Текст книги "14"

Автор книги: J. T. Ellison

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Baldwin was crouched next to her, pale. His weapon was steady in his hand, pointing down the empty hallway. They needed to proceed carefully.

Taylor realized it wasn’t quiet at all. Bells were going off, people were crying out. Bedlam had ensued in the fraction of a second that they had taken to assess the scene. A door slam made Taylor jump. She exploded, running down the hallway toward the noise, Baldwin on her heels. She passed a group of people shouting and pointing, went straight for the stairwell. She heard Baldwin behind her, yelling, “She’s gone, she’s gone,” and she hit the stairwell door at a run, slamming the door open with the flat of her hand.

She drew down on the figure retreating below her.

“Police, don’t move. Stop!” she screamed, and the figure halted for a fraction of a second, but only long 172

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enough to catch her eye before he darted through the door on level two and disappeared.

“Fuck!” Taylor yelled, throwing a long leg over the railing and dropping a floor. Her boots hit with a bang and she almost lost her balance, then she was down one more flight and out the same door.

He’d chosen well, the shooter. Level two was the sur

gery floor, and this particular entrance was to the Radio

graph and Endoscopy Center. No one was there—it was dead quiet, the silence real this time. Taylor listened, ears straining for footsteps or door slams, but heard nothing. Either this son of a bitch was a fast motherfucker, or he’d snuck into one of the rooms.

She wasn’t stupid; she wasn’t going to search without backup. She stepped back against the wall and pulled out her cell phone just as Baldwin appeared on the other side of the door. She could see his wild eyes through the wired glass. She pulled open the door, shaking her head.

“I don’t know which way he went. I was just calling you.” She spoke quietly. Baldwin leaned in to hear her. He whispered back. “I called it in. I don’t like this. Not one bit. There’s a doctor in her room who was coldcocked. He’s unconscious but alive. Fitz and Marcus are on their way with a butt load of uniforms. They’ll cover the en

trances. Let’s take it slow, start down this hallway on the left.”

“Think this might have been the man she works for?

The way she told it, she’s important to her boss. What in the hell is going on?”

He shrugged. “Either she’s valuable as a pro, or she knows too much.”

“Yeah. You go left, I’ll go right. We’re covered below. 14

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He’s gone, I don’t think he’s still here. Just don’t think I was quick enough.”

That’s when she realized that her ankle was killing her. She must have twisted it when she jumped over the railing. Superwoman, she was not.

“Okay. Go slow, be careful.”

They parted, heading down opposite paths. It didn’t take long.

Baldwin sent out a long, low whistle. Taylor back

tracked until she found him standing over a body. On closer inspection, she made out the small, quiet face of Saraya Gonzalez. Her blood pooled beneath her—

that sharp bang. It wasn’t Taylor’s boots hitting the landing, it was the killer shooting this poor girl. Taylor holstered her weapon and ran her fingers through her hair. This was turning into one of the worst weeks she’d ever known.

The emergency entrance bay to Baptist Hospital was crowded with police cruisers, overflowing into the street. The blue lights flashed up and down Twentieth Avenue; the area hummed with activity.

Taylor stood at the command post, watching. A man

hunt was on for the shooter, though it seemed he’d gotten away from the area. A thorough search had revealed a wig, baseball cap and jacket in the municipal trash outside the emergency room exit. The video had been analyzed; the shooter had exited through the emergency room bay with the disguise intact, and hadn’t shed his fake identity until he was well out of range of the cameras. They had a height and approximate weight, but nothing else. Roadblocks had been set in a mile perimeter, but without knowing 174

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what they were looking for, they wouldn’t be much use. It was time to admit defeat on this event, and Taylor was furious—with herself, Baldwin, the shooter and any avail

able person within forty feet.

Another two bodies for Sam: Saraya and the nurse at the head station. Bad timing for her; if she’d just been in another spot on the floor she might have lived. Jesus. Why hadn’t he just shot the girl and been done with it? Why had he tried to take her out of the hospital? Kidnap her, then murder her? Saraya mustn’t have been kidding when she spoke of her value to her employer. Damn. The only lead Taylor had into that world was gone. Fitz was standing nearby, talking quietly into his cell phone. He hung up and looked over at Taylor. She knew something was wrong, the set of his chin was a dead giveaway. Someone else was dead.

She caught his eye, raised an eyebrow. He held up a finger in a wait-a-minute gesture, then finished the call. When he shut the phone, he ran a hand over his face, and Taylor saw how tired he was. Fitz wasn’t a spring chicken anymore; the stress of the week was showing on his haggard features. He came to her then, shaking his head.

