by Brenda Novak
Half an hour later, she was combing the autopsy reports when Price opened his door and said, “Taylor, could you come here for a minute?”
Taylor grabbed her piles of information, assuming he wanted to see where she stood, though she didn’t have anything new. She realized she hadn’t noticed that good-looking guy leave, and sort of laughed at herself. Oh, well. There were plenty of good-looking men out there.
She was surprised to see the man sitting in front of the Captain’s desk, went on guard immediately. What the hell was this? Was he a lawyer? A new Internal Affairs transfer?
The man didn’t make a move to greet her. He was staring at the floor with his shoulders slumped. His salt-and-pepper hair was standing on end, as if he had been running a comb soaked in egg whites through it to stiffen it into a modified mohawk. He reached up with his right hand and scrubbed his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. That explains that, she thought.
“Price?” She turned to her boss, the question lying heavily between them.
“Dr. John Baldwin, meet Lieutenant Taylor Jackson.” He nodded toward the man, who gave her a brief, surprised glance and a grim smile. Taylor caught a glimpse of green eyes surrounded by impressively deep set smudges, as if he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. John Baldwin. No offense, but who exactly are you?”
A deep baritone startled her. “A washed up drunk who has no business being here.” He stood, nodding at them both. “Thank you, Captain. I do appreciate the offer, but I think your case is in capable hands.” He inclined slightly at the waist, and Taylor was taken aback yet again. Baldwin was at least six feet four, but so thin his clothes drooped from his shoulders as if on broken hangers. She’d seen vestiges of what would have been a very good-looking man with a little TLC when he walked through the door. Up close, he looked like he’d been on a weeklong bender. She made his age as late forties.
“Whoa, Baldwin, sit back down.” Price had come around from behind his desk and was ushering the man back into his seat. Baldwin didn’t resist, but sat heavily, expelling a long sigh. He resumed his mournful glare at the linoleum.
“Taylor, Baldwin is with the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit. He…”
“Was,” said the skeleton in the chair. “Was with the BSU. Get the details straight, Captain.”
Price took a long look at Baldwin, then continued. “Dr. Baldwin worked with the BSU for many years, and has taken a leave of absence to pursue a few personal matters. I would like to see him act as a journeyman to your case, Taylor, in a consulting role. He has…”
“Had,” came the flat voice.
“Has immeasurable experience in sexual murders. I believe he can be of help.”
Taylor was swinging her head between the two men, confused. This Dr. Baldwin certainly didn’t want to be here. What was Price up to, assigning her a babysitting job from some politico from the FBI? She opened her mouth to protest, but the Captain interrupted.
“Dr. Baldwin, would you mind stepping out for a moment? I’d like to speak to Lieutenant Jackson privately. And don’t leave. Please.”
Baldwin sighed noisily. “I need caffeine. Soda machine in the hall? I’ll help myself.” Without waiting for an answer, he saw himself out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind him. He was quite sure Captain Price was going to fill Taylor in on all his dirty little secrets. Good. The details should seal the deal. She wouldn’t want him on the case, and he could go back to his dank chair in the darkened living room and get on with, well, whatever.
He didn’t know why he’d even bothered. Price’s eyes weren’t exactly accusing, more appraising, almost compassionate, but he felt them bore into him. That’s how they would all be. Humoring him, but watching closely to see he didn’t botch anything. Screw it, he thought. He’d rather have the judgment.
But his feet didn’t follow his brain. He didn’t leave. He got his soda, and for reasons he would never be able to understand, he went back into the squad room, sat at the nearest desk, and waited for Judgment Day.
Twenty-Three
Taylor sat in the newly vacant chair, fidgeting with her hair. “Price, what the hell was that?”
“That, my dear, was one of the most talented profilers the FBI has ever seen. The man’s a legend, or was. Double doctorates in Psychology and Criminology, a law degree, the best close rate in the business. There are rumors that he’s psychic, if you like to believe that crap. But our good doctor has fallen on some hard times.”
