Текст книги "14"

Автор книги: J. T. Ellison

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“Something else. He didn’t feel Snow White was a danger, that’s for sure. He called him a peon of a killer. Didn’t seem to think he was worth his time. I think there’s more to it, too. Lieutenant Eldridge, why don’t you fill us in a little more on Edward Delglisi? Maybe if I know more about him I’ll have an easier time making sense of his threats.”

Eldridge looked at Callahan, nodding as he took a sip of water. Her show to run. Callahan cleared her throat and launched.

“Okay. L’Uomo has been around for about twenty years now. We don’t know much about him, only get a string of murders that crop up with his signature every once in a while. Businesses fail, storefronts close, and three or four bodies show up. People who cross him don’t get to hang around for long. He runs an import/export business, but he’s quiet and quick. He floats people around, has a lot of money, and has never been caught. He’s got deep pockets and a lot of people on the payroll.”

“How does Burt Mars fit in?” Taylor asked. Callahan handed a file across to Taylor. “Mars. He’s a stool. But smart. He was the single biggest reason the Tartulo family went down. He’s L’Uomo’s bank. Here’s some reports you may find interesting. Mars has been shuffling L’Uomo’s money around for quite a while. Uses that Manderley REIT hedge fund. Only we can’t find it. Every time we get close to the source of the funding, it 14

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literally disappears. One of the better money-laundering schemes we’ve come across. The feds are working it, too. Dr. Baldwin, you could probably find some more infor

mation from your end.”

Taylor handed the file to Baldwin. He flipped it open, glanced through it, then said, “I’ll do that. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“But there’s one little problem. We found Burt Mars dead in his apartment last night. Shot at close range. Looked like a typical home invasion.” Callahan shook her head. “Right down to the computers being stolen.”

Taylor met her eye. “Let me guess. All of his business information was on those computers.”

“That’s what we suspect. He had a huge office—the master suite of the apartment had been converted. There was enough wiring to send up the space shuttle. Just nothing left to plug in.”

Taylor felt disappointment roll off Callahan in waves.

“You’re sure it was Mars?”

Callahan pushed another file across the table. Taylor opened it without picking it up. There was a photograph of a small man with blond hair and Buddy Holly glasses, a hole where his chest should have been. She recognized him at once. Her dream flooded in, vivid and raw. A sandy-haired man clapping her dad on the shoulder. “Your own little Manderley.”

Eldridge brought her back. “One lead gone. But there’s still Delglisi. Like we said yesterday, no one has ever seen him before—he’s like a mythical legend around these parts. We’re not even certain Delglisi is his real name. It’s one of many that he’s assumed over the years, but the one that’s been the most consistent, the deepest in the files.”

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Taylor sat back in her chair. “What does he import?

Drugs?”

Callahan shook her head. “No. Something much more valuable. People.”

“From where?” Taylor asked.

“Everywhere. It’s been mostly Hispanic lately, from what we’re hearing. He did a stint of Chinese, and some other Asians, but it seems he’s switched solely to Mexican and South American immigrants lately. As you can imagine, he’s really popular with Homeland Security.”

“What happens when they get here?”

“They go to work. In the shops, in the sex trade, wherever they’re needed. They need to work off their passage.”

Baldwin looked at Taylor. “He’s just a plain old slave trader.” Taylor snorted through her nose.

“Some plain old slave trader. Things are making a little more sense now.”

“How’s that?” Eldridge stopped everything.

“We had a case in Nashville last week. A Guatemalan girl by the name of Saraya Gonzalez was found in the woods, injured, in pretty bad shape. She’d run away from a ‘massage parlor’ where she was being forced to have sex with men on camera. They were making sex tapes. There’s just one problem. The same day we found her, Saraya was murdered in the hospital. She was shot by a man who fled the scene. He actually took her from her room, but we caught up to him and he killed her. We recovered bullets and shell casings for ballistics, put them in the system, but we had no leads when I…when I…”

“Was kidnapped,” Baldwin filled in.

“Right. Seems a little strange to refer to myself in 14

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those terms. Anyway, there was nothing that we had outside of the crime scene that would lead us to the shooter.

“Then a reporter friend who was helping with the Snow White case, Frank Richardson, was killed. He had just found out some information on Burt Mars. You say Mars works for L’Uomo? Well, Frank was killed by the same gun as Saraya Gonzalez. It seems to me that L’Uomo’s ‘in

terests’ in Nashville are as sordid and simple as that.”