“We’ve got a murder scene,” he said when he reached her. “Need to head over there. Want to join me?”

“Goddamn. How much more can we take today?”

Taylor swept a hand at the chaos. “Is it Jane Macias?”

“Doesn’t look that way. It’s one of the massage parlors off Nolensville Road.”

Relief flowed through her chest. She just couldn’t stand the idea of failing one more girl.

“Massage parlor mania today. I thought we had all of them shut down?” They started walking to his car. 14

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“Hey, wait up.” Baldwin came after them, jogging.

“Where you headed?”

“Just got a call in for a murder at one of the suppos

edly closed massage parlors. This might tie back to Saraya. We need to head over there. This guy got away, there’s no question about that. Marcus is handling the search. He doesn’t need us.”

“Yeah, he’s got it under control. You’re right, this is all a bit useless. I can come with, if you want?”

“Why not? More the merrier,” Fitz grumbled. They got into Fitz’s department-issued Cavalier and left the afternoon’s failure behind.

“Anything new on Snow White’s copycat?” Fitz asked as he negotiated the phalanx of blue strobe lights. “I figured that chick from Quantico would be all over us today. You know where she is?”

“I haven’t seen her today, thankfully. I’ve been avoiding my office like the plague,” Baldwin answered.

“Pity, that.” Taylor’s sarcasm wasn’t met with denial. Charlotte Douglas was going to be a problem, she could feel it in her bones. “We haven’t heard anything new on the Snow White case today. Been a little busy. Though Remy gave me some ideas on how to track Giselle’s movements. I’d like to talk to her grandparents, see if they can point us in the direction of any friends she might have who they don’t like. Remy insinuated that Giselle might have snuck out.”

Fitz had maneuvered them over the bridge, onto 65

South, and off the first ramp so they could travel the back roads to the massage parlor. He was never a fan of the freeway, and it drove Taylor crazy sometimes. But he was a demon on the side streets, and they pulled up in front of a small, well-kept house within minutes.

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“This is a massage parlor?”

“Apparently so. They can’t get away with a business front anymore, so they’ve moved into the private homes down here.”

The area was largely dominated by Spanish-speaking residents, with a few Kurds and indigent blacks thrown in for good measure. There were plenty of crack houses in the nearby streets, and a couple of Section 8 government housing projects a few blocks away. Homicide was busy enough in this area, and had to employ trained civilian translators to help solve the crimes. Many of the residents were illegals, and didn’t trust the police to do anything that could be construed as positive for the neighborhood. They unloaded from the vehicle, checked in at the command post, signed the call sheet and got their party clothes—booties, gloves, all the protective accoutrements for a get-together with death.

An officer met them on the front lawn. Bob Parks was one of Taylor’s favorites, a happy yet serious man who doubled for the SWAT team. He had a luxuriant black mustache that looked like it had been oiled and groomed recently.

“Welcome, welcome,” Parks bellowed. “Nice of you to come and join us this afternoon. We have a lovely time planned for you—blood, gore and a few other unmen

tionables you’ll be thrilled to see.”

“Hey, Bob.” Taylor greeted him with a thump on the back. “How’s the kids?”

“Like Dilbert says, ’bout as happy as a bunch of barefoot squirrels in a tire store.”

Taylor snorted back a laugh.

“I’m telling you, LT, having teenagers will be the death of me. Hi, Dr. Baldwin.”

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“Hey, Parks. Sorry to see you under these circumstances.”

Fitz bellied up to the younger man. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“Naw, Fitz, you’re just a pain in my ass. How come you haven’t retired yet? You’re too old to be messing with this shit.”

“Parks, you’re not that far behind me. Shut the hell up already. What do you have here?”

Parks turned back to the little house, shaking his head.

“It’s not a pretty scene, I’ll warn you. Double homicide, two girls. Both look Spanish, which is fitting for this part of town, but they’re facedown, the M.E. hasn’t gotten here yet. We were waiting for her to declare before we moved them. Took the pics, and video is rolling.”

“Spanish. Let’s go take a look.” Taylor led them across the lawn to the front steps.

On the small porch the four geared up, covering their shoes with the booties, gloving their hands. Taylor wound her ponytail into a bun to make sure there weren’t any loose strands that could fall off and compromise the scene. Fully geared, they made their way into the house, follow

ing the thinly taped guide route one of the officers had laid on the floor.

