ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS BOOK 1 (34 page)

Taylor stepped in. “Quinn, you and I both know that the best thing you could do would be to let us take some things to the lab, to rule Jake out as a suspect. It would make everyone’s life easier if you’d just cooperate with us now. Think about it, Quinn. There have been seven girls murdered. An eighth is missing. Your husband has dropped off the grid. Your sister died trying to warn you that you were in danger. It all fits. Help us now. Help us help him.”

Quinn shook her head, a sob escaping from her throat. “Absolutely not. No. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.” She stood, arms crossed against her chest. Her eyes were strangely bright, tears of frustration trying to break free glistening in the corners. Baldwin and Taylor stood, as well. As they walked into the hallway, they heard soft mewing sounds coming from behind the door. Quinn noticed the noise, too, and stalked into the marble-floored hallway. Gabrielle, her Italian student-cum-nanny, head in her hands, was weeping softly. Quinn softened for a moment.

“Gabrielle, it’s all right. Everything will be okay.
Sarà tutto il di destra, cara. Non si preoccupi.
”

Gabrielle raised her head and glared at Quinn.

“Non, it ees not going to be all right. You have no idea. None. There ees no way Signor Buckley has done these things. I know.” She began crying harder and a torrent of Italian flowed from her mouth.
“Sto facendo
 
l’amore con il Signor Buckley per parecchi mesi. Siamo
nell’amore. Non significo danno a voi. È il mio amante.
È il vostro difetto, Signora Buckley. Non è di destra voi
non lo ama come.”

Gabrielle stood straighter, and Taylor recognized immediately the stance. A woman in love. Not like Quinn Buckley, resigned but proud. This young girl was madly in love with her employer, and had seen fit to let her employer’s wife know it.

Taylor looked at Quinn. She seemed to have shrunk three inches, her arms wrapped even tighter around her slim frame.

“Quinn, what did she just say?” Taylor asked, a note of concern in her voice. Woman to woman. That might be the trick.

Quinn was still in a visual standoff with her young nanny. She finally took a breath and began to speak, her eyes never leaving Gabrielle.

“She says that she and Jake are having an affair. That they are in love. That it’s my fault, that I don’t love him enough. Is that about right, Gabrielle? I don’t love my husband enough, so you felt the need to step in and love him for me? Get out of my house,
voi poco squaldrina.
VOI SORCA!
”

Gabrielle’s eyes widened, and Taylor realized Quinn must have called her some sort of terrible name in Italian. The girl cried out, whipped her long hair about her body and ran from the room.

Quinn collapsed in a heap on an antique chair that didn’t look like it could hold her weight. She looked so small, so fragile, that Taylor couldn’t resist reaching out, giving Quinn what she hoped was a comforting touch on the shoulder. Quinn stiffened. Taylor removed her hand.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. Sorry that things have to be like this for you. Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell us?” Taylor’s voice was low, coaxing, as if Quinn were a startled cat she was trying to get out from under a couch. Quinn didn’t move for a moment, then sighed heavily. All the fight went out of her.

“Let’s go back in the library. I’ll help you any way that I can.”

The three filed back into the library. Taylor and Baldwin resumed their positions on the couch, watching Quinn wander around the room. They didn’t interrupt when she finally started to speak.

“Jake and I have been having problems for some time now. It’s been a couple of years, actually. We had a fight, a horrible, terrible fight on a Sunday evening two months ago. Jake was getting ready for another business trip—you know he travels constantly for his job. I wanted him to stay home, to pick me over Health Partners just once. That’s when he admitted he’d been cheating on me. He’d taken up with some intern that he’d met, a marketing company he works with. The affair was brief, only a couple of days, but it was like he’d decided then and there that he didn’t want to be with me anymore. I didn’t know what to do. What woman is ever prepared to go through the realization that her husband doesn’t love her anymore? I did the only thing I knew to do. I had separation papers drawn up. I showed them to him last Monday night. That’s why I wasn’t answering the phone when Whitney called. I was telling my husband that he can kiss me, his kids, his house and my money goodbye. He stormed out of here, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Baldwin tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch.

“He was having an affair with an intern? Do you know if this was here in town or out on the road?”

