Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

by Brenda Novak

  Stopping briefly in the biovestibule, she changed into a pair of disposable scrubs and went inside.

  The main autopsy suite held four fully functioning workstations, two on the wall facing Taylor, and two on the opposite wall. Sam was at the far table, the natural sunlight from the huge skylight above streaking her hair with rosy highlights.

  “Sam.”

  Sam turned toward Taylor with a look that said, Go away, I’m trying to work.

  “Sorry, Sammy, I need to talk. We’ve got an ID. Her name’s Shelby Kincaid. Went to Vanderbilt. We’re notifying her parents right now, so I wanna see what you have.”

  Sam actually looked at her this time, blinked, finally realized who was there, and said, “Oh, hey. Gear up. Vanderbilt, huh?” There was almost no inflection in her voice. She was lost in her work.

  Taylor pulled on the remaining protective gear and gloves gracefully, the motions borne of too many repetitions. She donned her eye shield and joined Sam at the table. Lying on a tan plastic washable coating covering an icy, stainless steel slab were the remains of Shelby Kincaid. She didn’t look like a sleeping child anymore. The huge Y-cut, actually shaped like a deformed U, cut from her sternum to her pubis, exposing her internal organs, which Sam was in the process of weighing. She set the mud-colored liver in the scale, dictating the weight into the microphone clipped to the front of her smock. She handed it to her assistant who wandered off to busy himself with something. He knew Taylor and was more than a little afraid of her. Sam watched him go, chuckled and turned back, all business.

  “Ventricular fibrillation. And something’s hinky with her liver.” She didn’t elaborate.

  “Okay. Wanna expound on that? I don’t know if ‘hinky’ will stand up in court.”

  Sam’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s the problem. I can’t tell you what the thing is. I sent off the tox screen, so we should get that back quick enough. But they can’t look for anything but the obvious, and the way her organs look…my gut tells me we need to look deeper. I sent a runner with all kinds of samples to Simon’s lab: blood, urine, tissue, the works. I asked them to look a little deeper than the normal drug and alcohol screen. I’m hoping they can isolate something off the standard panel.”

  “Like what?”

  She waggled her head casually, and shrugged, like a child with an important secret. “Oh, I’m thinking poison.”

  “No way. Poison? Cyanide?”

  “Not cyanide, I didn’t get an almond smell when I opened the body. I don’t know what we’re looking for, but I definitely think this poor thing may have ingested something, and it didn’t sit right with her system.”

  “Ingested something like what?”

  Sam gave Taylor a sweet smile. “Honey, that’s what we’re going to find out. Back to business. As I mentioned before, she was raped repeatedly. Lots of bruising and tearing, lots of semen. We’re going to have to wait for the labs on that, too.”

  Taylor’s shoulders knotted up. “How long’s it gonna take?”

  “Well, it won’t be overnight. I’ll try to talk Simon into dropping all his other fascinating cases and handle the toxicology right away, but I can’t promise anything. As far as the semen is concerned, I can send it up to TBI with a push and have them do the rapid DNA, or I can throw it to Simon and ask him to handle it. Though we haven’t talked in a couple of days.” She busied herself with a scalpel.

  Taylor waited for a more detailed explanation, but seeing none forthcoming, decided not to voice an opinion on the rocky relationship’s latest turn. “I already ran it by Price. It won’t be a problem. Go ahead and give it all to Simon. If you don’t want to call in one of your own, tell him it’s a favor for me, and I’ll owe him one.”

  “Got it. The rest is basics. Height, one hundred seventy-six centimeter, weight, forty-seven kilograms. Blond hair, blue eyes. Maybe a little anorexic. No distinguishing characteristics, no tattoos, nothing out of the ordinary. Doesn’t look like she’s had any surgeries except a tonsillectomy.” She looked up, gave a wan smile. “Sorry, Charlie. Right now we’ve got a run-of-the-mill dead girl. Little Shelby didn’t put up much of a fight, nothing under her nails, no defensive wounds. That’s about as exciting as it gets.”

