Field of Graves (27 page)

Her thoughts drifted away again, and she felt herself slip into the darkness. The hallucinations were becoming more complex each time the drugs were injected into her arm. Jill felt herself walking on clouds, skimming over the earth, flying through the sky. She felt the wind in her hair and it brought her joy. She knew she had died, that she was flying to heaven. She was excited, thrilled, but a little frightened. What would God be like?

She drifted higher and higher. She started passing what she knew were angels. One looked at her, a blindingly beautiful girl with flowing blond hair. Jill saw she was crying, and frowned. Angels aren’t supposed to cry. She heard the weeping then, multitudes of whimpering, sadness all around. The blond angel turned to her and reached out a hand, and Jill felt the touch in her soul. A word breezed through the air; she couldn’t make it out. She strained, but the wind took the word and cast it aside before she could grasp its meaning.

She had stopped flying and was walking on the clouds. There were thousands of lights around her, celestial fireflies flitting through her. As they surrounded her, the voices became louder and louder, and she became frightened but was unable to stop, to turn back. She realized she was entering some sort of room, and the voices quieted. There was no sound; even the wind whipping through her hair was silent. The lights became people, men and women, all shimmery and gossamer thin. The people’s mouths were moving, but no sound came out. She was terribly confused. She didn’t know heaven was going to be a silent place.

55

Sam returned to her office after finishing the autopsies of the two burn victims, popped open a Halloween-size box of Milk Duds and tossed them in her mouth. She was exhausted; there had been so much happening in the past few days that her entire schedule had been disrupted. She was thankful she had four other medical examiners on the staff; they had been dividing up the normal duties between them to keep Sam free for Taylor’s ever-growing list of bodies.

Though the sensational string of killings was getting all the media attention, there were still other people dying whom the medical examiner’s office had to process. There were death certificates to be signed, meetings to attend, and piles of paperwork to be dug through. All the regular day-to-day aspects of working in an office had been languishing from Sam’s lack of attention. Full of sugar, she reached into her in-box, pulled out the week’s accumulated stack of death certificates, and opened her Montblanc fountain pen.

She’d been working for about an hour and making actual headway when Dr. Thomas Fox, one of her youngest MEs, stuck his head in her office. “Hey, Sam, can you come down into the autopsy suite for a minute?”

Sam wasn’t taken aback; it wasn’t unusual to have requests for a second on posts. But she didn’t have the time, and asked Dr. Fox if he could round up one of the others.

“Actually, everyone is already down there. We have something you need to see on the woman pulled out of Old Hickory this morning.”

Sam felt her heart sink. She followed Dr. Fox through the biovestibule, put on a smock and grabbed gloves and a shield, and joined the group of MEs standing over the body on the table.

The woman was young, probably barely into her twenties. There was a lot of damage to the skin, and she was bloated like a distorted puppet. The standard incisions had been made, she was laid open, her breastplate was set aside, her lungs had been excised, and the typical autopsy procedures had been followed. Sam didn’t see anything obvious that would be enough to drag her away from her work.

“What’s the problem?” she snapped, instantly sorry she sounded so bitchy. No one seemed to notice.

“She didn’t drown,” Dr. Fox volunteered. “She died of ventricular fibrillation.”

“So she was dead before she went into the water. C’mon, Fox, dazzle me! You dragged me all the way down here for that?”

“Look at her liver, Sam.”

Sam looked at him long and hard.
Oh shit
was the only thing running through her mind. She leaned in and looked carefully at the woman’s liver, then hastily examined the rest of the organs. When she looked up, her face was ashen.

Dr. Fox explained his reasoning, though he could tell Sam had just confirmed what all of the other MEs had been speculating. “I went back and looked at the pictures and slides from the Blake and Kincaid autopsies. The organ composition and liver necrosis match. I think this woman was given aconite prior to her plunge into Old Hickory Lake.”

Sam’s thoughts spun. What in the name of hell would a black ex-prostitute have to do with the University Killer? It didn’t make sense. But that was Taylor’s problem. Right now, she had to get positive confirmation that aconite was the cause of death for this poor woman.