“That’s an understatement. He looks like he’s been out trolling Dickerson Road.”
Price raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Yeah, well, as far as I know, he has been.”
“Then what in the world is he doing here? He doesn’t look like he could read a full file without landing face first in it.”
“He had a bad experience a few months ago. Pulled himself out of the field, then out of the Bureau altogether. He’s been hermiting down here in Nashville for months. His boss was giving him some space, but thinks it’s time for him get his feet wet again.”
Taylor was already shaking her head. “Not on my case. I don’t need some middle-aged drunkard trailing around with us, getting in the way or stopping off for a drink while we do the work.”
Price steepled his hands in front of him, elbows on the desk. “I understand your reservations, I do. But this is a special favor for an old friend. Baldwin’s a good cop, and despite his current appearance, I can assure you he won’t be a hindrance.”
“You can assure me, huh? I’m not sure this is such a great idea, boss. Why doesn’t he just go on back to Quantico and bury himself there?”
“He won’t. They’ve been begging him for a while. He’s done nothing but shut them out. Garrett Woods—my friend, his boss—thinks it’s imperative he gets back on the horse, and he thinks doing it here as a consultant would be the best way to get him out of his funk.”
“Funk? I’d be more inclined to label it clinical depression.”
“You may be right. Working can only do him good. We’re throwing him a lifeline here, Taylor. Don’t think he doesn’t know it. He may be a wreck, but he still has a bit of pride left. Give him the files and let him look them over. Encourage his ideas. I don’t want you babysitting. We can throw him the life preserver, but if he won’t hold on, it’s not our fault. Got it?”
She huffed out a sigh in silent protest. “Got it.” She grew quiet for a moment. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the Martin case, does it? Oversight until the rest of them are on trial?”
Price looked at her in surprise. “No. Why would you think that?”
“I just didn’t want there to be any confusion. In the squad, I mean.”
Price gave her a gentle smile. “I understand. No, we can’t have it look like you’re being undermined in any way. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure everyone knows that this is a deal for me. No one will think he’s being brought on to watch your back.”
She waved the comments away, embarrassed to have even brought it up. One day, she’d stop thinking everyone, even those who’d been her biggest supporters, like Price, was holding the shooting against her.
“I was just asking. Forget I mentioned it.”
“Taylor, I know things aren’t easy for you right now. Just be secure in the knowledge you did the right thing. I wouldn’t have you on my team if I didn’t think you had.”
Taylor blushed. It was amazing how Price could read her mind.
“Back to Baldwin—what is the problem that’s driven him into this state?” she asked.
Price looked around the tiny office, trying to make a decision. Finally, he said, “Look, Taylor, I think that’s going to be his story to tell you. He may or he may not, so I wouldn’t push it.”
“What about the boys? What am I supposed to tell them about this?”
“That we are honored to have one of the FBI’s best on our side.”
“Oh, come on, Price. You really want me to pretend i
n front of them? They’ll pick it up quick enough that the guy’s on the edge; they’re cops, they’ve seen it before.”
“Yeah, well, give them some credit. They’ve got softer hearts than you.”
She forced out a smile. “Gee, thanks. Nicest compliment I’ll get all week. Cold, heartless bitch, that’s me.”
“I can’t imagine anything further from the truth.”
“All right, I’ll give this a shot. But I’m not promising anything.”
“Good girl. I appreciate it.”
“Sexist.” She grinned at her boss, then left the office, wondering what had driven John Baldwin to her doorstep.
And what, exactly, he had been told about her.
Twenty-Four
Retrieving a Diet Coke, she came back into the squad room to find the man in question sitting on the edge of her desk, his own soda in hand, looking slightly more awake than fifteen minutes prior. The rest of the detectives were giving him a wide berth, neither threatening nor welcoming. They looked at her with ill-concealed curiosity on their faces.