The inside of the house was dressed in a nearly sterile white. To the left of the entry foyer, white leather furni

ture with glass tables and lamps dominated a small living room, with white walls and white drapes. To the right, a kitchen with white marble floors and a white countertop completed the monochromatic decor. White Berber carpet led down a short hallway to three doors—Taylor could see a pristine bathroom at the end of the hall and assumed the two other doors led to bedrooms. She was right. 178

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“Door number one,” Parks said, gesturing to the right.

“And door number two.” He pointed left. “Take your pick, they’re nearly identical.”

Taylor chose the right side first. She stood in the doorway and looked into the room, running her Maglite over the dimness. She didn’t need the overhead to see the blood. Copious amounts of red, startling against the con

tiguous white theme, was very defining. From her vantage point at the doorway, she could see blood everywhere, cast off on the unmade bed and headboard, washed across the wall, soaking the carpet. In the middle of the bed, a darkhaired woman lay on her stomach, facedown on the sheets, which were nearly black. Exsanguination, her mind told her. The woman’s legs were akimbo, the left twisted under the right as if she’d fallen at an angle onto the mattress. Taylor couldn’t see her arms.

She switched places with Baldwin and Fitz, looking into the left-side room. The scene was virtually identical. A knot formed in her stomach. A double homicide, with both scenes indistinguishable at first glance. Fuck. She heard talking, turned to see Sam striding toward her.

“Heard you had a bad day,” she said when she reached Taylor.

“Couldn’t be any worse than yours. You had Remy St. Claire fogging up your office. I’m just on my third and fourth bodies today and Baldwin’s former lover is in town with some kind of agenda.”

“A stellar day for us both. What do we have here?” Sam was dressed for the scene and obviously champing at the bit to get to work.

“Two dead, lots of blood, and a mess. I was hoping 14

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you could shed some light. They haven’t been turned, I want to see that. This feels a little too familiar, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay. Let me work. By the way, you know we’re supposed to go to dinner tonight. I might be running a little late.”

Taylor groaned. Yes, they were supposed to have dinner tonight, a joint bachelor/bachelorette evening. She’d forgotten.

“Yeah, well, I won’t die if we can’t do it.”

“Oh, come on, T. The boys are all excited. We’ll do dinner, then let them go to the VIBE. There’s a nice little bar next door, we’ll sit in there and drink. Unless you want to go to the strip club.”

“Baldwin’s excited to go to a strip club?” She looked over her shoulder; he was back out in the foyer of the house, talking on his cell phone. His brow was crinkled and she wondered who he was talking to.

“No, I think it’s more Simon is excited. He hasn’t gotten a chance to have a lot of male bonding since the babies came. We’ll let him and Baldwin, Fitz, Marcus and Lincoln watch the girlies dance and you and I will have a relaxing hour before they come back. I plan on getting ravished after that. So don’t spoil my fun, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’ll probably have to skip the dinner portion of our evening. What’s the name of the bar? I’ll just plan to meet you there later on. Between the shootings at Baptist and this double, I’m going to be up to my ears signing off on a shitload of paperwork tonight.”

Sam thought hard. “I think it’s called something like…Control, that’s it. Control.”

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“Sounds like a gay bar, one of the ones up on Church Street.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t name it. And it’s not. Let’s get to it.” She went into the first room and did a thorough setup, taking her time. It was a good twenty minutes before she declared she was ready to flip the girl. With a little help from one of the crime-scene techs, the woman was rolled onto the sheet that would help them transfer the body into a body bag.

Taylor was chatting with Parks when she heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath.

“What, what is it? What’s the matter?” she asked.

“You better come look at this,” Sam answered. Taylor came into the room. It only took a glance at the woman before Taylor realized what was happening. The breath left her body in a whoosh.

“Oh my God.”

Seventeen

A fire crackled in the hearth. The cozy scene belied the barely contained vicissitude in the room. Snow White paced, in a fury, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Goddamn you, I told you no. You had no right to move ahead without my permission. That wasn’t a part of our deal, you brainless son of a bitch. These things need to be treated carefully, cautiously. You’ve undone all our work. You’re going to get us both caught.”

“Shut up, old man. I did what needed to be done. You won’t let me kill that stupid bitch we took the other night. I needed to get it out of my system. They’re just whores.”

Snow White turned to the third member of the room.

“Did you sanction this? Did you tell him he could deviate from protocol? I swear to you, if either of you fuck me, I’ll see to it you never forget what it’s like to be on my bad side.”

