Field of Graves

by J. T. Ellison

  Jade gave Taylor one of those unnerving stares, holding the eye contact until Taylor scratched her on the nose and she settled back in.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I want him to be okay. Sam seems to like him, and she’s a pretty good judge of character. We’ll see.” She shrugged, too hard, and the cat dug in her back claws and leapt off her shoulder.

  “Damn, girl, why do you do that?” Taylor peeled back her shirt and saw the long scratches on the top of her arm. “I swear, you do that again...”

  Jade sat calmly on the rug, washing her front paw. Confession time was over. “Fine.” Taylor drained the Diet Coke. “I’m going to bed.”

  Exhaustion hit her like a brick as soon as the word bed came out of her mouth. She made her way up the stairs with Jade galloping ahead of her, sounding like an elephant on a tear. She made it to her bedroom and to the bed, lying down fully clothed, and was asleep within minutes, a purring bundle of fur curled up behind her legs.

  THE

  FOURTH

  DAY

  30

  Taylor was dreaming again. She knew it was a dream this time, but couldn’t drag herself out of it. It wasn’t exactly the same dream; it was a more tailored nightmare. Only the worst parts replayed themselves: the yelling, the heat of the bullet as it flew, the look of absolute shock on her face when she realized whom she had killed. It replayed slowly, inexorably, as all tragedies do. She could see every detail as if it hadn’t been dark. The tiny spot of blood from a shaving cut mingling with the blood pouring out of his head, the gel he applied to the cowlick on his forehead making each strand of hair glow and shine, the blue fleck entrenched in the brown of his right eye. And then it all sped up, and she was standing over him, the cold steel smoking, a smile on her face.

  She woke with a start, tears wet on her cheeks yet unable to open her eyes, her brain lingering on the final scene. It was different this time. Before, she’d never been able to stop before she died along with him. She didn’t feel the gut-wrenching pain that usually accompanied the dream. In fact, she felt almost peaceful. She concentrated for a moment, trying to relive the last moments. She could have sworn she’d heard a word just before she came to, but her rapidly awakening neurons forced it away, and the word slipped from her grasp as quickly as it came.

  Taylor opened her eyes to the sun streaming through the window. Jade was still zonked out at the foot of the bed, a surprise. Usually when she had the dream the cat was right next to her face, her piercing emerald eyes full of concern, as if she shared in her pain. She mustn’t have shouted out this time.

  She got up, peeled yesterday’s clothes off, and jumped into the shower. While she washed her hair she tried to recall the element of the dream that had changed, but still couldn’t put it into words. She gave up, finished her shower, dried and dressed and headed to the kitchen, the thought of a fizzy jolt of Diet Coke pushing everything else out of her mind.

  31

  Baldwin hadn’t slept, but the constant nagging voice in the back of his mind had blessedly shut up. He wasn’t sure what was going on. Eight hours before he’d been loaded and cocked, recklessly imbuing fate with chance. Now he felt a strange sort of hope, almost as if he had absolved himself of something.

  After Taylor left, he’d sat in the dark the rest of the night, thoughts turning, cascading waterfalls of feelings through his head. None made much sense, but when the sun came up, he was determined to help Taylor Jackson.

  He arrived at the station before she did, felt a vague sense of disappointment. He shook it off, got buzzed in through the back door, helped himself to a soda, and sat down at Taylor’s desk in the squad room. He caught the curious glances from the night shift as they bundled up and went to live their lives for the day, and was sure the word had gone out the lunatic ex-agent was on the grounds.

  You’re being paranoid, Baldwin. Stop it.

  Ringing chatter came down the hall as Taylor and Fitz shared insults to begin their day. They entered the room laughing hard, and Baldwin was surprised to realize he wanted in on the joke. But they stopped when they saw him, the mood sobered. Taylor greeted him warmly. Fitz stood to the side, still eyeing Baldwin as if he smelled like a piece of moldy Limburger cheese. He chose to ignore him.

