by Brenda Novak
“Listen, Win, I think you’d best leave now. We’re real busy, you know?”
Win hung his head. “Yeah, I know. Just tell her…tell her I love her. Will you do that for me?”
“Yeah. When the time’s right. See ya, Win.”
Taylor didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The absurdity of the whole situation, her father marrying one of her old classmates, was so sick it was almost funny. Lincoln and Marcus were eyeing her, but she assiduously avoided their looks. She saw Fitz come back into the squad room. She knew he wasn’t going to let her fall apart, or dwell, or worry. That’s what she loved about him.
He came over to her, put an arm around her and bellowed, “So, are we gonna arrest this guy or what?”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Damn straight.”
“So, let’s do this.” He yelled into Price’s office. “Captain, where we at?”
Price slammed the phone down and came out of his office. “Okay, I just called us in some backup. Here’s how this is going to go. Taylor, I want you and Fitz to take the Hillsboro address. Take Officer Wills and Officer Miller with you. The pharmacy and the school both list it as his address, so it may be the best shot for finding him, and they’ll have your backs.
“I want Baldwin at the Granny White address with Marcus. Lincoln and I will take West End. I’ll get four officers to back the rest of us up at the Granny White and West End addresses. Keep your radios on channel twenty. I don’t want the media picking up on this before we get there and putting ghetto birds in the air. Full suit and everything, and I don’t want anyone getting hurt. You hear me?”
He was talking to all of them, but he was looking directly at Taylor. She squirmed in her chair but nodded dutifully. She was glad Baldwin hadn’t heard the remark. It seemed like Price was saying, ‘Hey guys, be really careful. You’re heading out into a dangerous situation with two cops that have gotten four people shot between them, so be sure to watch your asses.’
She felt her chest tighten but shook it off. Not now. Please not now. She knew in her heart that Price didn’t mean a thing by his comment; it was a standard warning. But the self-recriminations were building up on her. She hadn’t gone into a situation knowing she would have to draw her weapon since that awful night that she had shot and killed David, and she had to admit to herself, she was a little scared.
She got up and went into the ladies’ room. She splashed cold water on her face and toweled it off. Her chest was still tight, but she was breathing easier. She had it under control. She looked in the mirror and was surprised at what she saw. There was no little girl with scared eyes staring back at her. The woman standing in the mirror was strong and her jaw was determined. The panic was gone, her breathing was calm, and she realized that she was back. Taylor was back. And she would have Baldwin in her life, no matter what happened.
She gave herself a smile and looked at her watch. Six o’clock. It would be getting dark soon. The streets of Nashville would fill with people heading home to their other lives, students making their way to their favorite watering holes.
She walked back into the squad room, saying a small prayer under her breath. Please, God, let us find her. Let us find Jill alive and catch this guy. She stopped herself short of promising to go to church on Sunday if they did. She knew enough not to make promises she wouldn’t keep.
Baldwin came bounding back into the office with a book in his hand.
“What do you have there?” Taylor wandered over to him and stood close, happy to have him back near her.
“King James Bible.”
“Are you going to start preaching to us now?”
“Naw, it’ll wait. I’ll tell you about it in the car. Are we ready to rock?”
“Actually, I’m heading to Hillsboro and you’re headed to Granny White with Marcus. Can you call me on the cell and tell me about it while we ride over?”
“No problem.”
Taylor looked at Price, who gave them a thumbs up, then addressed the entire squad.
“Keep in touch, and I mean really keep in touch. No heroics here today, kids. If you find the Gates girl, call everyone in to that location. If she’s alive, we can go from there. You find this Gabriel Lucas, and you get him whatever way you have to. Am I clear?”
Taylor was surprised, but tried not to show it. “We have clearance to use deadly force if necessary?”
“Yes. Now, let’s go. Lincoln, you ready?”
“Sure thing.” He gathered up his vest. “LT? Be good, girl!” He gave her a brief hug. There were back slaps and high fives. They all knew the case was going down tonight.
