Текст книги "So Close the Hand of Death"

Автор книги: J. T. Ellison

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Thirty-Five

Taylor heard voices, then music. What in the world? She forced her eyes open. Good. She’d slept. She sat up, surprised at how refreshed she felt. Just a couple of hours of rest, but rest it was. She’d dreamed heavily, not her usual dark, murky nightmares, but of a happy, smiling man wrapped in a rust-colored sheet. A monk. Holding out a small, thin piece of string for her to tie around her wrist, his toothless smile engaging and encouraging. “Protection,” he’d said.

Protection. Her hand went to her wrist. It was bare.

If only dreams were capable of such powers.

She pulled back the covers, dressed and hurried downstairs. Baldwin was standing in the middle of the living room, bleeding, and two very large men were standing on either side of him. What in the hell were they doing in the house? And why was Baldwin bleeding? Damn it.

“Gentlemen?”

All three of them started. The two bodyguards’ hands instinctively strayed to their weapons before they caught themselves. Baldwin gestured to the men.

“Your guards,” he said.

She was struck by the coldness of his tone. Something had happened while she was asleep, that was obvious.

She met his eyes for a moment, tried to ignore the frustration and questions in them, then addressed the guards. “Wells, Rogers, we’re fine here, as you can see. Why don’t you wait outside. We’ll be heading back to the CJC shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wells said. They turned and went to the front door, slipped out quietly. Stealthy, for such large men.

When they were finally alone, Taylor turned back to Baldwin. “What happened?”

“They got the drop on me. I was getting the mail. They seem very capable.” He shrugged, she could read the embarrassment in the line of his shoulders. There was more he wasn’t saying, but she didn’t push. He’d tell her when he was ready; she could feel him struggling with something. When he turned and went to the kitchen, she followed behind. A change of subject was in order.

“Let me see your hand,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said, but let her glance at it to prove he was okay. She ran the water in the sink, let the blood wash down the drain. It was a shallow cut, but a bleeder. The gaping edges were already starting to clot and crust.

“I think you’ll live, but let me put some alcohol on it, just in case. How did you cut it?”

“We received a gift in the mail.” She retrieved the first-aid kit from the cabinet and went to work. He hissed as she dosed the cut in alcohol, then let her slowly wipe the excess off, apply Neosporin and close it with a large Band-Aid. Echoes of the ministrations that had been performed on her back in Forest City.

“How’s your leg?” he asked automatically. Reading her thoughts again.

“It’s fine. I haven’t thought about it in hours.” Which was true, but now that she remembered, her shin gave a throb. “I’ll change the dressing on it later.”

She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed the bandage.

“All better?”

“We’ll see,” he said, and the obliqueness of his tone made her take a step back. He really was upset, just keeping it hidden, right below the surface. Was he mad at her? Or was it something else?

“What came in the mail, Baldwin?”

He flexed his fingers a few times, as if testing the binding. He made a fist and didn’t grimace. She knew he was okay.

“Our friend sent us a message. Though I’ll be damned if I know what to make of it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

The Valentine’s card was on the counter where he’d left it. She opened it with a pen, read the words. Was surprised at how little they affected her. She was becoming inured to his threats. This was just a game to Copeland, just a stupid game. No wonder Baldwin was so peeved. He was poking at them, just trying to get a rise.

She let the card close.

Baldwin led her back to the living room and pressed play on the stereo. Music streamed from the speakers.

After a moment, she said, “The Platters?”

“Yep. There’s more. Writing on the disc. He burned it himself, it’s not an original recording.”

“Let’s see it.”

Baldwin ejected the CD midwail and handed it to Taylor.

“It’s gibberish to me. I don’t see any rhyme or reason to it.”

At first glance, she had to agree. There were just a bunch of numbers and letters, none that spelled out anything obvious.

“White board,” she said, heading up the stairs to her office. She erased everything that was on the board, then wrote down the numbers and letters at the top, enjoying the strange scent of the erasable marker and its small, squeaking scratches as she wrote. She loved her white board.

When she was finished, she stood back and looked at the string.

148NAD77HCBOTM4482901QRE

“What about a VIN?” Taylor asked.

“Nope. Vehicle Identification Numbers are only seventeen digits. That’s twenty-four.”

“You remember when we used to get actual airline tickets? There was always that huge long string at the bottom that didn’t make sense, but it was really the codes for the airports, and the equipments, dates and seat numbers. Maybe that’s it.”

