that brought these images to Avery’s mind. And she was usually a pretty good judge of character.
“So what brings you from New York?” Avery asked.
“Family stuff,” Kellaway said. “My mother got sick. She’s in a long-term care facility down here now. I’m all she’s got left, so I just moved.”
“How long were you on the force in New York?”
“A year and a half,” Kellaway said. “I know…I’m still a rookie. So please believe me when I say that I feel very privileged to be working with you.”
“Thanks,” Avery said.
“No, I’m serious. There were a few of your cases that I heard about even when I was in New York. And then I get down here and some of the things they say about you—it’s like working with a legend, you know?”
The praise was starting to make Avery uncomfortable. She tried to remain polite and calm, though. Besides, she remembered what it was like being in her first few years, wanting to learn everything she could from those above her.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Kellaway said, “what was it like to revisit Howard Randall after busting him? I know the media gave you shit sometimes about going to him for tips, but I thought it was genius.”
Avery gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and focused straight ahead. She looked down to the GPS and saw that they had another eight minutes remaining. If she let Kellaway keep going on and on, it would be a very long eight minutes.
“At the risk of seeming like a veteran bitch,” Avery said, “let’s not go there. I’ve been back for not even a single day and I’d rather not dredge up my past cases. Especially not ones concerning Howard Randall.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I just can’t even imagine what it must have been like to sit down across from him and—”
“Stop it,” Avery said, her tone coming out much sharper than she had intended. There was a stinging feeling in her stomach, the familiar pangs of anger.
Kellaway snapped her mouth shut at once. She gave a sad little nod and then looked out the window. Avery regretted snapping at her at once but at the same time, felt she deserved the release. After all, she had come back to help with this case to lay the groundwork for her future—not rake up the old hurts of her past.
Maybe the past is not something you’re going to be able to get away from, she thought. Maybe it follows you until you’re dead. It was a depressing thought, but the image of Howard’s letter came to mind and she thought that it just might be true.
They rode on in silence as Avery’s thoughts once again crept back to Howard’s package and how he had found out where she was living.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Avery knocked on the door, Phyllis Lawnbrook answered it with a plate of lasagna in her hand. It was a peculiar thing to see at first glance, but then Avery took in the rest of the situation. Phyllis was a large woman, easily a hundred pounds overweight. She looked tired but in mostly good spirits.
After a quick round of introductions, Phyllis invited them inside. As she led them into the living room, Avery picked up enough details to understand why Phyllis had come to the door with a plate of food. There were empty bags of chips scattered around the house, several dirty dishes on the kitchen sink with crumbs and scraps of food. The place also smelled like fresh brownies. Apparently, Phyllis Lawnbrook was a stress eater.
“The others that came were just police officers,” Phyllis said as she sat down on a couch that was bent to catch her rotund form. “You say you’re a detective. Does that mean my son’s death is now a higher priority than it was five days ago?”
“No ma’am,” Avery said. “It’s always been a high priority. I was called in because they wanted a different approach. As of right now, we still have very few answers about who might have done this to your son. And I hope to change that.”
“Well, I already told the others everything I know,” Phyllis said. She forked in a mouthful of lasagna and looked at Avery and Kellaway as if she was waiting for them to start things off.
“Do you live alone, Mrs. Lawnbrook?” Avery asked.
“I do. My husband died of a heart attack four years ago. And now I’ve lost my only child.” She frowned and then took in more lasagna. She washed it down with a glass of what looked like sweet tea that was sitting on her coffee table.
“And how often did you see Alfred?”
“At least twice a week. He’d always come over for dinner on Friday night. Then he’d come over one more evening during the week, all depending on when his work schedule would allow.”
“And Alfred worked from home, correct?” Avery asked.
“He did. Something to do with designing booklets for mechanics.”