Field of Graves

by J. T. Ellison

  46

  The squad room resembled a horror flick, with zombies dominating the room and halls. It had been a long couple of days for everyone.

  Jill Gates’s parents had arrived from Huntsville. They called and talked with Taylor from their downtown hotel, which had luckily made it through the storm unscathed. She told them they had found a body. Jill’s father immediately made the short trip back to Huntsville, retrieved his daughter’s dental records, and had driven the radiographs back to Nashville. He and his wife had taken Taylor’s advice to stay put in their hotel until some sort of identification had been made. They’d agreed and seemed rather calm for the circumstances. Jill’s mother was absolutely convinced that the body they had found at the church was not her daughter. She claimed she would know in her heart if her Jilly had died, and she just didn’t think it was her child dead in the morgue.

  Taylor didn’t try to dissuade her. Let Sam do a positive ID, then they could deal with the fallout.

  Lincoln had been on the computers all night, searching through ViCAP and the regional missing person databases while Taylor and Baldwin oversaw the investigation at the church. He greeted them with sleep in his eyes, his suit rumpled and hair flattened on one side from where he had rested his head in his hand for the better part of the night.

  “You find anything?” he asked.

  “Nothing yet. There are missing person flyers all over town for Jill. Someone mounted a pretty big campaign. How about you?”

  “We’ve been getting calls all night about possible missing women,” Lincoln said. “Four different women, three of them Vandy students. We had to chase them all down. Two were from parents who hadn’t talked to their daughters in a couple of days. Happily, both of them called back to say they’d gotten in touch. One was a roommate who’d gotten concerned when her friend didn’t come home, but that one showed up drunk and sound asleep at the Pi Kappa Alpha house this morning.”

  “That takes care of the three Vandy girls. Who’s the fourth?”

  “Pro who calls herself Mona Lisa. She’s working with that program over at St. Augustine’s, what is it, Magdalene House? She’s got some sort of medical condition and hasn’t shown up for her treatments in a week. Magdalene’s worried she may have gone back on the street. I threw it to Vice. They’ll be able to track her down better than we can.”

  “Good call. What else?”

  “Other than our MP report rate is skyrocketing? I guess you haven’t seen the news yet this morning, or the paper? Mayfield’s on another witch hunt.” With that warning, Lincoln threw her a copy of the front page of The Tennessean. She saw the huge headline, groaned, and settled in to read, with Baldwin looking over her shoulder.

  Metro Police Baffled at Murder Spree

  BY LEE MAYFIELD, CRIME REPORTER

  Sources within the Metro Nashville Police Department confirmed early this morning that the body found last evening in the burned-out husk of St. Catherine’s Catholic Church in West End are the remains of Vanderbilt student Jill Gates. Gates was reported missing only yesterday. Despite the attempts of the Metro Police and the lead investigator, Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, to find her before she suffered the fate of students Shelby Kincaid and Jordan Blake, the University Killer has struck again.

  The story continued, but Taylor threw the paper on her desk without reading the rest of it. She started swearing under her breath. “Of all the damn fool things to print above the fold, for God’s sake. That woman is going to be the death of me. Is she sleeping with Franklin now? I swear to God, I’m going to kill that man with my bare hands if I find out he’s even helped her across the street. The ‘University Killer’? Who decided to give him a nickname? I’m going to charge that woman with obstruction one of these days, watch me...”

  Baldwin was enjoying the rant. “I assume you have a problem going with this Lee Mayfield?”

  Taylor huffed out a breath. “No. Well, yes. I mean, it’s her problem, not mine. A few years back, she misquoted me in an article that nearly got us sued. She had to print a huge retraction. She’s had it in for me ever since. She’s been eating up the Martin case. Tearing me to pieces for months.”

  Fitz had entered the room as she was finishing her tirade. He patted her on the arm. “Don’tcha worry about it, darlin’. She’s a full-blown, grade-A idiot, and everyone knows it. Just let it go.”

