“He’s got defensive wounds, Sam. Look at his hands. They’re all scratched up. That’s different from our other victims too, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The other bodies look like the carvings were done postmortem, and they were stripped completely. Two of them I assume were already naked-the couple. But the rest were probably undressed after they died, before the cutting began.”
“Were there signs of sexual assault on any of the victims?”
Sam shook her head. “Nothing that jumped out and bit me, but I won’t know for sure until I take swabs.”
“It’s not the easiest thing to get the clothes off a dead body. If there wasn’t a sexual assault, why do you think the killer removed the victims’ clothes? Maybe they were already naked.”
“Faulty logic. Think about it, Taylor. How many kids do you know sit around naked in their rooms? Other than the couple, who were obviously interrupted. Plus, if you’re pressed for time and you need your victim to ingest something against their will, are you going to make them take off their clothes first?”
“If you want to humiliate them, yes. I don’t think we can rule it out just yet.”
“But was there time for humiliation? These killings were sandwiched into a pretty tight window. I’m betting the killer removed their clothing after they were dead. But this is different.” She waved her hand toward the victim. “These wounds were infected while the victim was alive, still dressed, and he fought hard. See the bruise on his right shoulder?”
Taylor looked closer. There was the slightest discoloration from the boy’s collarbone to the top of his shoulder, an elongated oval mark.
“A knee?”
“I’d say so. He was held down.”
“Would it take someone very big to leave that kind of mark? He looks like he’s in pretty good shape.”
“Not necessarily. There was a violent struggle, but anyone can be overcome under the right circumstances. There are also marks around his neck-maybe an attempt at strangulation.”
“Hopefully our killer left something of himself behind. Your new ‘gator, Barclay lies, collected a few black hairs off the body of Xander Norwood. Maybe there’s more to be had here.”
“Maybe. You know I’ll look carefully.”
“Thanks, Sam. I know you will. What I’d like to know is why this one wasn’t drugged, since all the others were. Especially if he needed to be subdued.”
“I won’t be able to answer that until I do the post. He’s a big boy, bigger than all the rest. There may be something interesting in his tox screen, I just don’t know. Speaking of which, I need to get back to Gass Street, supervise all of these bodies coming in.” Sam was retreating into medical examiner mode, the cool facade closing in again.
Taylor let her. She needed some distance herself.
Seven
Taylor drove back to the command post on Estes in silence. She tried Baldwin on his cell, he answered on the first ring.
“I just landed. What’s happening there?”
“We found one alive, kid named Brittany Carson. She was pretty far gone. I’ll be surprised if she makes it. Then we got in a foot chase with another kid who was lurking outside her house. Sirnari had to unleash Max on him. Anything more from Garrett?”
“No. Just this emergency thing in the morning.”
“Well, get it over with and get back down here. I think we’re going to need your expertise. We’re starting to have breaks in the original pattern. One crime scene was different from the others-the victim was flayed, probably with some kind of whip. I’m telling you, Baldwin, I thought this was done. I’m afraid there may still be more. I need to get my hands on whoever did this.”
“What does Sam think?”
“She feels they ingested a narcotic of some kind, though this last one I attended, Brandon Scott? No signs of cyanosis. It looks like he was either strangled or exsanguinated. We’re about to do a walk-through of each crime scene.”
Her call-wait ing beeped. She looked and saw it was Lincoin. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Call me in the morning, okay?
Love you.”
“Love you, too. Luck.”
She clicked over. “Hey, Line. What’s up?”
“We have the entire neighborhood frozen, and we’ve got some very upset parents. They’ve got the pitchforks and stakes out.”
“That’s to be understood. But we need those scenes stationary for now. Tell them we’ll release the bodies and get them back in their homes as soon as we can.”
She hoped she was telling the truth.
Quantico
Garrett had sent a car for him. Baldwin climbed into the backseat and gave the yawning driver his address. He had a small apartment near the grounds of Quantico that he used when he was in town working.
He was tired, but getting to sleep was going to be near to impossible. He needed to be sharp and alert in the morning. Artificial means, then. He checked his watch and calculated, decided against half an Ambien, settled on a Benadryl. It would knock him out for at least six hours. That would have to be good enough. He dry-swallowed the capsule and stared out into the dark of the night.
It was always darkest just before the dawn. He could only hope that the light of day would bring good news.
Eight
Nashville
9:00 p.m.
The rain was letting up, the evening now bittered into teeth-chattering cold. Taylor ran the gauntlet down Estes, driving through a phalanx of Metro blue-and-whites and medical examiner’s vans. A patrol officer waved her through and she parked the Lumina in front of the Kings’ driveway.
Dan Franklin, the department’s spokesman, met her car. Dan was a big guy, light brown hair and blue eyes with a relatively nondescript, almost homely face, but six foot two and an easy two-thirty. He spent a lot of time in the gym, and the hard work showed. Physically, he was threatening at best, emotionally, he was the rock the department depended on. He was their first line of defense against the media. It was a precarious position to maintain-Metro needed the media and the media needed Metro, but sometimes they didn’t like to play nice. Franklin assured everyone on both sides that the road to the news would be as smooth as could be.
He opened her door and she climbed out. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Taylor stopped. “Shoot.”
“I think it would be a good idea to have you give the presser.” He tapped his hand on the hood of her car as he spoke, and the emphasis felt contrived. She was immediately suspicious.
“Oh, come on. The press conference is your job.”
“I know it is, and I’ll be up there with you,” He quit tapping, leaned against the car. He crossed his bulky arms and said, “We’ve been friends for a long time, right?”
“Going on ten years.”
“You trust me, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then do the presser. I promise it’s the right thing to do.”
“But-“
He cut her off. “Taylor, the city of Nashville wants to see you lead again. You’ve been fodder for the press for a couple of months now, and practically the moment you’re reinstated, a huge string of murders happens on your watch. They know about Fitz going missing, they know about the Snow White Killer’s apprentice. You need to regain their confidence. You need to let them know that you’re in control, that the old Taylor Jackson is back in business. Your close rate is still head and shoulders above any cop in the city- hell, most of the country. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get them back in your court.” He took a breath, then quickly said, ”And we can put a camera behind you, film forward, see what the crowd shows us.”