The woman turned. “I have no more control over him than you do. You knew that when I brought him to you. He’s a sociopath.”

The younger man adopted a mocking tone. “Thank you, darling. Coming from you, that’s a high compliment indeed.”

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She frowned at him. “You’re welcome, though I have to say I agree. Going outside the parameters at this stage of the game could derail everything. You want me to be happy, don’t you?”

Snow White felt a scream building in his blood. “Shut up, both of you. We need to find out what’s happening, see if we need to shut all this down. What have you done to the girl?”

“I haven’t done anything to her but look. She’s safe. For now.”

“I didn’t ask that. Where is she? I want to see her.”

His protégé casually stretched and smiled. “She’s safe. I haven’t touched her. But I will, mark my words.”

“Lay a hand on her and you’ll be dead before you can blink. You’ve broken the pattern. Defied my rules. I say when you kill. And now you’ve gone and done this? With these…defiled things. We have standards. First you’re dumb enough to choose the daughter of a celebrity. Minor as the mother may be, she’s drawing too much attention to us. Then you guarantee even more media for yourself by taking a newspaper reporter? We had an agreement!

You might as well have spit in my eye. If you deviate from the plan again, I will have your head, mark my words. They will be coming for us now, and it’s too soon.”

“You didn’t realize who little Jane was, either, old man. You were right there in the thick of it with me. Don’t think I’ll forget that.”

“You are not to touch her. Am I understood?”

Snow White glared at his apprentice. His threats were empty; he had no strength to take control of the situa

tion physically, and the boy knew it. The impertinent fool had gotten greedy, couldn’t sate his ridiculous 14

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hunger for ending life for just a few days. He knew this was a bad idea.

The door to the room opened.

“Father?”

“Oh, look, it’s blind-boy grunt. Come to see what your daddy is up to with the real people? I bet he rues the day you spat forth into this world.”

Snow White sniggered, but the woman stood angrily.

“Hey. That’s my brother you’re talking to. Don’t you dare speak like that to him. Do you understand me?”

“What are you going to do to me, princess?”

She ignored him, went to the deformed creature she called brother. “He didn’t mean it, he doesn’t know any better. He’s a brute, Joshua. Let’s get you something to drink, okay?” She marched from the room, and Snow White sighed.

“She’s loved that boy silly since he came out of that twat she called a mother. I don’t think Charlotte remem

bers her mother. She died giving birth to Joshua, you know. They laid him on her chest and she just went. Like she couldn’t face what she had created.”

“It’s a disease, old man. Just like the one you have, but it cripples his face, not his soul.”

“Well, aren’t you the philosopher today? You were in

sulting him a moment ago. Changed your mind?”

“Of course not. I don’t possess compassion, you know that. But I do admire your darling daughter for her loyalty. Enough of this. I’m tired. I’ve had a long day. I’m going to get some rest.”

“Don’t touch the girl.”

He left the room, and Snow White slumped in his chair. He shouldn’t have listened. Shouldn’t have allowed it to 184

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move so quickly. Not enough planning, a shortsighted monster who could break his leash at any time. As much as he enjoyed hearing about it, loved to participate, to feel the breath leaving their bodies, see the light dimming in their eyes as their souls fled, he knew it was too much. Too fast, too many. The boy would be their undoing. Eighteen

Frank Richardson pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. His brain was numb. He’d been combing the files, rereading all of his stories, making copies of relevant sections. In all, he’d written more than four hundred stories on the Snow White Killer over the years he’d been active.

He remembered those days. It was a heady feeling, communicating the worst imaginable information to the citizens of Nashville. He’d worked closely with the police, gotten more scoop than any reporter had a right to, legally or otherwise. He was proud of this work, proud of his at

tention to detail, his meticulous analysis. No prejudice, no accusations against the police for dragging their feet, just solid journalism chronicling the Snow White case. He knew Taylor was interested in any of his work that had speculation about suspects. She’d informed him about the missing signet ring, and her reservations about Burt Mars. He’d taken the liberty of trying to track Mars down; the last known address for the man was Manhattan. It had taken work, but what he found was astounding. That lieu

tenant was right to be suspicious.

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Mars had moved out of Nashville in 1989 on the heels of a financial scandal. He headed north, looking for money and anonymity. He disappeared off the books for several years, only to come back, no longer anonymous. He opened an accounting firm on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Within six years, he’d developed a reputation and gotten all over the police’s radar. Who sets out to become a notorious check kiter and securities fraud? Mars spent some time in Otisville at the federal penitentiary, had gone down on a racketeering and corrupt organization charge under the RICO Act in 1998.