  He turned the volume up on the TV. The Channel 5 anchor wore a knowing smile. Taylor was struck at how the media always seemed to enjoy reporting on a tragedy. She turned away, fuming, but looked back when she heard what the anchor was saying.

  “Despite the article printed in The Tennessean this morning, our sources have confirmed that there has been no identification of the female body found overnight at St. Catherine’s Church. According to a spokesperson from Forensic Medical, the male victim has been positively identified as Father Francis Xavier, a recent transfer from the Boston Archdiocese.”

  “Go, Sam!” Taylor threw her pen at the TV. She picked up the paper and stuck her tongue out at the headline. The tension dissipated for a moment.

  Price chose that moment to return to the office to find his detectives laughing their heads off.

  “I’d really like to know what’s so damn funny,” he said indignantly. The tone of his voice was too much, and the gales of laughter started again. Price tried to look stern, but giggled a bit himself; they were all getting punchy from the lack of sleep and the pressure of the case, but he quickly sobered them up.

  “Okay, kids, knock it off. Has anyone slept?”

  There were headshakes all around.

  “Taylor, are you heading over to the ME’s office for the post of our burn victims?”

  “Yep, I’m going now. Baldwin, do you want to come?”

  “Yes, I’d like to be there.” He stood up and grabbed his coat.

  “Wait,” Price said. “Baldwin, I’d like to speak to you, if I may.”

  Taylor and Baldwin shot each other a look, and he put his coat back down. She gave Baldwin a smile, and a look he read as see you later. He nodded back.

  “Absolutely, Captain.” They went into Price’s office, the door closing behind them.

  Taylor stared at the door for a moment, chewed on her lip, then turned and grabbed Marcus by the hand.

  “C’mon, puppy, let’s go see Sam.”

  Marcus said, “I’m sure Fitz would rather go on out there with you, Taylor. I probably should man the desk for all the missing person calls. Or maybe head home and take a shower?”

  Taylor looked at Fitz, who yawned widely and smiled at her. “Sure, love, whatever you need.”

  Taylor saw the strain on their faces, how tired they all were. They were no good to her like this. “Okay, change of plans. Lincoln, Fitz, Marcus, I want all three of you to go home and get a few hours of sleep. Nothing is going to happen until we find out if this is Jill Gates’s body. Report back at one.”

  Marcus looked as if he was going to kiss her. “Thanks, LT. I could swing by your place and pick up something for you, bring it back when I come in, if you want.”

  His subtle hint that she needed to clean up wasn’t lost on her. She looked down at her smoke-smudged shirt and jeans, smiling ruefully. “That’s sweet of you, Marcus, but I’ve got a change in my locker, and I’ll grab a shower at Sam’s. Go on now, before I change my mind.”

  47

  Sam fiddled with a scalpel, turning the blade over and over in her hands. She sat in her office with the sunlight streaming through the window, a cup of cold tea at her elbow. She’d been so lost in thought she’d forgotten to drink it. The sun was a welcome respite after the days of rain the area had been flooded with; the water tables were dropping and the minor floodwaters receding. Nashville would heal itself. She hoped she could do the same.

  She had gone home the nig
ht before feeling overwhelmed and a bit lost. The scene at the church had gotten to her more than she wanted to admit. She figured a hot bath and a glass of wine would settle her nerves.

  But when she opened the door there was soft music playing, roses on the table in the foyer, and a delicious smell coming from her kitchen. Smiling, she followed her nose and found Simon Loughley standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing an apron and conducting the symphonic CD playing with a spatula. The scene was so absurd she burst out laughing. He started, then smiled sheepishly and gave her a hug. He was tall and thin, and she could feel his collarbones poking her in the cheek. His sandy hair was too long, his glasses were askew, but his blue eyes sparkled, showing the depths of his patience and good humor. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone cuter.

  “I hope it’s not too late for you?”