The excitement was building in her chest. She was getting pumped, ready to roll, ready to save Jill Gates. She just hoped Jill was at one of the three addresses.
“Okay guys, let’s go catch us a bad guy.”
They made their way into the parking lots. Patrol cars paraded like ants along Third Avenue. Taylor got in her car and rolled down the window as Fitz climbed into the passenger seat.
Baldwin leaned in her window for a brief moment. He looked her straight in the eyes. “Just so we’re clear? No worries, okay. I’m up for this.”
Taylor felt her body melt. “Baldwin, I wouldn’t let you go out if I didn’t think you were. Now get in that car with Marcus, watch his back, and call me on the cell. I want to hear your theory.”
She leaned out the window, kissed him full on the mouth, and heard cheers and honks from the cars around her. She just smiled, put the car in gear, shot them the bird out her window and peeled out of the lot. Man, it felt good to be back.
Sixty-Nine
Taylor was trying not to kill any of Nashville’s finest citizens as she drove toward Green Hills. She concentrated on the road, had her cell phone on speaker, listening to Baldwin explain why he’d rushed off in search of a Bible.
“It was something that jerk-off Royce at Vanderbilt said. Lucas told him he’d had a revelation. It got me thinking about the prayer breakfast Lucas had gone to, the one where Father Xavier spoke? I called over there and asked what the topic was. Get this. It was basically a modern day interpretation of the Apocalypse. All of the problems the world is having. The war on terror, the religious fanaticism driving suicide bombers…he was sermonizing that if we all came back into the church it would all end.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. I know it sounds naive, but I’ve never been able to understand why we all can’t just get along.” She smiled at him through the darkness. “Really, I don’t get it. All religions have a God. Buddha, Krishna, Mohammad, Christ. Everyone is praying to something they think has control or worships a word that represents what they believe in. Can’t they see that everyone, regardless of what religion they call themselves, is looking for that spiritual meaning? Does it really have to be so complicated? We all want to think that something is out there giving us strength and guidance. Who cares what you call Him? Sorry, I don’t mean to get on my soapbox. It’s only all the things I see, everyday, could be wiped out entirely if we’d only accept people’s differences, instead of attacking them for it.”
“No problem, preach away. I’d love to discuss it further, because you make an excellent point. But let’s get back to the Apocalypse.”
“Yes, let’s. So the world is going to end in a fiery crash, huh?”
“Perhaps. This sounds crazy, this is what I think Lucas is up to. Shelby Kincaid. Jordan Blake. Mary Margaret de Rossi. Father Francis Xavier. Tammy Boxer, known as Mona Lisa. These are our victims, right?”
“Right. Don’t forget Jill.”
“I’m not, I just don’t think she’s dead. I think she’s holding the key to all of this.”
Taylor turned onto Hillsboro Road. “You better hurry it up, I’m going to be at the address in less than ten minutes.”
“Okay, let me back up. The Dean at Vandy said Lucas kept telling him that he’d had a ‘revelation.’”
“I’m not following you, Baldwin.”
“The
Book of Revelation. It’s about the Apocalypse. Look at the aconite. All the victims were given aconite. We agreed that they were being sacrificed, right? He was giving them the aconite to purify them, to allow them passage into the next world in preparation for his apocalypse. Follow?”
Fitz’s cell phone rang, and she asked Baldwin to hold on a minute while he answered so she could hear the news. “Fitz here. Hey, Sam. Really? Okay, I’ll tell her. Yeah, we will.” He hung up the phone and picked up the police radio.
“What did she say?”
“That the DNA isn’t back, but they’ve matched the blood type from Lucas’ tissue sample to the semen from Shelby. It’s gotta be him, Taylor, it’s gotta be Lucas.”
As she relayed the information to Baldwin, Fitz called in on the radio. He squelched the button. “Gentlemen? We have a positive ID, repeat, positive match.”
Voices filtered back through the static, excited 10-4’s raiding the airways.