  “Morning, Taylor.” He saw her eyeing him, could see the thoughts running through her head. Yes, he was still in one piece. Yes, he had made it in to help them work the case. No, he didn’t look all that great, but at least he was still with them. He subconsciously touched the bandage on his cheek and gingerly gave her a smile.

  “And to you, Baldwin. I trust you slept well?” He was taken aback. He’d assumed his actions of the night before had been duly reported, but it looked as though she hadn’t filled Fitz in at all.

  “Like the dead.” He was rewarded with an earsplitting grin. He laughed, feeling the tension in the room melt away. A brief glance at Fitz brought it all back.

  “So, Baldwin, Taylor told you about the poison?”

  “Yes, she did. I’m anxious to hear more.”

  “Ain’t we all, son. Taylor, where’s Sam?”

  A voice rang out from the hallway. “Right behind you, old man.”

  Fitz jumped, then turned and bear-hugged the ME. He drew her off the ground and swung her around, outwardly annoying her to no end, but Baldwin could tell it was just an act. Again the feeling of being an outsider crept in, and he looked away. This was more than just a team of cops, they were a close-knit family. He hadn’t felt as if he belonged to a family for a very long time.

  “Damn it, Fitz, put me down. You’re gonna make me hurl my sausage biscuit all over you.”

  He obliged and backed away, smiling. “Don’t you go doing that now, sugar! We can’t have the ME puking all over the squad room this early in the mornin’. Might start a few rumors, ya know what I mean?”

  Sam guffawed. “Very funny, Fitz. Taylor, help me.”

  “Oh no, Sam, looks like you’re the one who opened that door.”

  “Gee, thanks. Some friend you are.” She turned to Baldwin. “Dr. Baldwin,” she sang out gaily, “you look like crap.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “Don’t mention it. Taylor, where’s Lincoln? I asked him to do some research on aconite for me.”

  “I don’t know where he is. Probably up to his ears in ViCAP. I’ll go hunt him down.” She left the room, and Baldwin felt distinctly uncomfortable again. Taylor was his link into this group, however tenuous that might be. He only had his intellect to go on, and he suddenly wanted to prove himself to these people.

  You’re insane, they don’t care, why are you bothering? But when Sam looked him up and down and said, “Baldwin, who looks like crap, care to give your thoughts on our little case?” he settled down and waded in. He couldn’t help himself; Sam’s enthusiasm was infectious.

  “The aconite is one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. It is a very uncommon poison in the criminal canon. Plus, poisoning homicides are usually perpetrated by women, which doesn’t fit, since obviously Jordan and Shelby were with a man before their deaths. Because of this, we can’t rule out a team, though I’m inclined to think we’re dealing with a sophisticated male suspect.”

  “Go on,” Fitz said.

  “Jordan’s murder seems like overkill to me. She’d already ingested the poison. The killer intended for her to die in the same fashion as Shelby. To stab her after the fact was violent, personal. I’d guess she pissed him off after he gave her the poison, mouthing off, perhaps, maybe even trying to escape. He needed to stop her, grabbed the knife and started swinging. It would explain the differences in the way the bodies were discovered as well. He was furious with Jordan, so he discarded her, tossed her in the river like a piece of trash.

  “On the other hand, Shelby was treated with respect. She was loved, revered. Given an hono
rable burial in his mind. Scattered with herbs... I think we may be looking at some sort of ritual, maybe even an offbeat religious faction. The aconite itself strikes me as almost cultish.”

  Sam and Fitz were paying total attention to him now. “What doesn’t fit is the herbs Sam found on Jordan,” Fitz said.

  “Right. Even though he killed her in a rage, he took a moment to throw some herbs on her body before he cut her loose. Conscience got the better of him, maybe? The herbs are definitely important to him. It has to be part of his ritual. They aren’t a clue left for us—there was a good chance the wind or the water would wash the herbs away before we got to the body. They’re strictly a device for his own peace of mind. And then we have the aconite angle, which is also quite odd.”