“Fox, consider me dazzled. You deserve a raise. Pull all the blood work and get it over to Simon Loughley at Private Match. He’s been handling the rest of this, and he’s the best equipped to get the results ASAP.” She had a thought and almost didn’t voice it because it seemed so outlandish. But she trusted science, and science would give them the answers they were looking for.

“I want you to go back to the burn victims and pull their liver samples. They presented completely different, because of what the fire did to their bodies, so maybe we missed something. Send them over to Simon, and tell him to look for aconite in them as well.”

Dr. Fox was surprised. Sam saw the look and understood perfectly. It didn’t make any sense to her either. “Why poison someone, then go to the trouble to burn them to a crisp?” he asked.

“I know it’s probably unlikely, but if there’s a chance that aconite’s present, that will tie everything together for Taylor’s investigation. Also, find out what Tim Davis got from St. Catherine’s. He said he was running the tea he found in the priest’s office there. If it’s got trace aconite in it, we at least have our delivery method. Go to it.”

He nodded and went to work. Sam headed back to her office to grab her keys. She wanted to go to the squad room and tell them in person what was happening.

56

The conference room looked like a hurricane warning center—bedlam mixed with excitement and a sense of purpose. Pictures of all the victims had been hung side by side on a huge whiteboard with as much information about all of them as they could put together. There was one photo missing from the lineup: the face of the female burn victim from St. Catherine’s. Instead, a shadowy sketch with long hair had been drawn, with a question mark under the distorted outline. Laptops were plugged in and lined the long table. File folders, computer printouts, and soda cans littered the room. The piles of paper had been sorted and lined up under corresponding title cards with headings representing “ViCAP” through “School Records.” It was organized chaos, akin to the investigation itself.

Baldwin and Taylor stood in a corner, talking quietly. He ran through his theory with her, and she agreed, between sneezes, that Vanderbilt’s staff held the key. Taylor was getting sicker by the minute and looked like a limp dishrag that had been wrung out too many times and was ready for the trash. She’d refused the repeated admonitions to go home; she wanted to get some sort of break in the case before she cut out.

Lincoln was seated at one of the laptops, blurring through cyberspace. He was running missing persons files from Georgia, Kentucky, Florida, North Carolina, and Virginia. He had open access to these databases; he was waiting for linkups to South Carolina, Alabama, and Mississippi. Fitz was back, floating in and out of the room; some new information had come in on the Lischey Avenue murder. He had managed to get Terrence Norton into an interview room and was trying to get him to give up his buddy, Little Man Graft. Terrence was consulting with his lawyer at the moment, trying to figure out how to save his own ass. It gave Fitz some time to check in with the University Killer investigation.

Marcus was sitting at the end of the table, trying to be inconspicuous. He was getting impatient to get started but didn’t want to intrude on Taylor and Baldwin’s conversation, so he put up his feet and waited. To his relief, the phone next to him rang.

“Homicide...Yes, she is, but we’re in a meeting, can it wait?... Oh. Let me get her.” He signaled to Taylor. She shook her head, but he covered the phone with his hand and said, “It’s Shelby Kincaid’s mother. She called the main number looking for you and said it was important.”

Taylor blew her nose and took the phone. She croaked a hello, then listened intently. “Can you hold on a moment? I need to get to another phone.” She punched the Hold button, told them to start without her, and practically ran from the room.

She went into Price’s office and shut the door, then punched the line to connect her back with Mrs. Kincaid.

“Mrs. Kincaid? I’m back, sorry about that. You were saying?” She could tell Mrs. Kincaid had been crying and could hear traffic in the background.
She’s not at home
, Taylor thought, pulse speeding up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you before now. I’ve been having a hard time, and the doctor has kept me sedated. I just couldn’t take it, you know, losing my Shelby. But I needed to talk to you, so I made an excuse to go out, and I’m at a pay phone. I couldn’t call from the house. There are too many people around.”

Taylor was leaning forward in the chair, her cold forgotten. Whatever would drive a preacher’s wife out of the house to call her when she was in seclusion and mourning had to be big.

“I understand completely, Mrs. Kincaid. What do you need to talk to me about?”

“It’s about Shelby. She called me the weekend before she was killed. She told me something, swore me to secrecy. Her father wouldn’t understand. He’s a good man, but he just...well, that’s neither here nor there.”