  Taylor sighed. She knew the drill. Nothing else could done here until they had the lab results back. “Can I give her parents a cause of death?”

  Sam thought quietly for a moment. The parents would want every detail, and there weren’t a lot to give them. She shrugged. “Tell them we’re doing more tests and hope to have an answer for them quickly.”

  “Great, that helps a lot. All right, keep me in the loop on anything you find. And I mean anything. I don’t care how obscure it is. I can deal with Simon if you don’t want to do it yourself.” It was a dig for information, but Sam saw right through it.

  “Yeah, I may do that.”

  Taylor knew discretion was the better part of valor when it cam to Sam and Simon. “Ooookaaay then. Play nice with Simon. I think he likes you.” She grinned and walked out of the room.

  Taylor pulled out on Elliston Pike and started back downtown. As the skyline came into view, she was overcome by exhaustion. She had planned to go back to the office, maybe take the warrant over to Vandy, but it was late, their offices would be closed until the morning. She decided to hit a drive-through and go home. There was nothing she could do tonight anyway. She grabbed her cell phone, called Marcus and told him she was heading home, for he and Lincoln to do the same.

  She stopped at the Taco Bell near her house. Eating her dinner in the car, she finished before she hit her driveway. She stumbled into the house, set her holster on the coffee table, gave the cat a rub on the head, fell onto the couch and crashed immediately.

  She was in the field of graves again. A large statue shadowed the land, covering waves of ripe wheat in sheaves, and the path forward was littered with body parts, arms and legs bent in imitations of crosses, bones shaped into grave markers. The sky was red with angry storms, and the wind whipped her hair around her face. Flowers pushed dead from the earth, black and rotted, their scent overwhelming. She walked toward the statue, the grave markers waving in synchronous motion, reaching out to touch her, strange dead hands and legs and arms draping against her body, grabbing her legs, holding her back, pulling her to the earth…

  Taylor woke with a cry, sweating, her breath coming in jagged gasps. She wiped the tears from her face. She groaned when she looked at the clock on the mantle, which read 4:15 a.m. The nightly ritual was fulfilled. She wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. She hit the shower and headed into work.

  The Second Day

  Eight

  He watched the body drift away slowly, bumping into driftwood as the current caught it and dragged it toward the shore. He felt a brief pang of sorrow. The woman had been beautiful, perfection in dimension and proportion. Until the end.

  Still, she was a worthy sacrifice. She had brought him much joy, much pleasure. It was her own fault she was dead. Dead and gone. No longer.

  Nine

  Marcus and Lincoln were futzing in the captain’s office when Taylor walked in. When Price went out and things were slow or on hold, the squad had a habit of congregating in there to watch TV.

  Lincoln vacated Price’s chair for Taylor to sit in. She did so gratefully. It was the one chair in the squad that was remotely comfortable.

  “Where’s Price?”

  “Ran down to talk to the chief.” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Old wind bag wanted to have another press conference so he can look like he’s actually being a cop.”

  Taylor laughed. Their chief of police was about as popular as the Mayor.

  “Did you find Shelby’s parents?”

  “Yeah. Reverend Spenser talked to the Bowling Green police chaplain. They did the notification, and BG’s chaplain is driving them down this morning. They’re pretty upset. Her Dad’s a Baptist minister, the chaplain knew Shelby, too.”

  “Great. Lincoln, any luck on any
of the databases?”

  “Nothin’ yet. Hit a dead end after her prints popped. Sam have anything new?”

  “Outside of the possible poisoning? No. She sent everything over to Simon. It’ll be a day or so before we know what the poison might be.”

  “If only we could identify the poison, I could plug it into ViCAP, maybe broaden the scope a little.” Lincoln’s eyes were shining. He loved playing with the technical stuff.

  “Once we have it identified, you can put it in the system, but not before. We need to keep it quiet, like the herbs. Especially with her parents.” She looked pointedly at Marcus, a silent warning to keep his own counsel outside of the squad room.