“Good idea.”

They started playing with combinations of letters, breaking them into groups, writing them backward, but nothing was apparent. No call signs for airports, no dates, nothing that made logical sense.

Baldwin was getting frustrated, his hair was standing on end. Taylor smoothed it down, then wiped away all their conjecture, leaving them with the original numbers and letters at the top of the board.

“Let’s look at this a different way. He’s sending us a message. What do we think is happening, right now?”

“He’s playing a game.”

“Right. And we know that he has probably recruited people to play with him. There have been three recent copycat crimes that we know of.” She stared at the board, mind whirling.

“Break it into threes?” She transcribed the numbers on the board.

148NAD77 HCBOTM4 482901QRE

“Still means nothing.”

She had the first glimmers of an idea. “Let me see the disc again,” Taylor said.

Baldwin handed it to her. She looked closely at the placement of the letters, then wrote a new pattern on the board.

148NAD77HCBOTM4482 901QRE

“It looks like there’s a space between the first string of letters and numbers and the end. If we break that off, then separate them into three sections…”

She scribbled on the board, then stood back and looked.

148NAD 77HCB OTM4482 901QRE

“License plate numbers?” she said, and heard Baldwin suck in his breath. He tapped the computer on her desk to life, fingers flying over the keys as he accessed a database through his FBI identification.

“Damn, you’re good. That’s got to be it. Let me call Kevin, have him put some elbow grease into this.” He smiled at her, his face radiant, and she knew she was forgiven her transgression.

Would he feel the same way if he knew she’d killed a man on purpose?

She shoved that thought away.

She took the CD and put it into her laptop, stepped out of the room so she wouldn’t interrupt Baldwin. Went into their guest room, sat on the bed, and hit Play. The song spilled out of the computer, and she listened carefully to the lyrics. They gave her the creeps. Such a simple song, perverted for a psycho’s purpose.

The song finished, and there was silence, deafening quiet. She started to press the eject button, then heard something. Leaning closer, she turned the speakers up as far as they could go. There was rustling, like a plastic bag being wadded up, then a cough. She strained to hear more, but there was nothing. Then a deep voice spoke.

“Don’t be late, Taylor. We’ll be waiting.”

The CD spun to a stop.

She froze for a moment. We’ll be waiting. We who? Ewan Copeland and Ruth Anderson? Ewan and his copycat monsters?

Her mind flashed back to the white board, to the last set of numbers, the ones that had given her the idea to break them apart from the rest anyway.

901QRE

We’ll be waiting.

It hit her like a landslide, and she yelled for Baldwin. She heard him excuse himself from the phone and rush to the room immediately.

“What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.”

“The last numbers. I was wrong. They aren’t a license plate.”

“What are they?”

“I don’t know what the E is, but 901QR has to be 901 Quaker Run.”

The significance dawned on him. “Oh, my God.”

“That’s Sam’s address. Baldwin, he’s got Sam.”

Thirty-Six

To: [email protected], 44caliber @ncr.ss.com, [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Game Over

Gentlemen,

My deepest apologies to share this untimely news, but your covers are blown.

Accelerate the schedule and rendezvous at your predesignated final assignment.

Time to come to Papa. And hurry. The Pretender

Thirty-Seven

Taylor had never felt the level of panic that was cruising through her system. Despite that, she stayed outwardly calm. She picked up the phone and speed-dialed her best friend’s cell number.

It went directly to voice mail, a sign that the phone had been turned off. Taylor ended the call, then dialed Sam’s house. Simon Loughley, Sam’s husband, answered the phone. Taylor could hear the twins crying in the background. She tried to sound as normal as possible.

“Hi, Simon. Sam around?”

“Hey, Taylor. Good to hear from you. No, she has the overnight shift this week, probably up to her elbows in entrails right about now. She has a doctor’s appointment this morning, too. She’s not supposed to be home until around ten or so. Hey, are you and Baldwin coming to Thanksgiving? No, let me rephrase. Please tell me you and Baldwin are coming to Thanksgiving. Sam can’t drink, and you know how she gets when she’s pregnant on national holidays.”

Taylor fought the rising nausea. It’s okay. She’s okay. She’s at work. Nothing can happen to her while she’s at Forensic Medical.

“We’d love to, Simon. We’re planning to be there. I’ve got to run, I need to track her down. I’ll—I’ll tell her I talked to you and told you we’d come, okay?”