“I’d like to think Jake had the common sense to keep his philandering at a distance.” She stopped for a moment, thinking. “Of course, I was wrong about that. Gabrielle and Whitney, right under my nose. My God, I am such a bloody idiot!”

“Of course you aren’t. These things happen,” he comforted. “I’m sorry to have to put you through this, Mrs. Buckley. But the affair, the intern. Do you know…?”

“I believe it was New Orleans, during Mardi Gras, something like that.”

“Did he mention a name?”

“Oh, it was something French. Started with a J.”

“Jeanette Lernier?” Baldwin asked.

Quinn waved a hand. “It could have been. I didn’t stick around to hear all the gory details.” She paused, processing. “Wait a minute. You knew her name off the top of your head. You already knew he’d been with her. How did you—I don’t want to know.” She stopped talking, defeated, a hand over her eyes. Baldwin’s and Taylor’s eyes met. Quinn needed to know. Baldwin took a deep breath. “Jeanette Lernier was the second victim of the Southern Strangler.”

Quinn’s hand dropped and her eyes flew open. Comprehension dawned at last.

“Jesus,” she muttered.

They were running out of time. Taylor cleared her throat. “Jake hasn’t called home this week? No word from him at all?”

“No, Lieutenant, not a peep.” She laughed shrilly.

“Maybe I didn’t handle things well. I should have told him the truth from day one, when we first met.”

Baldwin spoke softly. “Tell the truth about what, Mrs. Buckley?”

She glanced at him for a moment, cool, appraising, then turned away. “The truth about what happened to Whitney and me when we were children. About what a farce our lives were. You remember,” she accused Taylor. “You probably know the whole story already, being a cop.”

All three of them jumped when Taylor’s phone rang. She was tempted to let it ring but knew she had to answer. “I’m so sorry. Please, let me just take this call. I don’t know the whole story, Quinn. Police reports and court transcripts only tell half of it. I’d like to hear your side. Excuse me for a moment.”

She glanced at the caller ID. It was Fitz. She picked up the phone and stepped out of the room. “Jackson here.” As he spoke, she couldn’t believe what she heard. Hanging up, she went back into the library. Baldwin and Quinn were quiet, subdued. Taylor took a deep breath before she spoke. This news was going to tear a rift through Quinn’s life so large that it would most likely be irreparable.

“Quinn, please. I have some news about Jake.”

Quinn didn’t look at her, just sank gracefully into a chair, hands clasped in her lap. She was holding on so tight her knuckles were white. “Go ahead. This day can’t get any worse.”

“Quinn, Jake’s been arrested. His car was pulled over on I-65, heading south to Nashville from Kentucky. He had…” Her voice wavered for an instant, then gained strength. “He had a body in the trunk of his car. We believe that it’s Ivy Tanner Clark, the girl who went missing from Louisville yesterday.”

Baldwin stood, ready to pepper her with questions, but she held up a hand. “Jake’s being transported to the Criminal Justice Center downtown. Special Agent Baldwin and I are needed down there right away. We have to interrogate him after he’s booked. Do you understand what I’m saying, Quinn?”

Quinn’s lips were stretched taut, a bloodless line across her crestfallen face. She shook her head once.

“Do I need to get him a lawyer?”

“That’s his right. Or he can waive that right and talk to us. Why don’t we go on downtown, you can sort it out there.”

“No.” Quinn’s voice was the strongest they’d heard all afternoon. “No, Goddammit. Let him rot. If he did this, I’m not helping him.” She fled the room and Taylor could hear her footsteps thudding up the stairs. She shrugged and turned to Baldwin.

“We should go. I want to have a few moments alone with Mr. Buckley.”

Taylor and Baldwin rolled into the CJC in high spirits. After a hellacious few days, the Strangler seemed to have fallen into their laps, a product of solid police work and a little bit of luck. Not to mention the possible resolution of the Rainman case. Taylor was giddy with achievement; her name was going to be linked with the capture of two nationally known criminals. Not that she needed a career boost, but her level of satisfaction with her job rose appreciably when things were going her way. They made their way down the hall to the Homicide office, chatting. Turning the corner, they found Fitz, Lincoln, Marcus and Captain Price waiting. They didn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong with you guys? You look like the party’s over before it’s even begun. Where’s Buckley?”