  Price’s phone rang, and Taylor picked it up. “Homicide…Okay, thanks.” She cradled the phone. “Marcus, Shelby’s parents are here. Wanna go out and get them?”

  He stood, brushing invisible lint from his pants. Taylor could see the air of discomfort that washed over him; facing grieving family members wasn’t his favorite thing to do. “Damn, they’re early. I’ll meet you in the interview room.” He squared his shoulders and walked out. Taylor gave Lincoln a small smile.

  “Do we have any coffee or anything we can offer them?”

  “I’ll go make some.”

  “Thank you. If the chaplains are out there, see if they want some, too. I’d best go save Marcus. Bring the coffee when it’s ready.”

  He smiled in acknowledgement and left the office. Taylor pulled her hair out of its ponytail, unsuccessfully attempting to smooth it down. Impatiently re-holstering the unruly mess, she squared her own shoulders and marched the short distance to the interview room in the hall. Marcus already had Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid inside. A box of tissues had miraculously appeared at Mrs. Kincaid’s elbow.

  The Kincaids were small, unassuming people, easily in their late fifties. Mrs. Kincaid’s eyes were rimmed in red, but there were no tears threatening to overflow. Mr. Kincaid had a vacant look on his face but seemed to be holding up. Marcus introduced Taylor. She pulled up a chair.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid, thank you so much for coming down. I am so sorry for your loss.” Her cliché was worn but sincere. Mrs. Kincaid nodded and sniffed. Shelby’s father took control of the meeting.

  “Where is our daughter, Lieutenant? We want to see her.”

  “Could we get you anything to drink? Coffee, water…”

  Mr. Kincaid cut her off sharply. “No. Where is our daughter?”

  Taylor looked at Marcus, signaling him to tell Lincoln to forget the coffee. He stuck his head out the door, gestured to Lincoln, then stepped back in and shut the door behind him, lounging quietly against it.

  Taylor took a deep breath. She had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well. “She’s still at the Medical Examiner’s office, sir. We had to do an autopsy to see…”

  Mrs. Kincaid lost it. “You cut our baby open? How could you do that?” She started crying. Her husband put a hand on her arm. She immediately quieted.

  “I’m sorry ma’am, but her death was ruled a homicide by the medical examiner at the scene. We’re required by law to conduct an autopsy.” Taylor hated having to give that pat line to a child’s parents, but there was no way to cushion the blow. “There was no identification found with the body, so in order to obtain an identification we had to follow protocol. That’s how we found out who she was. I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

  Mrs. Kincaid reached for a tissue and buried her face in it, dignified sobs leaking out. Again her husband squeezed her arm. Taylor didn’t think it was meant in a kindly way. She got the impression he was uncomfortable with open displays of emotion, which seemed interesting for a man of the cloth.

  “Lieutenant, Detective Wade said Shelby was murdered. Who did it? I want to know who killed our baby.”

  “We don’t know yet, sir, but we’re doing our very best to find the killer and arrest him. We have some evidence that will be helpful…”

  “DNA?”

  The advent of TV cop shows made every layman an expert in criminal investigations.

  Taylor nodded. “Yes, sir, we do have some DNA evidence.”

  “Was she raped?” The light went out of his eyes and he rubbed his chin.

  Taylor didn’t want to go into detail. “We believe that may be the case, sir, but we won’t have any answers until the laboratory results come back.”

  “How was she murdered, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Kincaid had finished crying, and Taylor could see the steel creep back into her eyes. Taylor didn’t answer immediately. The woman’s voice softened. “It’s only fair that we should know. Was she shot? Strangled?”

  “No, ma’am. There were no obvious signs to tell us how she died. The medical examiner is doing a number of tests to see what killed your daughter. We won’t know anything until the toxicology reports come back.”

  Mr. Kincaid jumped in again, cutting his wife off. “You don’t know what killed her? Then how do you know she was murdered?”

  Taylor decided honesty was the best policy. “Shelby was found at the Parthenon, sir, with no clothes on and signs that she was raped. The scene felt staged. Until the tests are back, I’m afraid that’s as much as I know at this point. You’ll be the first to hear when we find something conclusive. Can you tell us a little bit about your daughter?”

