There was less than two seconds of silence before someone spoke up. It was the bearded man who had been the first to arrive. When he spoke, all eyes turned in his direction. Some in attendance looked frightened at what he might say. Others looked at him with awe and a bit of jealousy.
“Hell, I don’t mind,” he said. “The clinical word for my fear is thanatophobia—the fear of dying. And not just the act of dying, of one day just not being alive anymore. It’s thinking that just about anything could kill me. The cab ride over here. The cold I had two weeks ago. Falling off the treadmill at the gym. The elevator in my building breaking and crashing down five floors. I live with these fears every day. But not just like these small, passing fears. I avoid the elevator at all costs, even when I have a ton of groceries to go up to my apartment. Whenever I get sick, it feels one hundred times worse because I think everything can kill me. Even right now, I’m very aware of the guns on your hips and I’m wondering how they might accidentally go off by themselves. Logically, I know they can’t. But I’m still basically terrified that you’re in this room.”
Almost right away, another attendee spoke up. This was a younger woman—probably younger than thirty. She was squirming in her seat, clearly anxious.
“Everything he said…but with fire. I’m terrified of fire. I have never once in my life enjoyed a hot bath because I think the intense heat could somehow ignite something in the bathroom. I avoid any sort of hair accessories for the same reason—hair dryers, curling irons, you name it. I shit you not…everything in my apartment is flame proof. I have one of those convection stoves where everything is heated by magnets—a convection oven—because the thought of a burner on a stove makes me puke. And I meant that literally—I’ve actually thrown up at my family’s Thanksgiving dinner because of the burners on the stove and the candles lit on the dining room table.”
Avery admired the courage it took for these people to be so open and honest with what they perceived as serious flaws. She had her own baggage and knew what it was like to try to air it out for others. Still, as she listened, she was in detective mode; she was looking for anyone who stood out more than the others. Maybe someone who looked almost unbearably uncomfortable because there were police in attendance. Perhaps an attendee who shifted in an anxious way when the murders of their former group members came up.
But Avery could spot nothing of the sort.
“Let me ask you,” Avery said, addressing the room. “Is there anyone other than Janice that is usually here that is not here today?”
“None of the regulars from what I can see,” Moon said.
“Yeah, if you don’t count the dropouts,” one of the men who had remained silent to this point said.
“Dropouts?” Kellaway asked.
“A few people try us out and find out that we go deep quickly,” said the woman who was afraid of fire. “The most recent one was a guy named—”
“No names, please,” Moon said, clearly a little annoyed.
“Well, he had what I thought was a made up fear—a fear of being afraid. The idea of being scared…well, it scared him. But at the same time, he thought our phobias were stupid.”
“Yes,” Moon said, “yet for the sake of confidentiality, we can’t discuss such things because that person is not here.”
“I understand that,” Avery said, “but if this is someone who was here for a few weeks and then left without much notice—especially in the last few weeks—it could be very important to the case. At the very least, it could provide a lead.”
Moon looked around at the assembled group as if she were disappointed. She then focused on Avery and Kellaway. “Can I have a private word with you out in the hall?”
Without waiting for an answer, Moon walked to the door and out of the room. Avery and Kellaway followed. Avery was very aware of slight murmuring behind them as the group snickered. She even heard someone say “Ah hell, looks like they’re in trouble…”
Outside of the room, Moon stepped away from the doorway so as to not be overheard by the group’s prying ears.
“We have people come for a few weeks and never come back,” she said. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”
“But the lady that is scared of fire seems to have been quite upset about this latest guy.”
“Yes, and she has reason to. He name-called and antagonized everyone. I had a talk with him after the second week and told him if he didn’t stop, he would no longer be welcomed back.”
“And did he come back?” Avery asked.
“He did. And when he did, he came with a lighter. He flicked the flame open directly in front of her face. There was an altercation and I asked him to leave. He did, but he was back the following week. I threatened to call the police and he left willingly enough. I haven’t seen him since then.”
“I understand that with what you do here, you hold confidentiality above everything else,” Avery said. “But someone that behaved like that in this environment right around the time these murders started…it has to be checked out.”
Moon nodded, but solemnly. She agreed but was not happy about it. “He had what is known as phobophobia—the fear of being afraid. And from the brief time I spent with him, it was clear that he believes that in order to get over his fear, he must create fear to desensitize himself. Creating it for others mostly, but also putting himself in fearful situations from time to time.”
“Ms. Moon…clearly you see how someone like that would be a suspect,” Avery pushed.
“All I have is a name and a phone number,” Moon said, admitting defeat. “That’s all he put on his form…and I’m pretty sure the phone number is a fake.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Avery said. “The name is all we need.”
With a sigh, Moon gave them a name and then, without another word, she turned away and headed back into the room. The look on her face as she turned away was one of sadness; she felt as if she had betrayed someone’s confidence.
Avery was fine with betraying confidence, honestly. She was more worried about saving lives…and if a few people had to be exposed along the way, then so be it.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The man’s name was Dan Hudson. A quick call to the A1 supplied them with his address—which turned out to be just fifteen minutes away from the community center. When Avery parked the car in front of his house, which was tucked in between two other nearly identical houses in the cheaper end of a middle-class subdivision, it was clear that he was home. Loud music was coming from inside and they could see someone walking back and forth in front of the window that looked in onto the living room. The blinds were drawn but the shape moving back and forth was easily seen.
As they got out of the car and headed for the front door, Avery was rather surprised to realize that she knew the music that was being played. It was a band Rose had been into once upon a time, some German rock outfit called Rammstein. This realization made her grin and it also turned her mind back to Rose. If she had the time, she’d go back to the hospital tonight to check in on her, no matter what the end result of this visit to Dan Hudson might be.
Avery stood back a few steps while Kellaway knocked on the door. She knocked loudly so she could be heard over the music. After a few moments the music came to an end and they could hear heavy footfalls coming to the door. When the door was finally opened, it only opened partially. With about six inches of open space, a man peeked out.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Avery showed her badge, as did Kellaway, although Kellaway’s standard police uniform made it a redundant gesture. “I’m Detective Black, with Boston PD Homicide,” Avery said. “We’re looking for Dan Hudson. Is that you?”
“It is. Was my music too loud or something?”
“Honestly, yes. But that’s not why we’re here. I wonder if we might come in and ask you a few questions?”
Dan eyed them suspiciously with his one eye that peered through the crack in the door. “What’s it about?” he asked and with that, Avery could hear the first signs of fear in his voice.