Even Avery, who had never been scared of clowns in any way, could not shake the sight of all of those creepy little leering faces, all pointed toward the front door in Janice’s house. Whoever the killer was, they were going to great lengths to terrify their victims.
Knowing that it might take up to an hour to get the results she was looking for, Avery contacted the A1. She asked for the home and cell phone numbers of Abby Costello’s mother. She got her information back within five minutes: Trisha Costello lived in an upscale community near Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia. She owned a small yet successful boutique shop, which she had been running for the better part of ten years. Also, she had been informed of her daughter’s death yesterday afternoon after her husband had finally worked up the nerve to call her. Trisha had then called the A1 for information about the case, demanding that it be of the utmost importance to everyone involved.
So when Avery got her on the phone, Trisha Costello was more than happy to help. She felt as if the police were taking her seriously. While there was an underlying tone of over-importance and contempt in the woman’s voice, she was still as helpful as she could be.
Avery spoke with her while sitting with Kellaway, parked in front of the morgue and waiting to go in.
“I know it has to be a difficult time for you,” Avery said, “but I have a few questions. Some may seem a bit odd, but I think they might potentially help us find who did this to your daughter.”
“It’s okay,” Trisha said. “I’m actually on the way to the airport right now to go to Boston to attend the funeral.”
She spoke as if she was on the phone with a client rather than discussing the murder and burial of her only daughter.
“Well, speaking with your ex-husband, we discovered that Abby had a fear of open bodies of water. I assume you were aware of this?”
“I was. Were you told about the water-skiing mishap?”
“Yes, I was. But let me ask you…once you and your ex divorced, how often did you see Abby?”
“Three times a year. Though over the last few years, we FaceTimed a few times a month.”
“And how was the relationship?” Avery asked.
“Strained, I suppose. But over the last several years, it got better.”
“Did she ever come to you with problems or issues that she might not have discussed with her father?”
“Well, yeah, for the woman stuff. Periods, crushes, things like that.”
“So Abby actually spoke with you about men?”
“To a degree. Never any details, though. She was very private about that sort of thing.”
“Did she ever mention any men that she was uneasy about? Maybe a man she was actually scared of?”
“Not that I remember,” Trisha said.
“Okay, so what about the water thing? Did she ever mention it to you?”
“Actually, yes. Sometime last year, we got into a discussion about a beach trip she went on and she told me how embarrassing it was. She asked me to go over the details of the skiing incident again. So I did and when she realized that it really wasn’t as traumatic as she remembered it, she asked how someone might get over a fear.”
“And what did you tell her?” Avery asked.
“I told her that there were all kinds of support groups for that sort of thing. I mentioned a psychiatrist but she shot that idea down right away.”
“And do you know if she ever sought the help of a support group?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. We never talked about it again. I figured it was one of those ideas mothers offer that ultimately get ignored.”
“I see,” Avery said. “Well, that’s all for now. Would you please reach back out to me if you happen to recall any details about men she might have mentioned?”
“Absolutely,” Trisha said. She did not sound like a grieving woman at all, but rather like as woman who had been delegated with a task that she simply had to do.
When Avery ended the call, she saw that Kellaway was placing a call on her phone. Avery cast her a what-are-you-up-to glance, feeling like maybe Kellaway was preoccupied with something else rather than the tasks at hand.
“Support groups,” Kellaway said. “That’s a great angle, I’m going to place a call to A1 and have someone compile a list of support groups that deal with phobias.”
Avery smiled her approval. “Thanks.”
As she listened to Kellaway place the request, once again impressed by her get-it-done attitude, Avery received a call of her own on her phone. She checked the number and found it familiar, though not yet saved.
It was Cho Yin. She had the results Avery had asked for and was requesting a quick meeting.
***
Yin had them meet her in her tiny office, tucked away in the back of the morgue but close enough to the exam rooms where it was impossible to forget what she did for a living. She already had a few different reports waiting for Avery on her tidy desk when they came into the office.
“I assume you found something interesting if you thought we should meet face-to-face?” Avery asked.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Yin said. “The cortisol levels were indeed spiked. But what’s even crazier than that is the apparent surge of adrenaline that hit her the moment before Janice Saunders died. From what I’m seeing—and this is, of course, all just preliminary—it looks like a massive surge of adrenaline slammed through her. There’s a good chance she died of a heart attack before the knife wounds did her in.”
“So you’re saying her fear caused a heart attack?” Avery asked.
“Possibly. The amount of adrenaline I’m speculating on would cause the heart to go crazy—to kick into overdrive. And in some cases when this happens, the heart goes into cardiac arrest.”
“So she literally died of fright?” Kellaway asked.
“That or one of the eighteen stab wounds. But I’ve honestly never seen a case of this kind of fear-induced irregularities in an exam. I’ve read about them, sure, but never actually seen it with my own eyes.”
“And it can actually happen?” Avery asked. “Dying of fright?”
“Yes indeed. People can literally die of broken hearts, too; that’s not just an urban legend. The physiological processes of both are the same. The heart gets overwhelmed with an emotion and locks up. The trauma has to be pretty damned severe, though.”
“So…a woman who has a genuine fear of clowns could be scared to death by an unexpected appearance of roughly thirty clown dolls and figurines?”
“Yes, I think it’s very likely,” Yin said. “And based on what I’m seeing, I’d place my money on fear. I truly believe that Janice Saunders was quite literally scared to death.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Kellaway received a text from Finley as Avery opened the morgue doors and headed back to the parking lot. Avery found herself wanting to know more about Kellaway’s past. While it was a little silly to assume that Kellaway was more hardened because she had spent time on the NYPD, it was clear that she had a level head on her shoulders. And it apparently took quite a bit to get under her skin.
“Is that our support group list?” Avery asked.
“It is,” Kellaway said. “And surprisingly, there are only two that deal specifically with phobias. Even more surprisingly, someone at the A1 already went ahead and checked to see if any of the victims attended any of the groups.”
“And?”
“Janice Saunders attended both groups. But get this…all three of our recent victims attended the second one. And here’s the best part: Alfred Lawnbrook attended as recently as two weeks ago.”
“You got an address?”
“I just plugged it into my GPS,” Kellaway said.
Avery felt like part of a machine as she got back behind the wheel of the car. Dimly, in the back of her head, she felt a stab of guilt for being so caught up in this case when Rose was still in the hospital. Even though Rose had basically given her a blessing and a command to get back to work and bring this guy in, Avery’s maternal instinct was cringing.
Maybe, she thought as she followed the instructions Kellaway gave her, I’ll work on merging those two parts of myself when this case is over. And if I can get them to coexist, it might make me a better mother…and maybe even a better detective.