Eldridge sat back in his chair. “We’re talking about the Frank Richardson, right? Guy who won the Pulitzer? You say he was a friend?”

“Briefly. But yeah, he was a good guy.”

Callahan was taking notes. “Killed with what kind of gun?”

“Both Frank and Saraya were hit with a Desert Eagle Jericho .41 caliber. Israeli made, they don’t make—”

“Them anymore.” Eldridge smiled, and Callahan got a look of pure joy on her face. She tapped her fingers on the table. “I may have something for you, Taylor. We have bal

listics from several scenes that involved L’Uomo’s big assassin, the one we call Atlas. He uses a Desert Eagle. That could be the tie-in you’re looking for. IfAtlas was dispatched to Nashville to take care of a few loose ends, then we have the answer to your question.And that hole in Mars was made with a big gun. Ballistics will tell us for sure, but I’ll take odds that Atlas killed Mars, too. Delglisi is tying up loose ends.”

I wonder what that makes Win. Taylor pushed the thought away.

“I’m a little foggy on the particulars. I saw his face, know he was a huge guy, but don’t really remember it. You think it was Atlas who snatched me?”

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“Yes. Especially if he was already in town on errands. He was most likely instructed to bring you to New York unharmed.”

“So Delglisi could try to bargain with me, threaten me?

Why wouldn’t they just deliver the message in Nash

ville?”

“That wouldn’t show you how much power he has. It was much more dramatic to snatch you from your wed

ding. Bigger impact.”

Taylor looked at Baldwin. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. He just nodded and smiled back. They’d had a wedding night of sorts fifteen floors up the night before. There was more to them now than words or paper could provide. With some effort, Taylor broke eye contact with Bald

win and turned to Eldridge. “So we tie this all up, neat and tidy, with a little bow. Except for one thing.”

“Win Jackson,” Baldwin interjected.

Taylor gave him a look of gratitude. “Exactly. What does my father have to do with Edward Delglisi?” She turned to Eldridge and Callahan. “Have you come across any information that would explain his presence in all of this?”

They both shook their heads. “No, we haven’t.”

Shit, Win. As much as she hated it, she was actually worried for him.

She excused herself to use the restroom, giving Baldwin an “I’m fine” look as she left. She crossed the parquet floors, the heels of her boots thudding dully. She stopped at the glass-fronted fireplace for a moment, warming her hands and watching a thoroughly New York woman who was lingering briefly at the entrance to the restaurant so she could be admired. Glossy black hair, dark jeans tucked 14

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into chocolate suede boots, a white cashmere scarf wound around her neck—Taylor blinked and the chic girl was in motion, whipping the scarf off, coat and sunglasses gone, and she was across the room and being greeted by her party. Effortless. Not a word Taylor often used to describe herself.

The hotel’s asymmetrical floor-to-ceiling windows, frosted glass with leaves pressed between the panes and the occasional cobalt square, looked out onto Lexington Avenue, which was teeming with people getting ready for the holidays. Even the cars and buses and police cruisers radiated good will. The hustle and bustle of the city was depressing Taylor. There was something sinister about this place now. Just knowing that Edward Delglisi, L’Uomo, was involved with her father in any infinitesimal way hor

rified her. She wondered if Win was still alive, wondered if he was in hiding from something bigger than them all. If Mars had been a target, it stood to reason Win was, too. She used the restroom and returned to her seat. They’d been talking about her; the conversation ended abruptly as she sat down. To cover her discomfort, she took a bite of the pear, amazed at its sweetness, the grainy texture welcome in her now-tart mouth.

Callahan looked at Taylor strangely, obviously trying to imagine what it must be like for an upstanding cop to have a father who was associating with the lowest of lowlifes. Her brows knitted as if she couldn’t quite make the leap. Taylor decided to save her the trouble.

“Win Jackson has been a crook since day one, Emily. Don’t worry yourself over it. This is all gelling for me. Now, if we could just wrap up the Snow White case. Baldwin, was there any more news about the Macias girl?”

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Eldridge nearly jumped out of his chair. “What Macias girl? What are you talking about?”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “We had a girl go missing last week, during the height of all the Snow White killings. Fit the vic profile for the Snow White. Her name is Jane Macias.”

“Holy shit!” Callahan and Eldridge exchanged looks. Taylor held her hands up.

“What, what is it? Do you know where she is?”