He was out of prison now, had a new business consult

ing on REITs—Real Estate Investment Trusts. REITs could be easily manipulated, but according to all the pub

lished accounts, Mars’s company was clean. Yet in the quiet corners, he was widely supposed to still be involved with the Mafia. He’d been connected to several figures well-known to the New York police, though no active in

vestigations were under way linking him directly to orga

nized crime. If he was dirty, Mars was much more careful now. Nothing on the surface of his company appeared illegal, and it wasn’t a crime to be friends with criminals. But Richardson had been a reporter for a very long time, and with his years of finely honed instinct for getting to the bottom of a story, he smelled a rat. Mars was up to no good.

He’d spent the day doing research, on and off the phone and the Internet, calling in a few favors along the way. He connected some very interesting dots. His hunch had paid off, big. This story was huge.

Richardson felt more alive than he had in weeks, months. Back in the chase. He already had plans to write 14

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about this tale, to make a tidy little sum selling the rights to the book. These were the kinds of stories that made millions.

He printed out all the information he could find, includ

ing addresses and phone numbers. He was thorough. He liked Taylor Jackson, admired her spunk. Admired those long legs, too. Her fiancé was a lucky man, that was for sure. Truth be told, she reminded him a bit of his wife when she was younger.

Feeling chipper, Frank packed up his things. If he hustled, he might catch the lovely lieutenant at her office before she shut down for the day.

Nineteen

Taylor stared at the body before her. Long black hair, ivory skin, a gaping wound in her neck, bright red lips. Snow White.

She went out in the hall, cursing. “Son of a bitch! Roll body two, right now!”

Sam followed her. “Taylor, I need to make sure—”

She whirled to face her best friend. “Just do it, Sam. I need to know, okay? Then I’ll leave you to it and see if I can’t find this motherfucker and nail his balls to the wall of my office.”

“T, I need—”

“If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself.”

She strode into the opposite room. She saw Baldwin out of the corner of her eye. He was heading toward her full speed. Sam came right behind, pushing her out of the way.

“No, no, no, no. Let me do it, damn it.”

Taylor stopped, let Sam by. The M.E. came to the bedside slowly, trying to make sure she didn’t drastically disturb the scene. When she reached the body, she gently slid a hand under the girl’s left shoulder and pulled her up partway, so Taylor would have a clear view.

“Goddamn son of a bitch.”

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“The same?” Sam asked. “I can’t see from this angle.”

“Exactly the same. A fucking double. It’s too soon. Baldwin?”

“Yeah, I see. Same exact scene as across the hall. The symmetry is beautiful, don’t you think?”

Taylor gave him a sharp glance. He’d taken on the dreamy expression he got when faced with the most hideous of crimes. Profilers.

He was murmuring to himself. She strained to hear him. “You notice the mirror presentation? That took some time to get just right. He’s meticulous, our fellow. Wanted this to be perfect. Snow White did a double, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. Danielle Seraphin and Vivienne White. The exchange students. They were mirrored, too.”

“Hmm. Clever boy.”

“Sick fuck is what I’d call him.” Fitz had joined them.

“I agree with Fitz.” Taylor nodded.

Sam was still holding the dead girl by the shoulder.

“Excuse me. If y’all are done psychoanalyzing, would you mind if I got back to work? I have a lot to do here, and I know you want the posts quickly.”

The posts. There were artifacts to recover.

“Yes, Sam, sure. Sorry. Go ahead. We’ll get out of your way.”

“Thank you.” She laid the body down, then bent closer, looked at the girl’s face. “Hey, Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no visible emulsion on the temples.”

“Seriously?”

“Nothing remotely like it. Looks like you’re right about him shifting the pattern. I won’t know for sure until I get them back and do the posts, but I’m not seeing it.”

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“Will you call me when you know for sure?” Taylor asked, but Sam was already lost, back in M.E. land. Taylor started to say something about canceling the party, but Sam was crossing the hall into the other bloody bedroom. Taylor watched her roll the body gently, look closely at the second girl’s face.

“Nope, none here, either.”

She set the girl’s body back upon the bed. When she swiped a hand, albeit faintly, across the girl’s hair, Taylor knew it was time to leave. Sam’s communion with the dead had just begun.

The three trooped from the house, waved to Parks and stood by Fitz’s vehicle.