“Everything all right, Taylor? You sound tense.”

“Big case. Lots of stress. You know how it is.”

“I do. Be good. See you Thursday, okay?”

She swallowed hard. “Of course. Kiss the twins for me.”

She hung up the phone and sought Baldwin’s hand. He grasped hers, gave it a good hard squeeze.

“Should you tell him what’s going on? Simon has a good head on his shoulders. He won’t panic.”

“We don’t know there’s a problem yet. There’s no reason to scare him for nothing.”

“You’re right. It’s going to be okay. I’ll call Forensic Medical, see if I can locate her there.” He flipped open his cell phone.

A horrible thought crossed her mind. “Hold on. I have to get Simon and the twins covered. Maybe he’s planning to hit them instead of Sam.” As she said it, she knew it wasn’t the truth, but it was better than doing nothing. She called McKenzie’s cell phone.

“Hey there. We got the warrant for Colleen’s blog participants.” he said, exhaustion making his voice hoarse.

She cut him off. “I need you to do me a favor, okay? No questions. Please go to Sam’s house and keep an eye on Simon and the kids. Don’t let anyone near them, for any reason. You understand me?”

McKenzie’s voice sharpened. “Yes. Are you okay?”

“I am. I’ve gotten what I believe might be a threat against Sam, and I don’t want to take any chances. Take extra weapons, get backup, but most of all, be discreet. I don’t want Simon freaking out on me, okay?”

“He’s going to be suspicious. Where is Sam now?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m looking for her. She worked the overnight shift. I’m going down there right now. Just get to Simon, secure him and the kids, okay?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Call me and let me know what’s happening, okay?”

“I will. Thanks, Renn.”

Baldwin was ending his call, too. “There’s no answer, just the overnight message.”

Taylor tried Sam’s cell again. No joy.

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, felt a shattering tranquility course through her. She would not let anything happen to Sam. No. Absolutely not. This was her responsibility, her job. And the opportunity she’d been hoping for. She knew in her heart he wouldn’t kill Sam, not yet, anyway. He’d want to torture Taylor first, make her run all over town trying to figure out where Sam was. He wouldn’t do anything to her until Taylor could see, could watch. He wanted an audience, wanted her approval, in a sense. Or her fear. Taking Fitz while he was out of town was just meant to get her attention. This was going to be his final showdown.

Taylor wasn’t going to go at this willy-nilly. She had a plan. She’d been preparing herself for this moment for days.

She turned to Baldwin. “We need a BOLO on Sam’s car. Kris will have the license number in the personnel files. I’m going over there right now to talk to Kris. She’ll be there by the time I drive across town. I need to get a hold of Sam’s schedule, see what she had going on last night. I’m going to track every movement she made, and I will find her.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“What?” His voice, laden with shock, went up an octave.

“No. I need you to do something else for me. I need you to find out why Colleen is involved in this. I’m assuming she’s being targeted, too.”

“Sam is designed to draw you out, Taylor. I will not let that happen.”

“I have the boys outside, remember? They will stay on me, and I’ll be perfectly safe with them. They won’t let anything happen to me. You saw that.”

“I did, but…”

“Honey, we have to split up. There’s too much to figure out. And we don’t have any more time. We are out of time.”

“Taylor—”

She stopped his protestations with her mouth. She kissed him, fierce and hard. There was a wild violence to it, no regret, no holding back. He responded, wrapping his arms around her and practically breaking her ribs. When she finally pulled away, her breath came in ragged gasps. She let her heartbeat start to slow, then said one word.

“Please.”

He looked her in the eye, and understood what she was saying. She felt his arms loosen fractionally, then he released her.

“Okay, Taylor. We’ll play this your way. But for Christ’s sake, be careful.”

“I will,” she said. And she meant it. She’d carefully aim before she put a bullet in Ewan Copeland’s brain.

Taylor had a regular pace going now—redial, ring, hang up, redial, ring, hang up. Sam could have forgotten to turn the phone on. The battery could have died. She could have left it in her office drawer. There were many, many innocent explanations for why she wasn’t answering. But Taylor knew that wasn’t the case. She knew in her soul that Ewan Copeland had her best friend.

She heard Baldwin’s BMW leave the garage. She didn’t think she was ever going to get him to agree to her plan. But he’d capitulated, for what was probably the first and only time in their relationship.

