Mother and daughter shared a fruit cup in the cafeteria. They talked about the wedding of one of Nicole's cousins, which was coming up in June, and the necessity of Nicole to "look like a lady." It was an ongoing battle between the two, due to Nicole's penchant for a Goth appearance.
Nicole kissed her mother, then left the hospital at approximately four o'clock, via the Girard Avenue exit.
At that point, Nicole Theresa Taylor simply vanished.
The next time anyone saw her, as far as the investigation could determine, was when the security guard at Bartram Gardens found her in the field of daffodils nearly four days later. Canvassing the area near the hospital was ongoing.
"Did her mother report her missing?" Jessica asked.
Chavez flipped through his notes. "The call came in at one twenty on Friday morning."
"No one saw her after she walked out of the hospital?"
"No one," Chavez said. "But there are surveillance cameras on the entrances and parking lot. The tapes are on the way here."
"Boyfriends?" Shepherd asked.
"According to Sharon Taylor, her daughter had no current boyfriend," Chavez said.
"What about her father?"
"Mr. Donald P. Taylor is a long-haul trucker, currently somewhere between Taos and Santa Fe.
"As soon as we're done here, we're going to visit the school and see if we can get a list of her circle of friends," Chavez added.
There were no more immediate questions. Byrne walked forward.
"Most of you know Charlotte Summers," Byrne said. "To those of you who don't, Dr. Summers is a professor of criminal psychology at the University of Pennsylvania. From time to time she consults with the department in the area of profiling."
Jessica knew Charlotte Summers by reputation only. Her most celebrated case had been the dead-on profiling of Floyd Lee Castle, a psychopath who had preyed upon prostitutes in and around Camden during the summer of 2001.
The fact that Charlotte Summers was already front and center told Jessica that this investigation had greatly broadened in the past few hours, and it might only be a matter of time until the FBI was called in to either assist with manpower or provide assistance in the forensic investigation. Everyone in the room wanted to get a solid lead before the suits showed up and took credit for everything.
Charlotte Summers stood and walked to the white board. In her late forties, she was elfin and slender, with pale blue eyes, a bobbed haircut. She wore a tasteful chalk-stripe suit, lavender silk blouse. "I know the temptation here is to assume that whoever we are looking for is a religious zealot of some sort," Summers said. "There is no reason to think he isn't. With one caveat. The inclination to think of zealots as impulsive or reckless is incorrect. This is a highly organized killer.
"Here's what we know: He is taking his victims right off the street, holding them for a while, then taking them to a place where he kills them. These are high-risk abductions. Broad daylight, public places. There is no evidence of ligature bruising on their wrists or ankles.
"Wherever he takes them initially, he is not restraining or shackling them. Both victims were given a dose of midazolam, as well as the paralytic that facilitated the vaginal sewing. The sewing is being done premortem, so it's clear that he wants them to be aware of what is happening to them. And to feel it."
"What's the significance of the hands?" Nick Palladino asked.
"Perhaps he is posing them to match some religious iconography. Some painting or sculpture on which he is fixated. The bolt might indicate an obsession with the stigmata, or the crucifixion itself. Whatever the significance, these specific acts have meaning. Usually, if you want someone dead, you walk up to them and strangle them or shoot them. The fact that our subject takes the time to do these things is, in and of itself, noteworthy."
Byrne threw a glance at Jessica, which she read loud and clear. He wanted her to look into the religious symbol angle. She made a note.
"If he isn't sexually assaulting the victims, what's his point?" Chavez asked. "I mean, with all this rage, why no rape? Is this about revenge?"
"We could be looking at some manifestation of grief or loss," Summers said. "But this is clearly about control. He wants to control them physically, sexually, emotionally, three areas where girls of this age are most confused. Perhaps he lost a girlfriend to a sex crime at this age. Perhaps a daughter or sister. The fact that he is sewing their vaginas might mean he believes he is returning these young women to some twisted sort of virginal state, a state of innocence."
