The first thing they did was run database searches on Alfred Lawnbrook and Abby Costello. Aside from two speeding tickets on Alfred’s end, they both came back clean. Kellaway then called Amy Dupree and asked about any hobbies or interests Abby enjoyed. The only answer was cooking and reading—neither avenue providing much in the way of research.
The trail didn’t really start producing results until Avery decided to make a call to Phyllis Lawnbrook. She answered almost right away, still sounding worn out on the other end. After introductions and apologizing for dragging the pain of the case on, Avery got to a question she was starting to feel was important.
“Mrs. Lawnbrook, I wonder if you might remember what started Alfred’s severe fear of spiders. Was there maybe some childhood incident that scarred him in some way?”
“Not that I can remember,” she said. “I think it was just one of those natural things, you know? I always assumed he got it from his father…his father was deathly afraid of praying mantises. Even as a grown man, he’d leap back like a frightened child if he ever came across one.”
“Do you recall the age when Alfred might have first started expressing a fear of spiders?” Avery asked.
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe eight or so? It might have been as old as ten, but I’m not exactly sure about that.”
Avery thanked her and ended the call, looking thoughtfully into her cup of coffee.
“You latch onto an idea?” Kellaway asked.
“Not an idea, exactly. Just…a thought. We know for a fact that Lawnbrook was at least working towards getting over his fear of spiders. And he went to some pretty extreme measures to get it done. And we also know that while Abby Costello was terrified of open bodies of water, she’d at least get into the shallow end of a pool. I don’t know if that constitutes facing your fear or not. But…if these cases are linked—and I’m inclined to think they are—I’d be interested to see why their fears made them targets. I was hoping that if I could find out where the fears originated from, there could be pay dirt.”
“But Abby’s fear came from a freak water-skiing accident. How could anyone even know about that?”
“It’s a good point. Still…it makes me wonder if there is anything that might link them? Why did the killer select them?”
“So you think it might be worth finding out if Alfred Lawnbrook and Abby Costello knew one another?”
“Exactly,” Avery said, pulling out her phone again.
She called Larry Costello first. The phone was answered by his wife, who claimed that Larry had been a blubbering mess for most of the morning. Avery asked if it would be okay if she sent them a picture of someone to see if Larry recognized the face. After getting permission from the wife, Avery texted a picture of Alfred Lawnbrook, the candid picture that had been used in most newspapers over the last few days.
“Another thought for you,” Kellaway said. “Amy said that Abby never really settled down. But she dated guys quite often. It makes me think there was a lot of dinners out for her. And if guys took her out to eat pretty often, she had to have a favorite place, right?”
“Right,” Avery said, impressed with the logic behind the idea. “So if we can find a place that she frequented, maybe someone would have seen her last night—with her date.”
“I’m on it,” Kellaway said, pulling up Amy Dupree’s number one more time.
Avery listened to Kellaway’s end of the conversation, restraining herself from interjecting. It was nice to watch Kellaway at work; she had a way of communicating with people that didn’t make them feel pressured or uneasy.
While she listened to the conversation, she received a text on her phone. It was from Larry Costello (or his wife). It read: I don’t know this guy. Should I?
Avery replied back with a no, thanking them again for their help.
Less than a minute later, Kellaway ended her call. Avery could tell by the look on her face that Kellaway was getting excited. The thrill of the hunt had pretty much the same look whether on the face of a rookie or a seasoned pro.
“Mudslide Grill,” Kellaway said. “According to Amy it was not only one of their favorite places during college, but it remained one of Abby’s go-to places. She’d even use it as a scale to see if a guy was worth dating or not—whether or not the guy liked the food. And get this…Amy is pretty sure Abby had requested her date take her there last night.”
Without another word, they both got up from the conference room table. As they hurried down the hallway and out into the parking lot, Avery was a bit ashamed that she had even considered the idea of using deer hunting as a lame substitute for the thrill that was currently racing through her.
***
It was barely ten o’clock in the morning when they pulled into the empty lot in front of Mudslide Grill. The hours of operation on the door read 10:30 – Midnight. Avery tapped on the door, attracting the attention of the hostess who was helping to set the place up for the day’s business. The hostess rolled her eyes and pointed to a nonexistent watch on her wrist. Avery tapped the glass again, this time showing her badge and giving her eyes their own little roll.
The hostess hurried over and unlocked the door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea you were a cop. We get some weird people that try to get in here early for those morning drinks. It’s a little sad.”
“It’s okay,” Avery said. “How many people are here with you right now?”
“Just three others. Two first-shift waitresses and my manager.”
“Could you please gather them up for me and meet me at the bar area? I have a few really quick questions I need to ask about a woman that we think might have been here early last night.”
“Sure thing,” the hostess said. She took off toward the back of the restaurant quickly, excited to be in the center of what could potentially be some juicy drama and gossip.
Avery and Kellaway entered the bar area, freshly cleaned from the night before. Yet it still held the smell of spilled beer and stale over-sprayed cologne. A sign over the bar boasted that the place offered the best Mudslides in the country—apparently where the name of the place came from.
The hostess and the other three employees all arrived together. Avery could spot the manager right away; he was the upright-looking thirty-something leading the pack. There was worry and panic on his face whereas the expressions of the others—two women in their twenties and a male who looked fresh out of high school—were ones of excitement and curiosity.
“Are you the manager?” Avery asked the thirty-something leading the little pack. The name tag on his shirt read DAN.
“I am. What’s this about?”
Avery showed him her badge and then pulled out her phone. “We’re trying to determine if a certain woman was in here last night. Her name is Abby Costello and we have a fairly solid lead that makes us think she would have been here. Were any of you here last night after six in the evening?”
The hostess and the young-looking guy both raised their hands. “I was here until closing,” the hostess said. Avery saw that her nametag read BRITTANY.
“I clocked out at ten,” the young man said. His nametag read DEMARIUS.
Avery pulled up a picture of Abby that she had found on Facebook. The photo had been uploaded just three days ago, so it was very recent. “I know you see a lot of people in here every day,” Avery said. “But if you could really try to remember this woman, I’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Brittany said. “Yeah, I saw her. She was really nice. Very chatty.”
“And was she on a date? Was there a man with her?”
“I think so,” Brittany said. “I served them at the bar. The guy was sort of all over the place. He sat next to her but not for the whole time.”
“And do you know what time this might have been?” Kellaway asked.
“Well, I remember them so well because it was pretty early—before it gets really busy for the dinner and drinking rush. I’d guess they were here around five thirty or so.”
Avery then looked to Dan, the manager. “If I give you a debit card number, could you look through the evening’s transactions to find out when it was used?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”