She needed the key to their safe. They’d upgraded to a 14-gun Sentry safe after the Pretender’s first letter, when she knew he was aware of where she lived. Her home. Her most vulnerable place. It was full to the brim and had a double lock, one keyed, one combination, an extra deterrent to any thieves, or accidental discoveries. She had a lot of important things in that safe, she didn’t want to run the risk of someone accidentally stumbling across them.

They kept the key in Baldwin’s office filing cabinet, probably not the most secure place—even though it locked, they rarely turned the key. It was convenient if they ever needed in quickly. They didn’t get into the big safe regularly anyway. It was there to protect their fun guns and a few important documents.

She’d already decided to take the Ruger with her, and a worn 9 mm Beretta. Both were recently cleaned, road tested first at the gun show where she’d purchased them, then out in the woods behind their house. They were reliable, and disposable. There was a Walther PPK in there as well, plus a few others, not to mention rifles and shotguns, but all of those were registered in either her or Baldwin’s name.

In the off chance that she was able to get the Pretender alone, away from everyone and everything that she stood for, she needed a throwaway weapon, one that was unregistered, off the grid. All the cops she knew had a few hanging around, for whatever reason. She wasn’t dirty, she’d never carried them with her to a scene, never.

But this was different. In this situation, she was dirty. She was going to kill a man, premeditated and in cold blood, and she needed to be prepared for all the contingencies. If she couldn’t make it look like self-defense, she’d have to cover her tracks. She felt soiled, sullied in a way she’d never experienced, but shook it off. This man, this killer, was threatening her, threatening her family. Like a rabid dog, he needed to be stopped. He needed to be put down.

She was just the woman for the job.

Baldwin’s office was spotless. He had everything perfectly organized, the desktop clean, a small stack of paper filed in his outbox, his mouse pad and mouse just so. She smiled at the precision, the cleanliness. The order of his mind, the very essence of his abilities, laid out in the symmetry and perfection that was in evidence before her.

Just like Sam. The two of them were her anchors, her life. If something happened to either of them…

Nothing would. She was going to make sure of that.

They kept the key stashed in between several of his files. She pulled on the drawer, surprised to feel resistance. It was locked. Using her house keys, she unlocked the cabinet. Rifled through to the spot where the key was hidden. Reached into the file and pulled back the metal. She started to close the filing cabinet drawer, but heard something, like a piece of paper was caught in the tracks. She ran the drawer back and forth, yes, something was sticking out, making a shurring noise. It was all the way in the back of the cabinet, past the file she’d just pilfered. She pulled the drawer out fully, extending it as far as it would go. Something was taped to the topside of the cabinet.

She pulled the loose corner, that was what had caught on the edge of the drawer, and felt the paper give way. She backed it out carefully, the tape peeling back slowly. She didn’t want to damage it, she knew immediately that she wasn’t meant to see this.

But she was feeling reckless, and Baldwin would never know. In case something happened, she wanted to find out what was so important to him to hide from her.

The last of the tape pulled free. She extracted it from the cabinet. Flipped it over. Felt the blood drain from her face, her head go swimmy.

It was a picture of a boy. Maybe two years old. Posed, in a soccer uniform. He had flaming-red hair, the color that would darken into bronze as the child aged. His face was still unformed, the skin pale and creamy, barely freckled, just beginning to show the edges of high, slanting cheekbones. It was the eyes that were unmistakable. They were the clear green of the forest after a spring rain. Bright. Wide. Stunning.

Baldwin’s eyes.

She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that she was looking at a child that had been fathered by her fiancé.

Her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she was going to faint.

Baldwin had a son.

Thirty-Eight

Taylor felt her legs begin to give, wisely stepped back from the sharp edges of the cabinet and sat down hard on the carpet, the picture still clutched in her hand.

A son. Baldwin has a son.

This was what he’d been keeping from her. This was the big secret. What he’d nearly confessed to her in the car to North Carolina. No wonder he hadn’t been able to articulate his thoughts. How did you tell the woman you love that you have a kid with someone else? More importantly, if you truly loved someone, why would you keep a secret of this magnitude?

Why wouldn’t he tell her?

Taylor wasn’t sure she could stand just yet. She felt the anger begin to boil in her stomach. How long had he known? From the beginning? Recently? He’d been acting funny ever since he’d gone to Quantico for the hearing and gotten himself suspended—had he found out then? Or had the past two years of her life been a full-on lie?

