14

by J. T. Ellison

  “Mmm-hmm. What’s the message?”

  “The girl found in the park wants to leave. She’s fighting with the hospital, trying to sign out against medical advice. They called over, told Marcus. I told him I’d tell you.”

  “Saraya?” Taylor rubbed a thumb against her right temple. A gnawing pain had started earlier and was growing. She ran her hand through her hair, opened her desk drawer, took out her Advil, popped three, then stood up.

  “All right. Where’s the drama queen this morning?”

  “Charlotte? She’s at the field office, getting slaughtered by the media for missing the DNA connection between the national cases. They’re dancing on her head, trying to get her to admit that she made a mistake. Maybe she did. I don’t know. She’s going to be tied up with them for a while, which would be why I’m here. I figure while she’s being jerked around by the press, we could go solve this case.”

  “Aren’t you sweet. She is such a lovely girl. I hope the wolves enjoy her.” Taylor smiled at him. “But before we go Snow Whiting, I need to hear what my beating victim is so frantic about.”

  The ride to Baptist Hospital was quiet. Baldwin drove, Taylor rested her head against the cool window and wished for summer. Truth be told, she didn’t really want winter to end. She loved the cool, crisp weather, the gray skies, the warm fires and soft clothes. But if it were summer, this would all go away. She’d be done with this case, the wedding would be over, they could go to the beach and lie in the sun, baking brown as bunnies and reading trashy novels. Make love after a few too many rum drinks; lie in a hammock under the stars, the sultry sea air lulling them into a false sense of hope. That was her one issue with winter. Not the cold, but the bleak despondence of the short days and long nights.

  They parked and entered the hospital through the emergency room. Taylor shuddered briefly as a woman on a gurney was rushed past. She’d been there once, and didn’t want to go back. She fingered her neck, a habit she’d broken along with her cigarettes. The scar was there, still in sharp relief across her throat. A suspect’s last gasp. She’d wear his desperation forever. She’d just gotten used to it. There was something about nearly losing your life—you either let it haunt you or you accepted that it had happened and moved on. She’d chosen the latter. She was perfectly content to be the one doing the killing, thank you very much, not being the one who someone had tried to kill. Being that kind of victim just didn’t work for her.

  As though he read her thoughts, Baldwin slipped a hand into the back pocket of her jeans and gave her right buttock a squeeze. She tried to ignore him, but it tickled, and she laughed.

  “You’ve been lost in thought. Anything you want to share?”

  “Naw. You know me, I hate hospitals. Where’s our girl?”

  “Four. Here, we can take this elevator.” The doors were already open, so they slipped inside and hit the button for the fourth floor.

  Baldwin leaned against the metal walls, an eyebrow raised. Taylor watched him, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. Outside of work talk, she was being much too quiet these days, knew he could sense something was wrong. She spun her engagement ring around her finger twice, decided to take a chance.

  “Okay. Here goes. I’m a little freaked out about the wedding.”

  Baldwin snickered good-naturedly. “A little? I’d vote for a lot. I’d actually go so far as to throw out the idea that you don’t want to marry me after all.”

  The hurt in his voice was more than she could bear. She reached over, ran a hand along his jaw, brushed back the forelock of hair that hung across his forehead.

  “Baby, you couldn’t be further from wrong. That’s not it at all. God, how do I explain this? It’s not the concept of marriage in general that’s got me freaked. Especially marriage to you. You know that you’re the only person on the face of the earth I would even consider marrying, much less buy a dress for and book a church.”

  “You booked a church? And you got a dress?”

  His mock excitement made her laugh. “Oh, stop it. You aren’t funny. I’m trying to be serious.”

  The shadow had left his face. “By all means, continue.”

  “Okay. I’m nervous about the wedding part. Having to stand up in front of all those people—I’m just not a fan of being the center of attention. What if we—”

  The elevator interrupted her, and the doors slid open before they could go any further. She was going to suggest that they just elope, run off somewhere instead of dealing with the whole church mess. But the look on his face told her that this was the way he wanted to do it. She decided to save the conversation for later. She’d agreed to the hoopla, and had to deal with her fears. But she reserved the right to act squirrelly up until the moment she set foot in that damn church on Saturday.

  She winked at him, then strolled out of the elevator as if she hadn’t been talking about the most important moment of her life.

  The nurses’ station was unmanned, which was odd. Taylor felt her chest tighten. Something was wrong. Stealing glances, she saw the hallways were deserted, the silence pervasive. Her lips thinned as she strained to hear something. She looked at Baldwin, noticed he’d put his hand on his weapon. She realized she’d already instinctively followed suit and they took a few tentative steps forward, getting a sense for what was happening. There was almost complete silence, the absence of sound deafening. Unheard of in a busy downtown hospital.

  Taylor motioned to Baldwin to go right, then took two steps closer to the nurses’ station. Her primordial senses kicked in; she smelled the blood before she saw it. She stuck her head over the counter and saw the slumped form, a nurse with gray hair and blue scrubs. The woman was on her back, as if she’d slid to the floor and pleaded with her assailant before he shot her in the forehead. The shot was a little off center, a messy wound that came in at an angle and certainly killed the poor woman immediately.

  She pulled her head back, sheltered from possible incoming shots behind the station wall. What the hell was going on? She risked another glance, as if she needed to confirm the gunshot.

  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 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 surgery floor, and this particular entrance was to the Radiograph 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 cold-cocked. He’s unconscious but alive. Fitz and Marcus are on their way with a butt load of uniforms. They’ll cover the entrances. 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. 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 backtracked 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 manhunt 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 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 available 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.

  “Hey, wait up.” Baldwin came after them, jogging. “Where you headed?”

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

  “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 unmentionables 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.”

  “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, following 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 furniture 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.

  “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 contiguous 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 dark-haired 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 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.”