Taylor went back to her cell phone. “Okay, Baldwin, we’re still about five minutes out. I follow you so far. Finish your explanation.”
“Okay. The pregnancies are the key. He’s been date raping Shelby, tying to get her pregnant against her will. She threatens to go to the police. He doesn’t want to kill her, but he can’t be found out, so he gives her aconite and a symbolic burial, one full of love. He thought Jordan was pregnant with his child, but she tells him it’s not his and he kills her in a fit of rage. Jill is pregnant and he’s probably just trying to get her somewhere safe so nothing will happen to this child. He wants this baby, Taylor.”
“So where do Mary Margaret and Mona Lisa figure into this? And why kill the priest?”
“The Seven Seals. The Apocalypse. The end of time. When a Messiah will come again and lead those worthy to the kingdom of heaven? The killings are representative of the seals. He’s creating his own version of the Apocalypse. Maybe he got the idea from the lecture Father Xavier gave at the community breakfast. Maybe it had been brewing in his head all along.”
She could hear paper rustling in the background.
“I realize this isn’t perfect, and as far as I can tell he didn’t go through all of the seven seals, but this makes sense to me. If he’s trying to create a messiah, doesn’t there have to be an end of the world?”
Taylor gave him an exasperated laugh. “Baldwin, it’s been a long time since I went to Bible study.”
“Me too, so this may be all wrong. But here goes. Shelby Kincaid was killed at the Parthenon, the figurative lap of Rome. She represents the whore of Babylon, the fall of the seven hills. She is poisoned and purified, ready for the Lamb of God. Jordan Blake was stabbed and thrown in the Cumberland, the blood from her stab wounds turning the rivers to blood. Mona Lisa was poisoned and thrown into Old Hickory Lake. She has AIDS, she poisons the water and the seas die. Mary Margaret de Rossi gave her life over to the church and was purified by fire; she becomes The Last Martyr. Father Francis Xavier was representative of Heaven—by killing him, he silences Heaven.”
Taylor was silent. This was a quite a theory. Baldwin continued his explanation.
“The tornado was just an added bonus. I would say it represents the winds being unleashed from the four corners of the earth. He certainly didn’t have any control over it, but it fits nicely, don’t you think? It would affirm his path, a true sign from God.”
“I think you’re out of your ever-loving mind, is what I think. I know this guy is a nut, but why in the world would he go to such lengths to create an apocalypse?”
“Because he thinks he is creating our messiah. He needs the Apocalypse to fulfill the ancient prophecies. He needs the Apocalypse to legitimize his son. He believes his unborn child is the Messiah.”
Taylor started slowing the car. They were getting close to the address, and in the heavy dusk it would be easy to shoot right by the driveway. Most were discretely hidden in this part of town.
“So by creating life, and putting the proper sacrifices in order, he thinks he’s created all the steps of the Apocalypse and his son will be the Messiah. He is one seriously screwed up dude.”
“Yes, he is. And apocalypse or not, right now, let’s worry about saving Jill Gates’s life. I hope to God she’s still alive. Marcus and I just pulled up to Granny White.”
“Roger that. Fitz and I are almost at the Hillsboro address. Be careful, okay?”
“Right. You be careful too. Bye.”
Price’s disembodied voice crackled from the radio. “We’re at site three, and we have renters on the property. Repeat, this is a rental, and the checks go to site two. This site is clear. Copy?”
Fitz spoke into the radio. “Fourteen copies. Eighteen, what’s your twenty?”
Marcus logged in to the conversation. “Eighteen at site two. We’re about to go into the house now. We’ll be radio silent for a few minutes while we check this place out.”
“Copy that, eighteen. Fourteen out.” Fitz put the mike back on the hook. “Okay, sunshine, you ready to rock this?”
Taylor looked over at Fitz and gave him a smile. “Absolutely.”