And who was the mother of this mystery child?

Quick math and some basic intuition gave her an idea. Charlotte Douglas. It must have been. The red hair was the final clue. Unless Baldwin had made it his practice to do it with a bevy of redheads, planting his seed without discretion throughout D.C., which seemed rather unlikely.

My God. He’d had a child with Charlotte, and hadn’t told her. And assuming this was a current picture, if the child was only two years old, it must have happened just after Taylor first met him.

Who was this man she was planning to marry? She knew he had his secrets, all people did. She liked that he was mysterious, with murky and unspeakable bits to him. It gave her an excuse to keep parts of herself quiet. She hadn’t told him everything about her life. It was better that way. He’d admitted to so much—that he worked for the CIA in a very covert group. That he had been trained early and spoke thirteen languages. That he had planned on being a medical ethicist but instead had been drawn into profiling by Garrett Woods, a Machiavellian man if there ever were one. She knew he was strong, tender, and in love with her. Those things she knew without doubt.

But she had never known Baldwin to be a liar. Or a cheat.

Taylor swallowed back the lump in her throat, amazed at the emotions she was feeling. She had no time for this, no energy to handle his infidelities right now. She needed to find Sam.

She stood, amazed that her legs would hold her weight without shaking.

Took extra care to tape the picture back into its place. They’d have to talk about this sometime soon, but she had to prioritize.

She glanced at her watch, she’d only lost three minutes.

She felt hollow, the scar of knowledge across her heart burned. She opened the gun cabinet, extracted the weapons she needed, tucked them into her bag, closed and locked things back up. All the while, two words ran through her head: Find Sam. She felt her focus return, pinpoint and clear.

The guards were waiting patiently by the garage. She nodded to them, then got in the 4Runner and pulled out of the driveway. As soon as she got to the end of the street she opened her cell phone and called Lincoln. He was still at the CJC with Colleen Keck, ostensibly holding her, but in fact keeping her safe.

“Have you heard from Sam?” she asked.

“Not since yesterday. She sent over a postmortem report on the Schechter boy. High BAL, but no sign of drugs on the tox screen. He drowned, but was strangled first, carefully. There was hardly a mark on him. Maybe just enough to render him unconscious. There was water in his lungs, so he was still breathing when he went in the water. Why?”

“Listen to me very carefully. I need you to protect Colleen. Send Marcus to cover Fitz. I’m on my way to Forensic Medical. Sam isn’t answering her phone.”

“You don’t think—”

“Yes, I do. I think he’s taken her. He sent me a cryptic message that had her home address on it.”

“Have you seen the news this morning?”

“No, why?”

“Colleen’s blog is front and center. Zodiac letters were sent to the papers in both Las Vegas and Denver. There was a Son of Sam letter found at the scene in New York, too. Boston PD are trying to quell the fear. Their switchboard is completely overloaded. The idea of a copycat Strangler has that whole town on edge. So the story is totally out.”

Son of a bitch.

“San Fran, Vegas and Denver. The Zodiac copycat is moving east.”

“Yes. So far there’s no doubt, all the victims were regular commenters on Colleen’s blog.”

“Have there been reports of any other big murders? According to Colleen, there’s supposed to at least three of these fools running around. God knows how many more might be in play.”

That gave them both pause.

“Nothing yet, but I’ll keep checking.”

“I’ll call New York right now. Emily Callahan should have some idea of what’s been going down.”

“I’ll keep looking for similar murders. ViCAP’s going to take too long.”

“Wait,” Taylor said. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“Do you have a map?”

She heard clicking. “The United States, at your fingertips.”

“Look at the path the Zodiac is taking. Where does it look like he’s going?”

“Assuming he’s continuing to head east, he’s less than a day’s drive to Nashville.”

“Right. So if the other killers are doing the same thing, striking on their way here, what paths might they take?”

“Boston south could be D.C. Or maybe Philadelphia? Shoot, same with New York.”

“Lincoln, you’re going to have to start running through the entire eastern seaboard. Stick with major metropolitan areas. Call their Homicide offices and see what’s happened in the past forty-eight hours that could match these MO’s. Get a couple of people to help you, it’s going to take a while. And keep an eye on Colleen. She’s as much of a target in this as I am, though I’ll be damned if I know why.”

“We have his real name now, don’t we? Have you asked her if she recognizes the name?”