“Go on, ma’am.”

“You have to understand, Shelby was a good girl. She never gave us any trouble. She was such a loving child, a wonderful daughter. I can’t imagine this happening to her—she’s always so levelheaded.”

Taylor was getting fidgety, but realized she needed to let Mrs. Kincaid tell her story her own way. “I’ve been told by many people what a lovely young lady Shelby was. I am so sorry this happened, Mrs. Kincaid.”

“I know you are, dear, that’s why I’m calling. I knew you’d know how to handle everything. You have to promise me no one will know about this. It would kill my husband if he found out.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Kincaid. You have my word that I will keep this limited to the people working on the investigation.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Taylor heard her take a big breath, steeling herself. “Shelby called me when she knew her father would have already left for church—he always goes in early on Sunday mornings. She was crying so hard, completely hysterical. I finally got her to calm down, and she told me she had been...” Mrs. Kincaid was sobbing uncontrollably. Taylor made sympathetic noises until the woman calmed down. She finally got herself together and finished the story.

Taylor hung up the phone in shock.

57

Taylor was walking back to the conference room when Sam appeared at the end of the hall.

“T!” she called.

Taylor held up, and Sam jogged down the hall to her. Taylor could see this wasn’t going to be good news. Sam’s face was drawn, and she looked tired. Little wonder, they were all burning the candle at both ends. But there was something else in her look that sent a shiver down Taylor’s spine. Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her into Price’s office.

“Have you heard anything about the floater that was pulled from Old Hickory this morning?”

Taylor thought for a moment. “Oh yeah, the prostitute. Lincoln said he’s given you a positive ID. Why?”

“Better sit down, Taylor. You’re not going to believe this.”

“What? You already called off the wedding?” she joked halfheartedly.

“No, I’m serious. We’ve got a big problem.” Taylor sat down, and Sam started in with the details.

“The prostitute didn’t drown. She was poisoned. Her liver presented just like Shelby’s and Jordan’s. Fox caught it and called me down. She was dead before she went into the lake.”

Taylor’s thoughts were spinning, and her chest tightened. “Aconite again? What the hell? A black prostitute completely breaks the pattern. Why would he...oh, wait a minute. Could she have been a test case? Was he trying out the poison on her to see how it worked?”

“Girl, I don’t know, but this thing is getting really screwy. Whoa there, are you okay?”

Taylor was having a hard time catching her breath. “He’s been out there doing this for fun. Just to see what would happen. My God, I can’t stop him. None of us can stop him.” She was wheezing and losing her focus on Sam’s face.

“Head between your knees. Good girl, now breathe. C’mon, T, give it a shot. There, that’s right.” Sam was smoothing her hand along Taylor’s back. It was comforting, but Taylor couldn’t seem to get a grip on herself. This was the second one she’d had today, damn it all.

She’d just started to catch her breath when Baldwin came into the room.

“Hey there, Sam, have you seen... Jesus, Taylor, are you okay?” He rushed over to her and knelt down beside the chair. “Is it like this morning?”

Taylor gave him a dirty look. She didn’t want anyone to know about this. She hadn’t hidden it from Sam; her best friend knew she was riding on the edge, but now Baldwin was on board, and Marcus and Fitz. And she suspected Fitz might have said something to Price, too, damn his eyes.

Sam leaned back against the desk. “Second one today? You had one earlier?”

Taylor had her voice back and was feeling a little more in control. “It was nothing, Sam. I saw Jill’s posters and got upset. I spent two hours with the grand jury this afternoon, and I’m just worn out. I feel like crap. I need some antibiotics and a good night’s sleep, and everything will be just fine. Okay? So back off, both of you. Baldwin, Sam has another poison victim.”
Good job, girl
, she thought.
Focus their attention elsewhere
.

“What?”

Sam pulled up her legs and sat cross-legged on Price’s small desk. “We had a floater this morning. Black prostitute named Tammy Boxer, alias Mona Lisa. We thought she had drowned, but the post showed the same necrosis that was present in both Shelby’s and Jordan’s organs. This may have been your very first victim.” She held up a hand, anticipating Baldwin’s next question. “And yes, I’m having the tox run on the fire vics. Maybe that’s your commonality, I don’t know.”