Taylor peered out of the office toward the interrogation rooms. The lights were on in one. Jake Buckley, the Southern Strangler, would be behind that door. A wave of excitement rolled through her.

Price answered Taylor, looking glum. “He lawyered up. Won’t say a thing, just keeps repeating the word. Lawyer, lawyer, lawyer. He, uh, needs a phone to make the call, but we haven’t found a phone that works yet.”

“Smart move, Cap. Why don’t you let Baldwin and I give it a go, see if he decides to play with us. We have some background on him from his wife. Let’s see if his guilt about her will let him open up.”

“That’s what we were waiting on. Go for it. But if he asks again, we’ll have to let him call his lawyer. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised to see one wander through the door any second. You were with the wife, right? Wouldn’t she be calling one for him right about now?”

Baldwin shook his head. “I don’t think Quinn Buckley’s going to be doing much of anything in the way of helping her husband right now. She’s one very upset lady.”

“Okay then, give it a whirl. The body was taken to the M.E.’s office. ‘Torn to shreds’ was the phrase the arresting officer used.”

“Torn to shreds?” Taylor turned to look at Price.

“Apparently she’d been stabbed, her throat cut, couple of visible broken bones. Torn up.”

“And the hands?” Baldwin asked.

“Intact. Looked like a frenzied killing, maybe he got interrupted before he could finish, decided to dump the body in the trunk and get out of Dodge. I don’t know. And there’s more good news. There was also a bag found in the wheel well under the trunk liner. A whole murder kit. Rope, tape, a military-type K-Bar knife, scalpels…crime scene techs are sorting it all right now. There’s forensic evidence galore in that bag. Oh, and look at this.”

Price handed Taylor a green file folder. Baldwin looked over her shoulder while she flipped through it. The first photo was of Ivy Clark’s mutilated body, stowed in the trunk of the car. Leafing through the file, Taylor stopped at a photo of an overnight bag. An innocuous black leather bag, full to the brim with death. Price smiled grimly. “Found everything in here. But that’s not the best part. Look at the close-up.”

She flipped to the next picture. There was a very distinct monogram embossed into the leather with the initials J-W-B in gold. Taylor shook her head in amazement.

“His own personally monogrammed murder kit. How convenient. Okay, let me at him. See what I can shake out.” She looked at Baldwin. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Price motioned toward the interrogation-room door.

“We’ll be on the other side, watching. Good luck.”

Taylor opened the door and strode into the room. It was relatively small, just enough space for a table and four chairs. The walls were an institutional shade of robin’s-egg blue, marred only by a mirror. She gave Price and the team a few moments to get themselves situated as Baldwin took one of the chairs opposite a haggard-looking man. Taylor eyed him, he was about her age, mid thirties, but his disheveled appearance added a decade to his rugged good looks. His beard was growing in, his hair was tousled. He had a small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. Taylor figured that would be the best way to get him to open up. She glanced at Baldwin, who gave her a nod. She was the lead right now. He’d back her up if and when necessary. Jake Buckley watched her as she entered, pure hatred in his eyes. He didn’t look as defeated as he had just moments before. Taylor tsk-tsked, stepped out of the room, then came back in with a tissue box. She offered one to him, a conciliatory gesture. He took it and pressed it to his mouth.

“Looks like you got roughed up a bit out there, Mr. Buckley. I’m so sorry about that. I’m hoping this is just a huge misunderstanding, that none of our men actually meant to hurt you. Regardless, that wasn’t very professional of them, and I’ll have a word with the arresting officer, make sure it’s noted in his file. Would that suit you, sir?”

He met her eyes and a bit of arrogance crept into his gaze. The term
sir
had put him back in control. He had money and power, and by God he was going to be treated with respect. A subservient woman to interrogate him was just the ticket. Taylor was playing him perfectly. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smiling.

“Now, Mr. Buckley, can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe? Soda? Maybe some ice to put on that cut?

Looks like it might be swelling up just a little bit.”

Buckley eyed her. “Coffee. Black, two sugars. The ice won’t be necessary. Looks like you could use some yourself.”

Taylor ignored the jibe about her black eye. “No problem, Mr. Buckley. Let me go get that for you.” She smiled again, nonthreatening, a buddy, not a cop.