Seventy
Marcus and Baldwin walked carefully around the perimeter of the small Cape Cod on Granny White Pike. A real estate agent would call it charming; a buyer in their right mind would see a fixer upper. Even in the faltering light, they could see the white paint needed refreshing. Ants foraged in the windowsills. Several unkempt azalea shrubs grew wild around the base of the house; while they would be spectacular when they bloomed in the spring, now they just looked sick and straggly. There were no lights on inside.
Baldwin went carefully up the stairs and onto the front porch. The boards creaked and he froze, signaling to Marcus to take the route leading to the back door. He waited until the younger man disappeared around the corner, then stepped as softly as possible to the front door. He took up a sheltered position to the right, where he could stand out of the line of sight, keep his weapon drawn and still open the door freely. He reached for the doorknob and carefully started to turn it. It moved easily, and he stopped. The front door was unlocked.
Marcus appeared silently at the edge of the porch. Baldwin pointed to the doorknob and nodded. Marcus made his way carefully to Baldwin, then whispered to him.
“The back door is boarded up from the outside. Looks like it’s been that way for a while. I don’t think anyone is here.”
“Okay,” Baldwin whispered back. “The front door is open. Let’s do it.”
Marcus nodded and drew his weapon. Baldwin counted off one, two, three on his fingers, then turned the knob and flung the door open. He and Marcus burst into the open foyer. A stunning antique roll top desk greeted them, and an oriental runner led down a close hallway.
Baldwin took the lead and walked silently down the hall. It ended into a large kitchen, white cabinets and counters gleaming in the dark. A combination eat-in kitchen and great room was on their left. They could see the room was empty. Another dark hallway led off the kitchen to the right. Two doors were visible, closed. Another was open. Bedrooms.
Baldwin motioned to Marcus. They moved into the hallway, listening for any noise. They reached the open door. Baldwin stuck his head in and saw a neat bathroom. He pulled back into the hallway as Marcus opened the next door. The room was empty; a shell nightlight plugged into the wall illuminated a bed made up with a hand-sewn quilt. It struck Baldwin that this house didn’t look like it belonged to a young college professor; it was the sort of home you’d expect from a retired grandmother.
Baldwin reached the next door and silently turned the knob. The door swung open, and the coppery scent of old blood assailed his nose. This room was a duplicate of the first, but the nightlight spun dark shadows on the bed and walls. It smelled of death.
Marcus whispered a quick, “We’re clear.” Baldwin nodded, holstered his weapon and turned on the light with the back of his hand. The bedspread was black with blood, the wall to the right of the bed sprayed with an arc of dark red. C
ast off. The knife had swung away from its target, blood flying off of it, creating a Pollock-esque pattern on the wall. An expert would be able to tell them every tiny detail of how the blood got there, every strike into flesh. Baldwin immediately thought of the autopsy photos of Jordan Blake. The gaping stab wounds in her young body must have been the ultimate cause of the stains.
He turned to Marcus and shook his head. They’d definitely found the killing house. He made his way back to the kitchen, snapping on extra lights as he went. When the room was fully illuminated, he started opening cabinets and drawers. In addition to the usual kitchen accouterments, he found a large, white-and-green bottle with a stopper top. The label read Aconite, and had directions for use. It looked like it came from a store, like any other vitamin or supplements. Baldwin remembered Lincoln mentioning that aconite could be bought over the Internet from many different sources. How convenient.
He opened it and took a whiff of the contents. He couldn’t smell anything. Marcus came into the kitchen, looking pale. Baldwin showed him the bottle. “Bastard bought it from somewhere. Man, that’s spooky. The Internet isn’t helping our jobs, is it?”
Baldwin gave him a sad smile. “No, it’s not. Time to call this in.”
Leaving all the lights burning, they retreated carefully, out the hallway to the front door, down the creaking porch steps to their car. Their backup was pulling up in their squad car. Marcus waved to them, then slid in the drivers seat and keyed the microphone.
“This is eighteen at site two. Evidence galore. Bottle of something that starts with an A.”
They were being as cryptic as possible in case one of the media radios had accidentally been tuned to their frequency.