Eldridge had gotten pale. “No, but I know who she is. She’s a reporter, was a reporter, at least. Did some articles last year about Delglisi’s operation. Her dad owned a restaurant up here, in Little Italy. It’s the same old story—Delglisi’s goons hit the place up, offering protection. Macias said no way in hell. They made it clear that if he wanted to stay open, he’d comply. He must have gone along with it eventually. They usually do. About a year ago, Macias had an accident. Slipped and fell in the kitchen of the restaurant, managed to get the knife he was carrying buried to the hilt in his stomach. His daughter found him.

“Word on the street was he tried to get out, and Delglisi ordered his murder. Jane Macias was working for the New York Times, a junior cub reporter. She bylined a story about the corruption in the restaurant business, how the foreign mobs are taking over the city.”

“Where’s the mother?”

“The Maciases were divorced. She’s remarried, name is Ayn Christani. I don’t think she lives in the city, though I remember something about her moving to Boston a few years back. So Jane has gone missing in Nashville? What’s she doing there?”

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“She’s working for the Tennessean, our daily. She dis

appeared last week and she fits the profile. We’ve been as

suming all along that she’s a casualty, that we just haven’t found her yet. But with this new information, it seems like we’re off base. Delglisi’s cleaning house.”

Taylor thought about Frank Richardson, and the photos of Jane Macias. Her father. That silky voice who promised to hurt her if she didn’t look the other way. Anger built in her chest.

She looked at Baldwin. It was time to go home. Forty-Two

Baldwin made a quick series of calls. One to the FBI offices in New York that handled money laundering and RICO matters, one to the pilot of the FBI plane sitting at the ready at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, the closest private airport to Manhattan. He arranged for a car service to pick them up, then they checked out of the hotel. Standing on the sidewalk waiting for the car to arrive, Taylor mentally replayed the taped message from the cell phone. Her father’s voice. God, she hadn’t heard it in so long. It had been so easy to go along with everyone’s as

sumptions that he was dead. To ignore the sense of wrong

ness in her gut. But the voice on the tape certainly seemed to dispel that theory.

What in the world could her father have to do with Edward Delglisi? Was Burt Mars the key?

She must have made some sort of noise, because Baldwin quickly hung up his cell phone and took her hand in his.

“Want to talk about it?”

She smiled.

“I don’t even know where to begin. There’ve been a few 14

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revelations this morning, haven’t there? I’m just trying to understand Jane Macias’s role in this. I can’t imagine it’s a coincidence. Can you?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. What if Snow White took her purposefully to calm things down between him and Delglisi? Jane may be a tool to broker peace. If someone is killing in Snow White’s name, under his sanction, but went against the plan and hit the massage parlor, Jane could have been taken to appease Delglisi. Deliver the girl who caused him trouble, get on his good side. Trade one for the other?”

“That’s…who knows. Might be what’s going on. But how does my father play into all of this? Do you think he’s working with Delglisi?”

Baldwin ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. I think you need to prepare yourself that he may be involved with Delglisi.”

A black Lincoln slid to the curb, and the driver came around to greet them. He got them settled and pulled away. He spoke over his shoulder as he tapped the horn and jerked the wheel, a perfect imitation of a taxi driver, just wearing a black suit and driving a nicer vehicle.

“Sorry, boss, but we’ve got to take the tunnel. There’s some sort of protest going on at the GW bridge, traffic’s all backed up. Won’t take but half an hour, boss, promise.”

Taylor looked out the window, watching as they passed by all the familiar landmarks, Rockefeller Center, Times Square, on to the West Side before they hit the Lincoln Tunnel exit. She was astounded, as always, by the sheer number of people moving through the city at any given time. Gone was the oppressive night. She wondered how 336

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long that was going to last. She put her head back against the soft leather and closed her eyes, finally answering.

“You may be right, Baldwin, but I hope to God you’re not.”

Baldwin’s phone rang as they boarded the Gulfstream. He answered, then turned to Taylor, who was already seated with a cup of tea in her hand.

“It’s Lincoln.”

She took the phone, a smile actually reaching her eyes.

“Hey, Linc. How’s it going?”

“Taylor, we’ve been missing you, girl. Are you on your way home?”

“We just closed the doors on the jet and the plane is moving. We’ll be there in a couple of hours. What’s hap

pening back there?”

“Well, I’ve been doing some snooping around. Found a connection you might be interested in. It’s about our missing girl, Jane Macias.”

“Funny, we just spent some time at breakfast with the cops from the 108th who told us some very interesting things about her. And her father. He was killed last year by the man who had me taken.”

“Edward Delglisi.”