Taylor chewed on the cuticle of her left thumb. “Either Jane Macias is still alive or he’s broken the pattern. He’s moved the double up in the count. Jane should have been number five. But he’s mimicked the Snow White’s sixth and seventh murders, and Jane’s still out there.”

Fitz nodded. “Might be we just haven’t found her yet.”

“Might be. Baldwin, knowing what we know, how likely is it that he’d change the pattern at this point?”

“Considering he didn’t do it in the past eighteen copycats, highly unlikely. He may be decompensating. The lack of the frankincense and myrrh oil is interesting. Escalation, distraction, interruption, all are reasonable ex

planations. And if that’s the case…well, suffice it to say that if he has Jane Macias, she could be suffering more than the other girls thus far.”

Taylor sighed, stared back at the little house. “Like getting raped and having your throat cut isn’t bad enough. I need to go back to headquarters and sort this out. Fitz, you mind sticking around, running the scene for me?”

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“Of course. I’ll meet you back there as soon as we’re wrapped up. Crime Scene will take this place apart. We’ll find something, LT.”

“Okay if we steal your car?”

“Yeah. I’ll get a ride with Parks. You go on now.” He tossed her the keys and went back across the lawn, snapping his fingers at a crime-scene tech, who straight

ened and came to him as if he’d been ordered to march by a general. Taylor smiled. Fitz knew what he was doing. If there was anything to find, he’d be the one to find it.

“Get in. I’ll drive.”

Baldwin just nodded and slid in the passenger side of the car.

Marcus and Lincoln were in the office when they returned.

Taylor came through the door and went straight to her desk. She picked up the phone and called Mitchell Price. He answered on the first ring. “I heard.”

“Good. We’re in a shit of a mess now. Two more apparent Snow White victims, one girl still missing, a dead witness after a shoot-out at the hospital. How much more can this day bring?”

“Don’t ever ask that, Lieutenant. It will only bring you misery.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m going to slough through some of this paperwork. Fitz is holding down the fort at the massageparlor crime scene. Is Remy St. Claire still in town?”

“I don’t know. She hightailed it out of the M.E.’s office after that damn press conference. Have you heard any more from the FBI today?”

“No, Charlotte Douglas never checked in with us, as 192

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far as I know. Baldwin said she’s deep into her own inves

tigation about the previous murders. I’ll ask the boys about it. Anything else I need to be aware of?”

“No. That should do it. Keep me apprised of the situa

tion, okay?”

“Righto. Are you coming tonight?”

“Miss your bachelorette party? Never.”

“I think we’re skipping dinner.”

Price sighed loudly. “Okay. I’ll see you guys there.”

They hung up and Taylor went back into the bullpen. Baldwin was finishing a rundown of the scene they’d just come from. Taylor pulled up a chair, turned it backward and straddled the seat.

“That’s it from me. I’m going to go check on Charlotte, see what’s happening with her, okay? I’ll see you later.”

Baldwin nodded at the boys and gave her a small kiss. She smiled at him.

“Don’t get yourself too riled up. You need to go watch naked women dance tonight.”

He rolled his eyes at her and waved as he went into the hall. Taylor turned back to Lincoln and Marcus, leaning her chin on her hands on top of the chair back.

“So. How are you guys this lovely afternoon?”

“Fine. Did you see Frank Richardson leaving?” Lin

coln gestured toward the door. “He just split, right before you came in.”

“No. What did he have to say?”

“Just that he had some information you might find interesting. He spent the day going through all of his old stories. Too bad you missed him.”

“I’ll call him later. Where are we with the Baptist shooting?”

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Marcus stood up and paced the room. “We’re nowhere. Guy disappeared into thin air.”

Lincoln scratched his head. “Why would he shoot the place up and run away with the girl, only to end up shooting her, anyway? Why didn’t he just kill her in the hospital room?”

“Baldwin and I talked about that. She told me one helluva story. She was an asset, a trained asset. I have to assume that the shooter went in with instructions to take her back alive. We happened upon him at the exact wrong time, and we got her killed. I’m not happy about that.”

“Can’t say I blame you. Listen, we talked to Remy’s grandparents again. They weren’t aware that she might be sneaking out, don’t know who she could have gone with. According to them, she was a sweet, obedient little girl. We’re waiting to hear back from the school about who she hung out with. The canvass of the bars is getting us nowhere. We’ve got a couple of patrols passing out the pictures of all four girls, but no one remembers seeing them. I think we’d be wise to go to the media with it.”