  Mr. Kincaid gave her a dirty look. “There’s nothing to know. Shelby was a good girl. She didn’t drink. She didn’t do drugs. She worked hard for her grades. She was on scholarship. What exactly are you asking?”

  In spite of his escalating tone, Taylor gave him a reassuring smile. “Sir, I meant nothing by the remark. The better I know your daughter, the quicker I can find her killer. Do you know if she was seeing anyone, had a boyfriend at school?”

  “She didn’t have time for a boyfriend,” Mr. Kincaid jumped in quickly.

  His wife looked at Taylor and said softly, “She would have told me. We are—were—very close.” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay in control. “When can we see our daughter, Lieutenant? When can we take her home?”

  Shelby’s parents weren’t going to be much help. She got the feeling that even if Shelby did have a boyfriend, Mr. Kincaid wouldn’t know about it. Though she may have confided in her mother…Taylor made a mental note to follow up with her privately.

  “I’ll have an officer take you to the Medical Examiner’s office. They won’t be able to release the b— Shelby until there is a definitive cause of death, but there are things that need to be taken care of. Marcus? Could you arrange to have Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid taken over to the ME’s office?” He nodded and left the room silently.

  Taylor pulled a card out of her wallet. “I’ll probably need to speak with you again, at a more appropriate time, of course. In the meantime, if you think of anything that may be helpful, please call me.” She started to hand the card to Mrs. Kincaid, but Mr. Kincaid reached out and grabbed it.

  “Thank you for your help, Lieutenant. We’d like to see our daughter now.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Marcus stuck his head in and nodded. “I have an officer ready who will take you out there.”

  Taylor stood and put out a hand. Mr. Kincaid looked past it, but Mrs. Kincaid reached out, barely touching her fingers to Taylor’s. They were shaking.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She followed her husband out.

  Taylor sat back at the table, cradling her head in her hands. Marcus came back in and sat across from her.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “Well, I think Mrs. Kincaid knows more than she’s saying. Maybe we should take a run at her without her husband.”

  “I agree,” Taylor said. “He shot the boyfriend issue down pretty quick. Maybe Shelby confided in her mother and left Daddy out of the loop. Let’s give them a few days. Maybe Mrs. Kincaid will get in touch with us.”

  “So what now?”

  “What now? Let’s take the subpoena on over to Vandy and see what we can dig up about Shelby.”

 
Ten

  Marcus was quiet on the drive to the campus, and Taylor let him stew in his thoughts until they reached the parking lot.

  “What’s on your mind, Marcus?” There was no answer. “Helloo, earth to Marcus.” He jumped.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Taylor. Lost in my own little world.”

  “And what’s happening in that little world?”

  “I don’t know. I’m getting a weird vibe.”

  “That narrows it down. Care to explain?”

  He sighed and looked out the window. “I don’t really know. When we talked to Shelby’s parents, they seemed rather emphatic that she was all work and no play. Seems to me a preacher’s kid away from home for the first time may have gotten herself into a little bit of trouble here or there.”

  “You’re probably right. Let’s go see if she’s really been their sweet little girl.”

  The campus was lit with the colors of fall, fallen leaves strewn across the quads. The campus seemed serene, tranquil, untouched by the tragedy. Boys played football and coeds watched them in admiration, students rode their bikes down the street, calling to one another. It was so bucolic, it almost made her nervous. Picture postcard perfect—the calm before the storm. Clearly news hadn’t spread about the murder. She didn’t know if she’d rather them panic, or be unaffected.

  They got out of the car and walked to Kirkland Hall, the college’s administration building. Sitting on a stone bench in front of the edifice was a man in his early forties. He had a thick mustache, matching light blond hair, and a shiny badge pinned to the front of his pristine tan uniform. Taylor groaned aloud. The man smiled and gave them a little wave. He didn’t get up, just sat with his legs spread wide in front of him, a small manila folder sitting quietly next to him.