“Right. Where’d you get that name?”

“Jane Macias’s laptop. I finally cracked the code, found what she had so well hidden. She’s got a massive exposé

in here, all about Delglisi. His crimes, his setup, the whole shebang. This is big stuff. Front-page-news kind of stuff.”

“Great work, Lincoln.”

“There’s more. Interesting things. There’s a name in 14

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here that Jane has traced back to Delglisi. One you might recognize. Anthony Malik.”

“Anthony Malik? Why is that name so familiar?”

The memory hit her like a ton of bricks. The men at the New Year’s Eve party. The four who were joking and laughing with her father. Burt Mars was one, Anthony Malik another. And the fourth man, the one she couldn’t name, was wearing a signet ring. His wife was the woman who’d so offended her mother by wearing the same Marie Antoinette costume. She was big because she was preg

nant. Damn it, what were their names?

“Lincoln, what information is in the files about Malik?”

The note in her voice made Baldwin look up from his files.

“Not a lot. She hadn’t drawn any conclusions about it, just has the name Malik next to all the Delglisis. There is some stuff in here about forged birth certificates, but it’s unfinished.”

“Okay, Linc. Thanks. I’m going to give you a phone number. I want you to call Detective Emily Callahan and tell her everything you found out in those files. Maybe she can help you trace Anthony Malik to Edward Delglisi.”

“Will do. I’ll see you soon?”

“Very.” She clicked off the phone. Shook her head, met Baldwin’s eye.

“And the hits just keep on coming. Lincoln found the name of one of my father’s old friends in Jane Macias’s computer. She was trying to prove links between him and Delglisi. The name is Anthony Malik. Baldwin, he’s one of the men in my memory.”

Forty-Three

Nashville, Tennessee

Tuesday, December 23

1:00 p.m.

They arrived in Nashville in clear, freezing, blue skies. They deplaned on the tarmac, a stiff breeze accosting them. Baldwin tossed Taylor his cashmere blazer to keep warm. Though he’d brought her all the necessities, he’d forgotten to pack a coat. She had balked at buying one in New York. She had plenty at home, and didn’t see the need to wear one while she traveled by cab to the airport. It wasn’t terribly cold in New York. That wasn’t the case in Nashville. In one of those strange atmospheric inversions, it was much cooler than its northern neighbor, below twenty degrees. She shrugged into Baldwin’s blazer, thankful for its warmth.

They climbed a short metal staircase that led to the terminal building. As they exited the door into the warm interior of the terminal, a small grouping of media started yelling, trying to get their attention. The closer they got 14

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to the group, the more the reporters sounded like a hive of bees.

“Lieutenant, can you tell us where you’ve been?”

“Is it true you were kidnapped by the Mob?”

Taylor spied Fitz and Sam standing a few feet away and went to them, ignoring the throng of gathered reporters. Fitz grabbed her in a bear hug, the snap of cameras and the whir of video making background noise almost loud enough to dance to.

“It’s damn good to see you, girl. You had me a little worried there.”

She just hugged him back, then turned to Sam. There were tears in her best friend’s eyes. They’d talked the day before, and it wasn’t words they needed now. Sam em

braced Taylor, and they both held on for dear life. She had a moment of sickening clarity. If Sam had ridden to the church in the limo with Taylor as planned, it was quite likely that she would be dead now. Taylor squeezed a little harder and offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was watching over both of them that day.

Baldwin moved toward the media group. Taylor heard him talking, telling them they would have a statement later on. She and Sam broke their hug, and each took one of Fitz’s arms. They made their escape down the hallway that led to the outer terminal. Fitz started teasing her immediately.

“I can’t believe you ruined all our plans. We were going to put a goat in your honeymoon suite.”

“Oh, shut up, you were not.”

Fitz nodded, and Sam giggled. “Seriously, we were.You remember Alfred Turner, Taylor? Retired a couple of years back, opened that farm and petting zoo down in William

son County? He was going to loan us one of his babies.”

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“So do I want to know what we were supposed to with it, or am I just better off not knowing?”

Fitz shook his head, caught Sam’s eye for a moment. His eyes twinkled with merriment. “Naw, you don’t wanna know.”

“I’ll see what I can do to rearrange things so you can play your jokes.” Taylor cuffed him lightly on the shoul

der.

They reached the doors and stepped out into the frigid air. There were four news vans lined up at the curb. Fitz gestured toward them.

“You’re gonna have to talk to the news at some point.”