"What would make him stop?" Tony Park asked. "There are a lot of Catholic girls in this town."
"I don't see any escalation of violence," Summers said. "In fact, his method of murder is fairly humane, all things considered. They are not lingering in death. He is not trying to take away femininity from these girls. Just the opposite. He is trying to secure it, preserve it for eternity, if you will.
"His hunting ground seems to be this part of North Philly," she said, indicating a highlighted twenty-block area. "Our unknown subject is probably white, between twenty and forty, physically strong, but probably not fanatical about it. Not a bodybuilder type. He was most likely raised a Catholic, of above-average intelligence, mostly likely with an undergraduate degree at the very least, probably more. He drives a van or a station wagon, perhaps an SUV of some sort. This would make it easier to get the girls in and out of his vehicle."
"What do we get from the location of the crime scenes?" Jessica asked.
"At this point, I have no idea, I'm afraid," Summers said. "The Eighth Street house and Bartram Gardens are about as disparate a pair of sites as one could imagine."
"Then you believe they are random?" Jessica asked.
"I don't believe they are. In both instances, it appears the victim is carefully posed. I don't believe our unknown subject does anything in a haphazard manner. Tessa Wells was chained to that column for a reason. Nicole Taylor was not randomly dumped in that field. These locations are definitely significant.
"At first there may have been the temptation to think that Tessa Wells was put in that row house on Eighth Street to hide her body, but I don't believe this to be the case. Nicole Taylor was carefully placed in the open a few days earlier. There was no attempt to hide the body. This guy is operating in daylight. He wants us to find his victims. He is arrogant and he wants us to think he's smarter than we are. The fact that he placed objects between their hands furthers this theory. He is clearly challenging us to understand what he's doing.
"As far as we can tell at this time, these girls did not know each other. They moved in different social circles. Tessa Wells liked classical music; Nicole Taylor was into the Goth rock scene. They attended different schools, had different interests."
Jessica looked at the photos of the two girls, side by side, on the board. She recalled how cliquish things were when she went to Nazarene. The cheerleader types would have nothing to do with the rock and rollers, and vice versa. There were the nerds who spent their free time hovering over the few computers in the library, the fashion queens who were always buried in the current issue of Vogue or Marie Clare or Elle. Then there was her crowd, the South Philly contingent.
On the surface, what connected Tessa Wells and Nicole Taylor was that they were Catholic and they went to Catholic schools.
"I want every corner of these girls' lives turned inside out," Byrne said. "Who they hung around with, where they went on weekends, their boyfriends, relatives, acquaintances, what clubs they belonged to, what movies they've gone to, what churches they belong to. Somebody knows something. Somebody saw something."
"Can we keep the mutilation and the found items from the press?" Tony Park asked.
"Maybe for twenty-four hours," Byrne said. "After that, I doubt it."
Chavez spoke up. "I spoke to the school psychiatrist who handles the counseling at Regina. He works out of the offices at the Nazarene Academy in the Northeast. Nazarene is the administrative office for five di
ocesan schools, including Regina. The diocese employs one psychiatrist for all five schools, who rotates on a weekly basis. He might be able to help."
At this, Jessica felt her stomach fall. There was a connection between Regina and Nazarene, and she now knew what that connection was.
"They only have one psychiatrist for that many kids?" Tony Park asked.
"They have half a dozen counselors," Chavez said. "But only one psychiatrist for the five schools."
"Who is that?"
While Eric Chavez looked through his notes, Byrne found Jessica's eyes. By the time Chavez located the name, Byrne was already out of the room and on the phone.
23
TUESDAY, 2:00 PM
"I really appreciate you coming in," Byrne said to Brian Parkhurst. They were standing in the middle of the wide, semicircular room that housed the Homicide Unit.
"Anything I can do to help." Parkhurst was dressed in a black-and-gray nylon jogging outfit and what looked like brand-new Reeboks. If he was at all nervous about being called in to talk to the police on this matter, it didn't show. Then again, Jessica thought, he was a psychiatrist. If he could read anxiety, he could write composure. "Needless to say, we're all devastated at Nazarene."