  “I’ll take midnight margaritas with you anytime.”

  “It’s wine, does that work?”

  “Of course. Let me change and we can dig in.”

  Though the house technically belonged to them both, Simon generally didn’t show up unannounced. Despite the fact they had bought the house together nearly ten years ago, he kept his own apartment on West End. Hypocrite that she was, Sam freely gave him her body, but wouldn’t agree to officially “live together” until they were married. It was supposedly a nod to her Catholic roots, but if she were honest with herself, she was just scared of settling down. It had always seemed so permanent to her. After the past few days she’d had, the loss and senselessness of the murders, a domestic commitment was something she was willing to think about. She was tired of fighting it, and tired of being alone.

  Once she’d freshened up, they sat down to the meal, opened a bottle of wine, and Sam told Simon everything. It felt so good to talk with him, to get all her worries off her chest. He was one of the few who could understand what she went through day in and day out, and she loved him for it. They’d been bickering lately, and she hadn’t had his shoulder to cry on for a few weeks. She spilled all the worries that had built up since they’d last spoken: her fears for Taylor and her surprise at the attraction between her and Baldwin. Simon thought of Taylor as a little sister. He shared Sam’s concern, but assured her Taylor would land on her feet. She always did.

  He’d cleared the table and gotten Sam settled in the living room. He came back in the room with a nervous smile playing on his face. Before she knew what was happening, Simon was kneeling in front of her, pulling out a ring box.

  “No midnight margaritas, but how about some diamonds, instead? I can’t wait anymore, Sam. I want to marry you. I want a family with you. I want to spend the rest of my days making you happy. Will you marry me? Please?”

  She was so shocked that he was actually proposing she barely registered what he was saying. Before she could stop herself, she’d said yes, and the ring was on her finger.

  She looked down at her hand again. The diamond was huge, set in platinum and bordered by diamond baguettes. She was still trying to remember exactly what Simon had said, but all she could remember was saying yes, and he swept her off her feet and made love to her the rest of the night.

  The phone rang, startling her from her reverie. She dropped the scalpel in her lap and caught it between her knees. An absurd memory flooded her mind—her father, lecturing on the virtues of abstinence when she was a teenager getting ready to leave on her first big date. He had handed her an aspirin as she was going out the door. She looked at him quizzically and asked what it was for. He replied in his booming voice, “If you sit all night with that balanced between your knees, young Simon here won’t be able to make any moves on you.” He’d dissolved into laughter, and Sam and Simon, both blushing furiously, had scurried away as quickly as possible. Her father would have been proud; she hadn’t given in to Simon’s relentless begging for another two years, the night of their senior prom.

  Shaking her head and giggling under her breath, she answered the phone.

  “Dr. Owens, it’s Tim. Thought you’d want to know I’m bringing in a body. Female pulled out of Old Hickory Lake this morning by a couple of fishermen.”

  Sam drew in a quick breath. She hadn’t even started the autopsy of the girl they’d found in the church. She was waiting for Taylor to bring over the dental X-rays from Jill Gates’s father. Another body could be another chance of finding Jill. Damn.

  Tim read her thoughts. “It’s not her, Doc. Sorry, I forgot to tell you, she’s black. Looks like a drowning.”

  She blew out a breath. “Well, at least the break in the pattern means this victim isn’t part of the Vanderbilt series. No ID?”

  “Actually, yes, there is. An ID card that says her name is Tammy Boxer.”

  “ID card? Like a license, but not a license to drive?”

  “Yep. Address is over on Dickerson Road.”

  “Working girl?”

  “Could be. I don’t know. Looks like she’s been under the water for a while.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll see you soon.”