“I’ll talk later, once I have a handle on what’s been hap

pening here.”

Sam squeezed her arm. “I’ve got to head back to the office. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine. You go on.”

Sam nodded at her, then scooted across the walkway and disappeared into the parking lot.

They got into the unmarked Caprice and Fitz turned the heat on high. Taylor shrugged out of Baldwin’s jacket. Within moments, Baldwin clambered into the backseat and they headed toward downtown.

They went directly to the Criminal Justice Center, Fitz talking more of nothing than anything of consequence. Ballistics on Richardson and Gonzalez, Jane Macias, there was nothing new on any of those fronts. When pressed, he told her of the intensity of the rescue and recovery efforts on her behalf, and Taylor vowed to get the names of each and every person who’d spent the night and day on the freezing bank of the river, searching for her. She would have to thank them personally for their efforts. The 14

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thought floored her. Baldwin hadn’t gone into much detail other than pointing out that he couldn’t believe that she was gone and refused to give up looking for her. Fitz, on the other hand, gave her all the specifics, and she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes at the pain she’d caused them.

Baldwin had been quiet on the last half of the flight, distracted when they landed, and Taylor had left him to his devices. She’d been racking her brain trying to put a name to the face of the man with the signet ring. It just wouldn’t come. She needed the library, the society pages from her childhood. She knew there had been photogra

phers at the party—the Nashville media were always in attendance at her parents’ soirees. The library would have thirty-year-old society nonsense, she was sure of it. She hated to lose the time looking, but she had no choice. There was a regular welcoming committee when they got to the CJC. Lincoln and Marcus stood on the landing without their coats, both young men jumping up and down in an attempt to keep warm. Captain Price was standing just inside the door, waiting to buss her on the cheek. She was greeted with hugs and Baldwin with hand

shakes and back slaps. They didn’t linger long over the festivities. They had a killer to catch.

Baldwin took Lincoln aside, speaking to him out of earshot of the rest of the crew. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it.”

“I’d like to have a conversation with your South American friend. Juan. Could that be arranged?”

“Of course. I’ll go make the call right now. Would you like him to call you back here or on your cell?”

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“My cell would be great. Thanks, Lincoln.”

“No problem. Do you…never mind. I’ll just go call him right now.”

Baldwin went back to Taylor’s office, shut the door behind himself and took a seat.

“I have a theory,” he started, but her phone rang. She held up a hand in a wait-a-minute gesture, and answered the phone.

“Taylor? Honey, is that you?”

That voice again. This time deeper, richer. Not a tape. Taylor tried not to respond, but the word slipped out.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Taylor, it’s me. Dad. Win.” He was whispering.

“You’ve been making life a little difficult here lately, sugar.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sugar.”

“Taylor, listen to me. You need to follow Mr. Delglisi’s—”

She slipped a finger to the keypad and silently pushed the speaker button. Baldwin leaned forward to listen.

“—instructions. Just make the massage parlors go away. Taylor, I’m sorry for all this. I’m trying to make it all right. I know I’ve botched everything, but I—”

Her blood started to boil, that familiar sensation of dis

belief streaking back into her mind. Her father wasn’t dead. He was alive, working for a fucking mobster, and wanted her to turn the other cheek to something illegal he was involved in. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

“Stop. Just stop. What do think I am, Dad? You seem to forget that I’m a sworn officer of the law. I work for the good guys, Win. Not the bad guys. Not the ones like you.”

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situation we’re in. You need to cooperate with him, Taylor. If you don’t—”

“What, Win? What kind of threat can you throw my way this time? Kidnapping isn’t enough for you? Now you’re going to have me taken care of?”

A rush of noise spilled from the speaker, what sounded like banging and yelling. Then another voice came on the line.

L’Uomo laughed, a sneering, belittling noise. “Oh, Win. I should have known I couldn’t trust you. Leave you alone for a second and you try to warn your sweet girl. Hello, Lieutenant. Lovely to speak with you again. Just wish it were under better circumstances.”

“What have you done with my father?”

“Nothing, yet. But I’ll kill him if you don’t cooper

ate. Slowly.”

Taylor felt herself pale. The mixed emotions—she hated her father, but she loved him, too. Damn it. They were both bastards. She gritted her teeth, snapping off the ends of each word as if they tasted bitter in her mouth.

“Like you did to Burt Mars? I swear, you son of a bitch, if you do anything to him, I will personally take you down.”

