seen in old case studies where the killer contacted the police or media was usually in blocks of text.”
“How’s that a clue?” Connelly asked.
“It might not be,” Avery said. “I’m just free-styling here.”
A knock came at the door. Connelly opened it and Finley stepped back in. He closed the door behind him, setting the lock. He then carefully placed the envelope on the table. There was nothing remarkable about it. The address to the station had been written in the same carefully practiced script that was on the letter. There was no return address and a Forever stamp in the left corner. The postmark was high on the envelope and mostly to the left, its edges touching the stamp.
“It came from zip code 02199,” O’Malley said. “But that means nothing. The killer could have gone miles outside of his area to mail it.”
“That’s true,” Avery said. “And this guy seems too smart and determined to lead us right to him via a zip code. He’d have thought about that. The zip code is a dead end, I can guarantee it.”
“So then what does that leave us to go on?” Finley asked.
“Well,” Avery said, “this guy seems to be preoccupied with the cold, with ice in particular. And not just because that’s where we found the body. It’s all over the letter. He seems to be fixated on it. So I wonder…can we run a search for anything dealing with ice or the cold? Ice skating rinks, meat lockers, labs, anything.”
“You’re certain the location isn’t purposeful?” Connelly asked. “If he wants to be known, maybe the zip code was like a calling card.”
“No, I’m not certain. Not at all. But if we can find a business or some other organization that deals in ice or just the cold inside of that zip code, I’d maybe start there.”
“Okay,” Finley said. “So do we need to check security tapes around the locations of post offices or drop boxes?”
“God no,” Connelly said. “It’ll take forever and there’s no way we’d know when this particular letter was sent.”
“We need a list of those businesses and organizations,” Avery said. “That’s going to be the best place to start. Can anyone think of any right off the top of their heads?”
After several moments of silence, Connelly let out a sigh. “I don’t know right off the top of my head,” he said. “But I can have you a list within half an hour. Finley, can you get that request rolling?”
“On it,” Finley said.
When he was out of the room again, Avery raised an eyebrow in Connelly’s direction. “Is Finley an errand boy now?”
“Not at all. You’re not the only one up for a promotion. I’m trying to get him more involved in every aspect of high-profile cases. And as you know, he thinks you walk on water so I’m giving him a chance on this one.”
“And why are we locking ourselves in the conference room?” she asked.
“Because the press is on this. I don’t want to take any chances with bugged rooms or tapped phone lines.”
“Seems paranoid,” Ramirez said.
“Seems smart,” Connelly said with a bit of venom.
Wanting to prevent a pissing match between the two, Avery pulled the letter closer to her. “You mind if I eyeball this letter some more while we wait on results?”
“Please do. I’d much rather have someone on the A1 figure it out before the media blasts it all over TV and some nerdy kid in a basement figures it out.”
“We need to get Forensics on this. A handwriting analysis should be done. The envelope needs to be looked over for any trace evidence: fingerprints, dust filaments, anything.”
“They’ve been notified and the letter is going to them right away the moment you’re done with it.”
“It’s got to be done quickly,” she said. “I know you were just making a joke about some kid in his basement figuring it out, but it’s a legitimate concern. And when this thing hits social media, there’s no telling what sorts of eyes and minds might be analyzing it.”
As she started to take a closer look at the letter, Finley came back in the room. “That was fast,” O’Malley said.
“Well, it just so happens that one of the women on dispatch has a father that works near the Prudential Center. And that’s within the 02199 zip code, by the way. Maybe just a coincidence, but you never know. Anyway, her husband works at a tech lab over that way. She says they do these crazy experiments with quantum mechanics and things like that. Some sort of arm of the tech school at Boston University.”
“Quantum mechanics?” O’Malley asked. “That’s doesn’t fit with our guy, does it?”
“It depends on the experiments,” Avery said, instantly interested. “I don’t know much about the field, but I do know that there are areas in quantum mechanics that deal with extreme temperatures. Something to do with finding the durability and central origin points of different kinds of matter.”
“How the hell do you know all of this?” Connelly asked.
She shrugged. “I watched a lot of Discovery Channel in college. Some of it stuck, I guess.”
“Well, it’s worth a shot,” Connelly said. “Let’s get some information on the lab and get out there to speak to the brass.”
“I can get that done,” Avery said.
“In the meantime,” Connelly said, looking at his watch, “the nightly news goes live in about three minutes. Let’s tune in and see how badly the media is going to fuck this case for us.”
He stormed out of the conference room with O’Malley on his heels. Finley gave Avery an apologetic look and then followed out after them. Ramirez looked at the letter over Avery’s shoulder with a shake of the head.
“You think this guy is deranged or just wants us to think he’s nuts?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure yet,” she said, rereading the cryptic letter. “But I do know that this lab is the perfect place to start.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Esben Technologies was disguised among other normal-looking buildings about a mile and a half away from the Prudential Center, the block essentially a row of featureless gray buildings. Esben Technologies occupied the center building and looked exactly like the surrounding buildings – it hardly seemed like a lab.
As Avery stepped inside with Ramirez, she noticed the front lobby consisted of little more than a gorgeous wooden floor, highlighted by morning sun that poured in through a skylight overhead. A huge desk sat along the far wall. On one end, a woman was typing into a computer. On the other end, another woman was writing something down on a form of some kind. When Avery and Ramirez entered, this woman looked up and gave them a perfunctory smile.
“I’m Detective Avery Black and this is Detective Ramirez,” Avery said as she approached the woman. “We’d like to have a word with whoever is in charge here.”
“Well, the supervisor