"Are the students taking it hard?"
"I'm afraid so."
The human traffic picked up around the two men. It was an old trick-make the witness look for somewhere to sit down. The door to Interview Room A was wide open; all chairs in the common room were occupied. On purpose.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Byrne's voice was dripping with concern and sincerity. He was good, too. "Why don't we sit in here?"
Brian Parkhurst sat in the upholstered chair across from Byrne in Interview Room A, the small, scruffy room where suspects and witnesses were questioned, made statements, provided information. Jessica observed through the two-way mirror. The door to the interview room remained open.
"Once again," Byrne began, "we appreciate you taking the time."
There were two chairs in the room. One was an upholstered desk chair; the other was a battered metal folding chair. Suspects never got the good chair. Witnesses did. Until they became suspects, that is.
"Not a problem," Parkhurst said.
The murder of Nicole Taylor had led the noon news, with live break- ins on all the local TV stations. Camera crews were at Bartram Gardens. Kevin Byrne had not asked Dr. Parkhurst if he had heard the news.
"Are you any closer to finding the person who killed Tessa?" Parkhurst asked in a practiced, conversational manner. It was the sort of tone he might use to start a therapy session with a new patient.
"We have a few leads," Byrne said. "It's still early in the investigation."
"Great," Parkhurst said. The word sounded cold and somewhat strident, given the nature of the crime.
Byrne let the word circle the room a few times, then float to the floor. He sat down opposite Parkhurst, dropped a file folder on the battered metal table. "I promise not to keep you too long," he said.
"I have all the time you need."
Byrne picked up the folder, crossed his legs. He opened the folder, carefully shielding the contents from Parkhurst. Jessica could see it was a 229, a basic biographical report. Nothing threatening to Brian Parkhurst, but he didn't have to know that. "Tell me a little more about your work at Nazarene."
"Well, it's mostly consultation in the areas of learning and behavior," Parkhurst said.
"You counsel students on their behavior?"
"Yes."
"How so?"
"All children and adolescents face problems from time to time, Detective. They have fears about starting at a new school, they feel depressed, they quite often lack self-discipline or self-esteem, they lack social skills. As a result, they often experiment with drugs or alcohol, or think about suicide. I let my girls know that my door is always open to them."
My girls, Jessica thought.
"Do the students you counsel find it easy to open up to you?"
"I like to think so," Parkhurst said.
Byrne nodded. "What else can you tell me?"
Parkhurst continued. "Part of what we do is attempt to isolate potential learning difficulties in students, as well as design programs for those who may be at risk of failure. Things like that."
"Are there a lot of students who fall into that category at Nazarene?" Byrne asked.
"Which category?"
"Students who are at a risk for failure."
"No more than any other parochial high school, I would imagine," Parkhurst said. "Probably fewer."
"Why is that?"
"There is a legacy of high academic achievement at Nazarene," he said.
Byrne scribbled a few notes. Jessica saw Parkhurst's eyes roam the notepad.
Parkhurst added: "We also try to provide parents and teachers with the skills to cope with disruptive behavior, encourage tolerance, understanding, appreciation of diversity."
This was strictly brochure copy, Jessica thought. Byrne knew it. Parkhurst knew it. Byrne shifted gears, making no attempt to mask it. "Are you a Catholic, Dr. Parkhurst?"
"Of course."
"If you don't mind me asking, why do you work for the archdiocese?"
Excuse me?
"I would imagine you could make a lot more money in private practice."
Jessica knew that to be true. She had made a call to an old schoolmate who worked in personnel at the archdiocese. She knew exactly what Brian Parkhurst made. He earned $71,400 per year.
"The church is a very important part of my life, Detective. I owe it a great deal."
"By the way, what's your favorite William Blake painting?"