  “You can say that again.” Lincoln and Taylor came back into the room, arms loaded with a stack of papers half a foot high.

  Taylor was shaking her head. “You’re going to love this. There’s some really weird stuff out there relating to aconite. Witches and warlocks and pagans. It’s on all the lists of poisonous plants on every botanical website. It’s an alkaloid and will kill you pretty darn quick, but the homeopathic sites list medical uses for it. The Chinese use it for pneumonia and rheumatism. There’s a well-documented history of its use through medieval times, and it was used in Greek and Celtic practices and pagan burial rites. You can get it anywhere, too. The homeopathic websites actually sell it.”

  Lincoln jumped in. “Here’s more fun stuff. According to some of the sites I accessed, aconite was often mixed with belladonna, which produced a kind of delirium akin to flying. Pliny the Elder sanctioned its use for euthanasia. When he wrote The Natural History, he gives a whole history of the squabbles of the Roman emperors and their families. They used aconite to get rid of enemies of the state. The Romans used aconite to poison rivals because accusations of murder by poison were incredibly hard to prove. You could get it from any drug peddler on the street, hence the custom of the royals having food tasters. I can go on and on—there’s a ton of stuff out there—but I also came across one interesting tidbit on one of the Wicca sites. Aconite’s magical properties include protection and invisibility.”

  Baldwin was intrigued. “Protection and invisibility. Huh. I like the protection angle. Maybe this guy thinks he’s shielding these women from something? Then he scatters them with burial herbs to complete the ritual. Interesting. Toss the Parthenon as a dump site in there, and we’ve got ourselves a real throwback to the ancients.”

  Taylor took a seat next to Baldwin. “We could trace all the purchases of aconite over the past month, but I don’t think it will do any good. It can be grown in a garden in the backyard.” She consulted one of the sheets. “‘An absolute must for every witch’s garden.’ It would be a waste of time looking for the source. We’ll have to trace the killer through the evidence we have, and take Jordan’s and Shelby’s lives apart. There has to be some connection between the two besides Vanderbilt. I don’t think this guy just spotted them on the street and decided to grab them. Something in my gut tells me this was planned, that they were chosen for a reason. We just have to figure out what the reason is.”

  “I think you’re right, Taylor. The organization of the scene at the Parthenon shows quite a bit of thought. If we were talking a normal serial killer, one who escalates in violence, the poisoning would come before the stabbing, instead of the other way around.” Baldwin ran his hands through his hair, a gesture Taylor was starting to recognize. “But I don’t think we’re dealing with any kind of serial or series killer who would fit a standard profile. Stabbing and poison as MOs are very different pathologies, and these deaths aren’t indiscriminate. We’re dealing with a man with a purpose, a reason. Whether he’s sending us a message or doing it for himself is the puzzle. Unlike the usual killer who stages a crime scene, I’m willing to bet our involvement is secondary to his primary goal. In other words, he’s not leaving them for us to find. He isn’t showing off.”

  The group digested this idea, and Taylor was the first to speak. “Okay, where do we start?”

  “You have the files on the girls from the university? Let’s start there. There has to be an overlap between these two girls. It’s a liberal arts school, so there has to be a curriculum they have to follow before they declare a major. Let’s go back through their records and start looking at any classes they may have had in common.”

  Taylor started giving assignments. “Lincoln, get back online and see if you can find anything else on the aconite. Toss in the herbs, the Parthenon, anything you think could be related. Baldwin and I are going to start working through the records.”

  The phone rang on Fitz’s desk, and he answered it gruffly. “Homicide...Yeah...Shit.” He banged the phone down and started rubbing the lower half of his face.

  “What’s the matter, Fitz? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is everything okay?” Taylor looked spooked. There was something in Fitz’s eyes that was freaking her out.

  “That was Missing Persons. They just got a report of a girl named Jill Gates, who’s been missing for the past few days.”

