14 BOOK 2 (19 page)

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 attention 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 lieutenant was right to be suspicious.

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 consulting on REITs—Real Estate Investment Trusts. REITs could be easily manipulated, but according to all the published 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 investigations were under way linking him directly to organized 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 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, including 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.

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.”

“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.”

“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 explanations. 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?”

“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 straightened 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 far as I know. Baldwin said she’s deep into her own investigation 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 situation, 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?” Lincoln 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?”

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.”

“Damn. I think you’re right. Without help, it’s needlein-a-haystack time. Thanks for handling that for me. And let me know what the school says. If they give you any guff, let me know. I’ve still got friends in the administration. They’ll talk if we need them to. What about Jane Macias? What’s happening there?”

Lincoln reached over his shoulder and neatly snagged a laptop off his desk. “Got her computer. I haven’t found anything yet. Most of her work is password-protected, and she used rotating binary generator accounts to give random pass codes. Based on the Bernoulli equation.”

Taylor shook her head. “Huh?”

“Bernoulli’s principle? Increases in velocity, decreases in pressure create lift. Commonly taught as why airplanes fly, though it would have to be a perfect world for that particular equation to work. It’s just easy to explain. The binary generator uses the velocity equation from Bernoulli to—”

Taylor started laughing. Despite the urbane exterior, Lincoln was a computer genius, a regular geek at heart.

“What you’re saying is this is pretty sophisticated stuff for a reporter?”

“For anyone, actually. There’s something in here she doesn’t want anyone to read, that’s for sure.”

“Nothing on her family? I’m absolutely shocked we haven’t had a frantic call from someone who knows her.”

“Not that I’ve found. Once I have the pass codes cracked, I’ll be able to get into her address book. Waiting on a call back from Google about the warrant to get the password to her e-mail.”

“If Snow White got to her, why haven’t we found her body?” Marcus asked.

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Maybe he didn’t take her. Maybe she was working on something that got her into trouble. Or we just haven’t found her body. What about the boyfriend? Think he might have anything to do with it?”

Marcus snorted. “Skip. Kid couldn’t find his ass with a lamp and a map. He’s so moonstruck by her, I ended up wishing
I
had her phone number. No, I’m betting he had nothing to do with this. You just can’t fake that kind of distraught.”

“So where is she?”

No one answered her. She straightened, redid her ponytail and gave the men a half smile. “Great. That’s just great. No signs, no paths, no clues. Clean trails, but the physical evidence should lead us somewhere. Either we’re missing something or this guy is brilliantly calculating. Though, the massage girls seem to be a step down for him. There wasn’t any of the anointing oils on these new bodies, at least none that Sam could visibly identify. Baldwin thinks he might have been interrupted. Or maybe he’s finally screwed up.”

She stood, turned for her office. “I’m going to nail some of the shit that’s piled up today. Linc, tell me when you get into her laptop, okay?”

Lincoln whistled Lohengrin’s “Here Comes the Bride” after her, and she shot him a bird. That broke the tension; they all started laughing.

A loud cough jerked them from their revelries. Captain Price stood in the doorway. Lincoln’s whistle switched to a low-pitched version of the theme song to
Dragnet.
Price just shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His luxurious Yosemite Sam mustache moved vertically, more than making up for the lack of hair on his head.