“No, I haven’t. God, what an idiot I am. Get her on the speakerphone for me, will you?”

“Sure, hang on just a second.” She heard shuffling, then a click. “Okay, LT, you’re on speaker with Colleen.”

“Lieutenant, what’s happening? Why can’t I take Flynn and go home?”

“I still think you’re in danger, Colleen. Just hang tight with Detective Ross and let us protect you, all right?”

“How long am I going to have to stay here? I have—”

“Colleen, please. I need to ask you something. Do you know anyone by the name Ewan Copeland?”

She heard Colleen’s sharp intake of breath. When she spoke, her tone was flat, emotionless. “Why are you asking me about him?”

Jesus.

“Colleen, how do you know him?”

“I can’t believe that you would lock me up here all night, then casually throw his name in my face. You’re a cruel, horrible woman. I can’t believe Tommy told me to trust you. You know exactly how I know him, or you wouldn’t be asking. No wonder you didn’t have the courage to do it face-to-face.”

“Whoa, that’s enough, Colleen.” Lincoln took her off the speaker. “LT, what in the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, Lincoln. I have no idea.” She could hear Colleen, furious as a scalded cat, hissing in the background. “I hit a nerve, that’s for sure. Can you get her back on the phone?”

“Not going to happen, LT. She’s packing up her stuff.”

“Lincoln, whatever you do, don’t let her out of the building. Detain her if necessary. I’ll deal with the fallout later.”

She was on Gass now, coming up on Forensic Medical at speed. “I have to focus on Sam. See if you can get Colleen calmed down enough to tell you how she knows Ewan Copeland, okay?”

“I’ll do what I can. Keep me posted on Sam, okay?”

“I will. Thanks for everything, Lincoln.”

She clicked off the phone, a million thoughts running through her head. She should have asked Colleen about Ewan directly last night, she was just so damn tired, and wasn’t putting the pieces together properly. She thought Colleen had come across his path, she never in a million years expected her to actually know the name. Her first instinct was to call Baldwin, tell him where she was and what had just happened. She couldn’t bring herself to hear his voice, not now. Not after what she’d learned. She was trying, so damn hard, to tuck the hurt and frustration away. She just needed to lay eyes on Sam, then she could deal with the rest of her crumbling world.

She flipped her phone back open and dialed the 212 area code that led to Emily Callahan’s office phone. The call connected and Callahan’s voice floated through the ether.

“Taylor Jackson, as I live and breathe. How the hell are you? Are you in New York?”

“Hey, Emily. No, not so lucky. I’m in Nashville, working a case.”

“Ah, this is a professional call. Gotcha. What can I do for you?”

That was what she loved about Callahan, the woman was a professional first and a friend second. She always felt like she could let her hair down with her. She’d always been a compassionate, intelligent shoulder for Taylor to lean on. Callahan had been promoted out of Long Island City and was working in Manhattan’s 6th Precinct Homicide now.

“Emily, no chance you caught a shooting in Washington Square Park the other night, did you?”

“The homosexual couple? No, it’s not my case, but I know the detective who landed it. Why?”

Taylor took a few minutes and filled Callahan in on the situation. Taylor heard her clicking, knew she was going through the case file to see what she could glean.

“Evidence says there was a couple of cigarettes close to the scene that were collected. If they have anything to do with the case there’s always the possibility of DNA. There was a note, too. That’s been kept kind of quiet up here. A Son of Sam copycat will send the masses into a panic, and that’s the last thing we need.”

“No kidding. What I’m trying to figure out is where he might have gone, assuming he left New York. You haven’t had any repeat performances, have you?”

“Not that I know of. The men who were killed were both married and having a very secret affair. If something similar pops, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear about it. You’re assuming he’s done a one-off and is headed toward Nashville now?”

“Entirely possible. We’re working with air right now.”

“Tell you what. I’ll personally have them send the results from the DNA run to the FBI. I assume Baldwin is on the case?”

“Actually no, but his team is. You’ve talked to Pietra Dunmore before, right?”

“Yeah, I remember her. Good girl. I’ll send it to her, with a rush.”

“God, Emily, what can I do to steal you away from New York’s finest?”

“Grow a few hundred skyscrapers. Looking at all that blue sky down there makes me nervous.”

They shared a laugh, and Callahan promised to keep looking into the situation.

Taylor hung up and turned on her blinker. Forensic Medical was on her left. It was time to get to the truth.