  She clicked off, shaking her head. Dead prostitutes weren’t a rare occurrence in Nashville. The police had actually built a database specifically for their postmortem identification. Since many of the girls went by aliases, the midnight shift patrolled their most common hunting grounds, pulling over to chat and check them out. Dickerson Road, also known as Hooker Alley, was an area with the worst offenders. The officers would go over the girls’ information and run their sheets, then take Polaroid pictures and fingerprints and note any tattoos or characteristics. They got as much contact information as they could glean from the girls, though most of it was bogus. They’d use it to track down family, or pimps, should the need arise.

  This information was fed into the database, and when a girl showed up dead, she was much easier to identify. Sam had ridden along when they first implemented the program, amazed at the lack of concern the prostitutes showed when they went through the process. It seemed they didn’t realize, or care, that the police were doing this so they could identify them when they were pulled out of a Dumpster the next morning.

  Sam picked up the phone again and placed a call to Lincoln. The database had been his idea and was still his baby. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Lincoln. How’s it shakin’ over there?”

  “Shaking and baking, sister. Taylor is heading your way. I’m getting ready to go home myself, get a couple of hours’ sleep.”

  “Good, you guys need a break. I wasn’t calling about Taylor. I just got a call from my ’gator, Tim. Looks like they may have pulled a working girl out of Old Hickory. We’ll send over the information to see if you can lay out a positive ID.”

  Sam could hear him clicking away on his keyboard in the background and smiled; he was already loading the database. “Any chance you have a name? I have an MP report on a lost soul from Magdalene House.”

  “Actually, she had an ID card on her, but who knows if it’s really hers.” She looked at her notes. “Tim said the name on the card is Tammy Boxer. Ring any bells?”

  “Yes, damn it. That’s the name they gave me last night. Hadn’t seen her in a week, said she missed a couple of med checks. This is really going to make their day.”

  Sam gave a big sigh. The Magdalene House was one of Nashville’s jewels. A minister at Vanderbilt’s St. Augustine’s Church had developed the program. It was designed to get girls off the street, cleaned up, give them some education and skills, and help them back out into the real world. It was a huge success, and Sam remembered reading that they were opening a second house because the demand had grown so large.

  “Will you give them a call and let them know we may have found her? If they can send someone over this afternoon to ID her, we’ll try to get things moving over here.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it. Thanks, Sam, that’s one less thing I nee
d to worry about.”

  Sam wished him well, told him to get some sleep, and hung up. As she did, she heard Taylor in the hall talking with Kris, their front desk attendant. She walked out of the office and nearly collided with her best friend in the hall.

  Sam clucked at Taylor disapprovingly, a mother hen unhappy with one of her brood.

  “T, you look absolutely awful. You didn’t go home last night?”

  Taylor did, in fact, look awful. On cue, she sneezed and gave Sam a sheepish grin.

  “Naw, I didn’t. Thought I’d clean up over here once we’re done. Do you have any sinus medicine? I’m out. I think my allergies are getting to me.”

  “Your allergies, my ass. You have a sinus infection. Why do you always pretend you’re not sick when you are?” Sam headed back into her office and opened a cabinet by the door. She pulled out a box of Advil Cold & Sinus and gave it to Taylor. Like most longtime Nashvillians, she always had some on hand. It was a bizarre phenomenon that so many people in the city suffered from some kind of sinus problems throughout the year. The joke was if you didn’t have allergies before you moved to Nashville, you would within a year.

  Taylor broke two pills out of their blister pack and offered the box back to Sam, who shook her head.

  “Keep it. You’re going to need it worse than me. Do you have the radiographs?”

  Taylor held up a large manila envelope and sneezed again. Sam shook her head, handed her a tissue, and said, “Follow me.”

  48

  They went through the biovestibule and started the changing process that would turn them into medical butterflies.

  “I talked to Lincoln a little bit ago. Looks like we have the body of his missing Magdalene woman.”

  “You’re kidding,” Taylor replied, arms lost in a smock. “Where’d she turn up?”

  “Couple of fishermen pulled a body out of Old Hickory this morning. Her ID card had the name Tammy Boxer on it, and Lincoln said that’s the name he was given on the report.”