  Taylor sat down slowly. “Spit it out, Fitz.”

  “She’s a student at Vanderbilt.”

  32

  The flurry of activity died down as the news sank in. Two dead, another missing. Taylor sat with her head in her hands, and Baldwin tried not to show how shaken he felt. This suspect was moving too damn quick for them to get the slightest idea of what he was trying to do.

  Taylor stood, shaking her head. “I need a smoke,” she said to no one in particular. Everyone watched her stalk out. Baldwin half rose in his chair, indecisiveness painted all over his face. He looked to Fitz first, almost asking his permission to try and reach out to Taylor. Fitz nodded imperceptibly. Baldwin gave a relieved sigh and headed out to the landing where he had seen all the cigarette butts.

  What the hell are you doing, man? He barely knew Taylor, but for some reason felt protective of her. Even through his own pain he could see she was suffering, and he felt it was more than just this case. From her simple statement last night, telling him she’d shot a fellow detective, he assumed it was a case gone south, but perhaps there was more. He’d overheard Fitz and Marcus talking in the hall yesterday, caught Taylor’s name, but they’d clammed up the moment they realized he’d walked up to them. Something was up; both men looked earnest and concerned, but they had switched gears and welcomed him, asking if he wanted coffee or anything. He’d refused and continued down the hall, curiosity draping him in its mantle.

  He let himself out of the door quietly, as if she wouldn’t notice the beep on the lock as it disengaged. Taylor didn’t turn, just shifted her weight to her other foot. He didn’t know what to say, but she took care of that.

  “What’s up, Baldwin?” she asked. He didn’t know how she knew it was him, but was grateful she had initiated the conversation.

  “I had a feeling you might want to talk.”

  She whirled around, and he could see she had been crying; her nose was red and her eyes puffy. He felt a pang of relief. This gorgeous woman wasn’t perfect; she looked like hell when she cried.

  “Talk about what? That this case is getting to me? That I’m feeling overwhelmed and pissed and utterly incapable of stopping this predator? That I’m having panic—”

  She stopped herself, and Baldwin realized she must feel she was letting way too much information out. He didn’t blame her. He was a stranger to her. But she’d said enough to let him know she was in pain, and it broke something inside him. He just wanted to reach out and help.

  With a last deep inhale, she flipped the half-smoked cigarette out in the street and pushed past him to the door. Baldwin reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “Don’t, Taylor. Talk to me.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “What do you want me to say? I don’t kno
w you, Baldwin. I don’t know if I want to. Every time I look at you I get the feeling...ahh, screw it. I don’t need this right now.” Yet she didn’t move to grab her passkey. Baldwin seized the moment, spoke quietly, still holding her hand.

  “Taylor, circumstance has brought us together in a pretty bizarre way. A couple of days ago, I was willing to be gone from this world, and the next thing I know I’m working a case with a bunch of people who would probably prefer I head back to Virginia and leave them alone. I can’t get a handle on what’s happening either. Maybe I’m running from my own problems by trying to help you with yours. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. But I’m here for you if you want me.”

  “You’re here for me?”

  He could see he’d said the wrong thing. Her eyes were blazing, her face suddenly transformed into anger. He locked in on her eyes, and felt himself lost in her internal storm. They are the most peculiar shade of gray, he thought to himself. They looked just like the storm clouds that had been rolling through the sky for the past few days. He heard her voice from a distance, and drew himself out of his momentary trance.

  “What do you think you can do, Dr. Baldwin?” The sarcasm was biting, and he involuntarily winced. “You think you can ride in here on your white horse and make everything right? You can’t. There are some things you have no idea about, and my life is on the top of the list.” She whipped her hand out of his and drew the passkey through the lock. The door almost struck him as a gust of wind blew it back on its hinges. He watched Taylor stalk down the hall, shoulders straight, back strong.

  He smiled ruefully to himself, and looking back over his shoulder at the sky turning black, he whispered, “My white horse? You were the first one in the saddle.”