“Okay, pals, Fingerprints-R-Us is on the case.” Her attempt at levity made Baldwin cringe, but she ignored it. He’d have to get used to it; they rolled hard on her team.
“This is Dr. John Baldwin, late of the BSU in grand ole’ Quantico. He’ll be joining us as a consultant to work the murders of Shelby Kincaid and Jordan Blake. Let’s make him some room, get him briefed, and let him look over the files. Cool with you, Doctor?”
He shot her a look she couldn’t quite define, but didn’t take it as kindly. He took a deep breath and half smiled. “Please, everyone calls me Baldwin.”
“Baldwin, then. Let’s get you acquainted with the rest of the team. Lincoln Ross, our resident computer geek. AFIS, ViCAP, CODIS, any database you want, he’s your man.” Lincoln nodded graciously.
“Pete Fitzgerald, forensics. He only answers to Fitz, isn’t that right?”
“You got it. Welcome aboard.” He stuck out a hand, smiled genially, but Taylor could see him coolly appraising their newest member.
“Marcus Wade, our rookie. He’s only been with the team for a few months, he’s still getting his feet wet.”
Marcus smiled hugely. He was a good-looking kid, innocence and sensuality rolled into one. He could probably get information out of people no one else could. Charm and good looks could be disarming.
“I’m wet behind the ears, too. It’s nice to meet you.”
Baldwin felt odd being the center of attention. It had been a long time since so many people were staring at him as if he held the Rosetta stone in his hands. “It’s good to meet you all. I promise not to be in the way.”
Marcus suddenly lit up like a streetlamp at dusk. “Wait a sec. Are you the Dr. John Baldwin? The atypical sexual sadism guru? You worked the case in Virginia last year, the child killer who kidnapped and murdered six little girls, right?”
Taylor noticed Baldwin’s briefly pained look. Her curiosity piqued; whatever happened to drive him away from Quantico must have been pretty bad. The profilers up there were tough as nails, they saw horrors she could only imagine. What had happened to this man? Was it something to do with the case Marcus had mentioned?
Baldwin tried a smile. “Yeah, I did. Pretty brutal stuff. It’s good to meet you.”
“Maybe we could talk about the case over lunch. I’ll buy.”
Taylor took pity on Baldwin. Marcus may have hated dead bodies, but he was fascinated with sexually motivated killings. Given half the chance, he would forget everything he needed to do and sequester Baldwin in an interview room to talk shop the rest of the day. She jumped in before Marcus could secure his date and start his interrogation.
“One thing at a time, puppy. Let’s give Dr. Baldwin a little space to get started. Baldwin, tell me what you’ll need to do your initial assessment.”
Baldwin squared his shoulders. He didn’t want to be here. Lieutenant Jackson was humoring him, but he had a headache, and he really wanted a beer. Meeting her oddly-colored eyes, somewhere deep inside a spark of pride stirred. It may goeth before his fall, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her, or the rest of her team.
“I’d like to start with the crime scene photos and the files you’ve compiled on each girl. I need the autopsy reports, and I’d like to speak to your ME a little later on. I assume you’ve run the databases. I’d like the results of those as well. If I could, I’d like a quiet place where I can look over the files.”
Taylor looked surprised but quickly covered it with a cough. If he was going to make an effort, she could try as well.
Taylor gave the necessary directions. Baldwin was escorted to the conference room across the hall from the squad room. Taylor started to follow him in, and he stopped her.
“I know you have questions about me, but I promise you, I’m going to stick close to home, read these over, give you an opinion, and be out of your hair. That should satisfy everyone involved, don’t you think?”
Taylor saw nothing but pain in his green eyes, and something told her to keep trying. “How about this, Dr. Baldwin? You go over those files. See if you come up with anything interesting. Then we’ll talk about your imminent dismissal. Okay?” She turned and shut the door behind her before he had a chance to respond.
“Great,” he said to the blue wall. “Just fucking great. Fine, I’ll look. I’ll give them some suggestions, they can go track them down, and I’m out of here.” He sat angrily at the table. He realized it was the first emotion he’d felt in months, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.