“No, you won’t. You don’t have that kind of power. Your fiancé doesn’t, either, so don’t think about running to him. Mars was collateral damage. I do what needs to be done, Lieutenant. Just remember that. Now, it’s time to stop this game. You need to listen to me, once and for all. I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

“A deal? With a criminal? I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I think you’ll play along when I tell you what the offer is. Something to sweeten the proverbial pot. You 344

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turn your pretty little head away from my business inter

ests in Nashville, and not only will I let your father live, I’ll give you Snow White.”

Taylor didn’t reply, just looked at Baldwin. He wrote her a note, slid it across the desk. She read the mes

sage– calm down.

Taylor nodded. Tried to sound more reasonable.

“Delglisi, I can’t do that. I can’t turn my head on illegal activities.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. You hold your father’s life in your hands. Snow White’s head on a platter, Lieutenant. I think that’s a generous gift.”

She raised an eyebrow at Baldwin, decided to take a chance, con the con.

“Yes, I agree. Very generous. There’s just one problem with your offer. I know who the Snow White is. So your little deal isn’t going to work. You need to let my father go.”

The laughter emanating from the speaker chilled Taylor’s spine. “You don’t know who he is, or you would have arrested him by now. Last chance, Lieutenant. I’ll give you a few hours to think it over.”

He was gone. Taylor slumped her head in her hands. Baldwin stroked her arm until she raised her head.

“Now what?” she asked.

“I have a call coming in. If my theory is right, I think we can take him down. There’s someone who might know a little more about his activities, know if he’s bluffing. And we need to get Snow White. That’s our only bargaining chip.”

“Bargaining? Surely you can’t be thinking of making a deal with that scumbag.”

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Baldwin rocked back in his chair. “I figured you’d want me to do everything I could to stop him from hurting your father.”

“He won’t hurt him. They’re in this together. I can tell. I have a sneaking suspicion about Delglisi. Lincoln said Jane Macias’s notes had the name Malik next to Delglisi’s, right? What if Anthony Malik is Edward Delglisi? It would explain everything. Eldridge said they know Delglisi isn’t L’Uomo’s real name.”

Baldwin was nodding. “This makes sense.”

“And they’ve been friends for years. That’s what I keep remembering—Mars, my dad, the guy who I think must be Snow White, all chummy on New Year’s Eve. If I could get deeper into the memory and put a voice to the fourth man, I’ll bet you anything it’s Malik. Snow White’s name isn’t coming to me, but I’m sure if I go through the society pages real quick, I can find a picture of him and that damnable signet ring. If there’s a shot of Malik, too, maybe I can tie everything together, recognize Delglisi as Malik. We’ll have actual proof.

“But I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to directives from a bunch of old criminals, trying to one-up each other. Sick bastards. My father will have to fend for himself. I’m not bailing him out of this mess.”

A knock sounded on her door. “Come in,” she yelled. Marcus opened the door, pale in the glare of the fluo

rescent bulbs. He stood, seemingly frozen in the door frame, and his voice shook just a bit when he told them.

“We have another victim.”

Forty-Four

Nashville, Tennessee

Tuesday, December 23

3:00 p.m.

The procession to the Marriott Renaissance Hotel on Commerce Street downtown was four cars deep. Baldwin and Taylor were in one, Lincoln and Marcus followed, Fitz trailed the medical examiner’s van, who had pulled in front of them as they left the CJC. A funeral cortege. They might as well all have their lights on and traffic stopped to show respect for their passage.

Taylor was quiet. She knew who this victim must be, had heard the brief details of the crime scene. A woman, dark hair, throat slashed, overwearing red lipstick. If she had just put it all together sooner. She had failed Jane Macias. In failing her, she had failed everything—her father, her coworkers, Baldwin. The guilt was more than she could bear.

They pulled into the valet section, mindful of the doors to the lobby of the hotel. No sense in advertising too 14

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much. There were already four patrol cars in the drivethrough. No one would question that something was hap

pening, but if they could keep the Snow White aspects from the case for a bit, perhaps the media wouldn’t seize upon it and start the vicious cycle all over again. Wishful thinking.

The manager greeted them in the foyer, a wild-eyed young woman with short, spiky blond hair and a consid

erable waistline. Taylor eyed her, unable to ascertain whether she was pregnant or just heavy. As a hotel general manager, she was as professional as could be expected, considering a serial killer had struck in one of her guest suites. The woman spied Sam coming in with her gear and snapped her fingers at a bellman, who intercepted the M.E. and guided her away. The service elevator would ac