Parkhurst leaned back, as if trying to focus on Byrne more clearly. "My favorite William Blake painting?" "Yeah," Byrne said. "Me, I like Dante and Virgil at the Gates of Hell." "I, well, I can't say I know very much about Blake." "Tell me about Tessa Wells."
It was a gut shot. Jessica watched Parkhurst closely. He was smooth. Not a tic.
"What would you like to know?"
"Did she ever mention someone who might have been bothering her? Someone she might have been afraid of?"
Parkhurst seemed to think about this for a moment. Jessica wasn't buying. Neither was Byrne. "Not that I can recall," Parkhurst said. "Did she seem particularly troubled of late?"
"No," Parkhurst said. "There was a period last year when I saw her a little more often than some of the other students." "Did you ever see her outside of school?" Like right around Thanksgiving? Jessica wondered. "No."
"Were you a little closer to Tessa than some of the other students?" Byrne asked. "Not really." "But there was some sort of bond." "Yes."
"Is that how it all started with Karen Hillkirk?"
Parkhurst's face reddened, then cooled instantly. He was clearly expecting this. Karen Hillkirk was the student with whom Parkhurst had had the affair in Ohio. "It wasn't what you think, Detective." "Enlighten us," Byrne said.
On the word us, Parkhurst threw a glance at the mirror. Jessica thought she saw the slightest smile. She wanted to slap it off his face.
Parkhurst then lowered his head for a moment, penitent now, as if this was a story he had told many times, if only to himself.
"It was a mistake," he began. "I… I was young myself. Karen was mature for her age. It just… happened." "Were you her counselor?" "Yes," Parkhurst said.
"So then you can see how there are those who would say that you abused a position of power, can't you?"
"Of course," Parkhurst said. "I understand that."
"Did you have the same sort of relationship with Tessa Wells?"
"Absolutely not," Parkhurst said.
"Are you acquainted with a Regina student named Nicole Taylor?"
Parkhurst hesitated for a second. The rhythm of the interview was starting to pick up in tempo. It appeared that Parkhurst was trying to slow it down. "Yes, I know Nicole."
Know, Jessica thought. Present tense.
"You've couns
eled her?" Byrne asked.
"Yes," Parkhurst said. "I work with the students at five diocesan schools."
"How well do you know Nicole?" Byrne asked.
"I've seen her a few times."
"What can you tell me about her?"
"Nicole has some self-image issues. Some… troubles at home," Parkhurst said.
"What sort of self-image issues?"
"Nicole is a loner. She's really into the whole Goth scene and that has somewhat isolated her at Regina."
"Goth?"
"The Goth scene is loosely made up of kids who, for one reason or another, are spurned by the 'normal' kids. They tend to dress differently, listen to their own kinds of music."
"Dress differently how?"
"Well, there are all kinds of Goth styles. The typical, or stereotypical Goth dresses in all black. Black fingernails, black lipstick, numerous piercings. But some kids dress in a Victorian manner, or an industrial style, if you will. They listen to everyone from Bauhaus to the old-school bands like the Cure and Siouxsie and the Banshees."
Byrne just stared at Parkhurst for a few moments, fixing him in his chair. Parkhurst responded by rearranging his weight on the seat, straightening his clothes. He waited Byrne out. "You seem to know a lot about these things," Byrne finally said.
"It's my job, Detective," Parkhurst said. "I can't help my girls if I don't know where they're coming from."
My girls again, Jessica noted.
"In fact," Parkhurst continued, "I confess to owning a few Cure CDs myself."
I'll bet you do, Jessica mused.
"You mentioned Nicole had some troubles at home," Byrne said. "What kind of troubles?"
"Well, for one, there is a history of alcohol abuse in her household," Parkhurst said.
"Any violence?" Byrne asked.
Parkhurst paused. "Not that I recall. But even if I did, we're getting into confidential matters here."
"Is that the sort of thing students would necessarily share with you?"
"Yes," Parkhurst said. "Those who are predisposed to do so."
"Are many of the girls predisposed to discussing intimate details of their home lives with you?"
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