Twenty-Five
Baldwin ran his fingers through his hair, making the too long strands spike like porcupine quills. He’d read the files on the dead girls twice, and didn’t remember a word. He stood and wandered around the conference room, looking idly for something to play with. He found only a handful of paperclips and a tape dispenser. They’d cleaned out the cell of the condemned. Back at the table, he half smiled to the wall, picked up a clip and started prying the wire apart. When he finished, he picked up another, then another, until a ramshackle chain link fence formed itself on the table in front of him.
Who was he trying to kid? He didn’t have any business being here. Garrett and Price knew that, and they were pushing him to come back to the land of the living, something he wasn’t sure if he was willing to do. Yet here he was, files spread before him, two beautiful girls dead, and he had only the simplest curiosity about how they’d gotten there. In his old life, he would have already taken each word of each file apart, would have a sense of whom they were dealing with. He’d be formulating plans on how to stop him from striking again. Now, well…
He struck the table with his fist, scattering the barricade of paper clips all over the table. He impatiently brushed them aside, watching them scatter in random patterns on the floor. He stared, trying to find some clue in the metal blueprint, but saw nothing. An appropriate reaction for one whose mind was a jumbled blank.
He was out of practice.
With a sigh, he pulled the file of Jordan Blake toward him, and started again.
The door to the conference room opened, light spilling in from the hall. It was the woman, Jackson, the light haloing around her head. She looked like an avenging angel.
“Mr., ah, Dr. Baldwin? Fitz and I are getting something to eat. Would you like to join us? Samantha Owens, our ME, may come with the results of the tox screens on our two murdered girls. You said you’d like to meet her.”
Baldwin glanced out the window, surprised to realize it was dark out. He’d been cloistered in this room all day with no break. Checking his watch, he saw it was past seven. In response, his stomach growled. He looked at Taylor sheepishly.
“Sorry, time got away from me. Are you sure it’s cool if I join you?”
Taylor smiled. “Everyone has to eat. Besides, you look like you could use a square meal. We’re going to Mulligan’s Pub down on Second. Come on. A walk will do you good.”
Baldwin considered for a moment. Why not? He had nothing better to do, and no place better to be.
“All right. If you’re sure.” He followed her out the door, then stopped and went back into his new office, grabbing the files and shoving them in his tattered leather backpack, shaking his head as he did. The case had its claws in him, and he didn’t want to let it go so quickly. Nor did he want to leave his notes behind.
Taylor watched him closely. He was disheveled, his hair standing on end, unshaven, clothes wrinkled. He almost looked dangerous, and much more engaged than he had earlier. She was surprised to feel a moment of longing in her stomach. There was something about him that intrigued her. She’d spent all afternoon wondering what he was up to.
Stop that, she snapped to her mind. You have enough problems of your own without taking on his, too.
Twenty-Six
A traditional Irish green and gold sign framed the wooden doorway over Mulligan’s Pub, holding the promise of the real deal. Quartered windowpanes gave an inviting, homey look. Upon entering the warm, smoky foyer, there was dining to the left and a cozy bar situated straight ahead. A moth-eaten Ibex, stuffed and smiling benevolently, presided over the deep walnut bar with a benign billy goat grin.
Celtic music played quietly. The weekends featured excellent live Irish music, boasted a loyal clientele braying drunkenly for their favorites and always finding succor in the generosity of the band. A plaque on the bar wall claimed the pub’s distinction as the first bar in the state of Tennessee to pour a pint of Guinness draught.
Taylor and Baldwin arrived first. After putting their name in for a table, they hit the bar for a beer. Taylor wondered for a moment if it was smart to let him drink, then decided she wasn’t his mother. She didn’t know how approach the situation, anyway. They’d walked to the restaurant in silence. She was at an unaccustomed loss for words, and the uneasy silence had enveloped them in a fog. They ordered, then she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room to regroup.