CHAPTER FIVE

Once she’d stopped the heavy drinking during the more desolate stretches of the grieving process, she had slowly replaced her alcohol intake with caffeine intake. Her reading sessions would often consist of two cups of coffee with a Diet Coke in between. Because of this, she’d started to develop minor headaches after several weeks if she went without coffee for more than a day or so. It wasn’t the healthiest of ways to live but certainly better than drinking herself into despair.

That’s why she found herself in a coffee shop after lunch the following day. She’d gone out for groceries primarily because she’d run out of coffee at the cabin and, having only had a single cup that morning, needed a quick fix before getting back to the cabin and finishing out the day. She had a book to finish reading but also thought she might head out into the woods for another try at deer hunting.

The coffee shop was a trendy local place, with four people huddled down behind their MacBooks throughout the shop. The line at the counter was long, even for such an early afternoon hour. The place was abuzz with conversation, the whirring of machinery behind the counter, and the soft volume of the TV at the waiting end of the bar.

Avery got to the cashier, ordered her dirty chai with two espresso shots, and took up her own place at the waiting area. She passed her time by looking at the small corkboard filled with fliers for upcoming local events: concerts, plays, fundraisers…

And then she noticed the conversation beside her. She did her best not to seem obvious that she was eavesdropping, keeping her eyes turned to the events board.

There were two women behind her. One was in her mid-twenties, wearing one of those Baby Bjorn baby slings that wrapped over around her chest. Her baby napped restfully against her chest. The other woman was a bit older, drink in hand but not quite ready to leave the shop.

Their attention was turned to the TV behind the counter. Their conversation was hushed but easily overheard.

“My God…have you heard about this story?” the mother was saying.

“Yeah,” the second woman said. “It’s like people are finding new ways to hurt one another. What kind of sick mind do you have to have to even think about something like that?”

“Looks like they still haven’t found the creep,” the mother said.

“They probably won’t,” the other woman said. “If they were going to catch this guy, they would have something by now. Jeez…can you imagine the poor guy’s family, having to see this on the news?”

Avery’s attention was snapped when the barista called her name and handed her drink over the counter. Avery took it and, now facing the television, allowed herself to watch the news for the first time in almost three months.

There had been a death on the outskirts of town one week ago, in a rundown apartment complex. Not just a death, but a pretty blatant murder. The victim had been found in his closet, covered in spiders of varying varieties. Police were working on the assumption that the act had been intentional, as half of the spiders there had been kinds that were not native to the region. Despite the abundance of spiders at the scene, only two bites were found on the body and neither had been venomous. According to the news, so far, the police were working on the assumption that the man had been killed by either strangulation or heart attack.

Those are two pretty different causes of death, Avery thought to herself as she slowly started to turn away.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was the case Connelly had called her about three days ago. A case with a very unique twist and, so far, without any real answers. Yeah…this is probably the one, she thought.

With her drink in hand, Avery headed out the door. She had the rest of the afternoon ahead of her but she was pretty sure she knew how it would go. Whether she liked it or not, she’d probably be looking quite a bit at spiders.

***

Avery spent the rest of the afternoon getting familiar with the case. The story itself was so morbid that she didn’t have a problem finding a variety of sources. When all was said and done, she found eleven different reputable sources that told the story of what had happened to a man named Alfred Lawnbrook.

Lawnbrook’s landlord had entered his apartment after rent had been two weeks late for the umpteenth time and had known something was off right away, Reading it, Avery couldn’t help but parallel her recent experience with Rose and her landlord and, quite frankly, it creeped her right the hell out. Alfred Lawnbrook was found stuffed in his bedroom closet. He had been partially draped in at least three different spider webs, with two different bites—bites that, as the news report in the coffee shop had said, were not overly harmful.

While an actual count was not possible, an educated guess as to how many spiders had been found at the scene was somewhere between five and six hundred. A few of them were exotic and had no business being in an apartment in Boston. An arachnologist had been called in to assist and pointed out that she had seen at least three species that were not native to America, much less Massachusetts.

So there’s intention, Avery thought. And a lot of it. That much intention points to the likelihood that this guy will strike again. And if he’s going to strike again in the same way, it should be possible to trace him and take him down.

The coroner’s report stated that Lawnbrook had died of a heart attack, likely from the fear of the situation. Of course, with no one having been at the scene during the murder, there were numerous other scenarios that could have played out. No one could know for sure.

It was an interesting case…if not a little morbid. Avery did not fear much, but large spiders was certainly on the top of her list of Things She Could Do Without. And while there had been no images of the scene revealed to the public (thank God), Avery could only imagine what it had looked like.

When she was filled in, Avery stared out of the back window for quite a while. She then went into the kitchen and moved quietly, as if she was afraid she might get caught. She pulled out the bottle of bourbon for the first time in months and poured herself a shot. She took it quickly and then grabbed her phone. She pulled up Connelly’s number and pressed CALL.

He answered on the second ring—pretty quick for Connelly. Avery supposed that said a lot, all things considered.

“Black,” he said. “I honestly didn’t expect to hear from you.”

She ignored this formality and said, “So, this case you were calling me about. Was it the one involving Alfred Lawnbrook and the spiders?”

“It is,” he said. “The scene has been combed over repeatedly, the body has been scrutinized, and we just have nothing.”

“I’ll come in for it,” she said. “But just this one case. And I want to be able to do it on my terms. No over the shoulder hand-holding just because I’ve been through a rough time. Can you see to that?”

“I can do my best.”

Avery sighed, resigned to how good it felt to be needed and to know that her life would soon feel like her own again.

“Okay then,” she said. “I’ll see you at the A1 tomorrow morning.”