Authors: J.T. Ellison
Baldwin was looking into space. “Sacrificing. Not killing. He’s sacrificing them. The question is, why?”
Ah, she had him. She knew that look. Anyone who got a theory, a glimmer of an idea, got that spaced-out look of being lost in his or her own mind. She’d been like that enough times herself to recognize the cause. She decided to take the chance.
“So, are you in?”
Baldwin shook his head. “Huh?”
“I said, are you in?”
Baldwin tried to look her in the eye, but failed. This woman had witnessed the most desperate act of his life, and in essence, saved him from himself. Would he be able to work with her day after day to find a madman? Would she be able to work with him, knowing he wasn’t altogether stable?
He dragged his eyes back to hers.
“I’m in.”
29
Taylor was reluctant to leave Baldwin alone, but she knew he needed some time to process what had happened over the past few hours. She’d laid out a few ground rules, including not playing Russian Roulette until the investigation was closed, which he snickered at but nodded gravely in agreement. She had cautiously offered the name of a good friend who happened to be a psychotherapist, and was shocked when Baldwin hadn’t brushed her off. He hadn’t jumped up, shouted for joy, and demanded the number to make an appointment on the spot, but at least he had taken the suggestion. She left her friend’s number on his kitchen counter. The next steps were up to him.
She pulled into her driveway and was amused to see a little face staring out the window, eyes in slits of bliss at the sight of her mommy finally making it home for the night.
She turned the key in the lock and could hear the disgruntled mewing from outside. She pushed open the door and laughed when the cat flipped onto her back, desperately begging for a tummy rub. Taylor was only too happy to oblige.
“There’s my little baby. I’m so sorry I had to leave you for so long. Were you lonely? Did you miss your mommy?” She’d long since given up feeling embarrassed about talking baby talk to a cat. She rubbed and scratched the cat’s ears and was rewarded with a long, rumbling purr, then a quick nip on the top of the hand as a reminder not to do it again.
“Ouch, brat, that hurt.” Taylor stood up, sucking the tiny puncture on her hand. “Fine then, see if you get any loving. Interesting day today, though? Did you have any visitors? Did Greg the bunny come see you?” A rabbit had taken up residence on the side of the house, and came to feast on the bird food scattered on the ground in front of Jade’s favorite window. “Maybe we should put out some food for him in the morning.”
Taylor wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, and made her way back to the couch. She picked up the remote and put it down. She wasn’t in the mood to surf for an old movie or other distraction. She was thinking about Baldwin.
Jade followed her to the couch, jumped up into her lap, kneading her way to Taylor’s shoulder, where she settled in with her nose pressed into her neck.
“Oh, sweetie, that tickles.” She stroked the cat, lost in thought. “You know, John Baldwin is a complete mess.” The purr in response was the only encouragement she needed.
“He’s as screwed up as I am. He lost three of his men and feels totally responsible. He may be, for all I know. But wow, he’s on the edge. I found him getting ready to shoot himself tonight. I can identify with that. I mean, there were a few times there when I didn’t think I was going to make it.” The feelings she’d been bottling up all night overcame her, and she choked back a sob, her shoulders starting to shake. Jade didn’t seem to mind, and kneaded a little more, settling in closer, giving her a hug. Taylor squeezed back, trying to get herself under control.
She took a deep breath, holding it for a count of thirty then letting it out slowly. It was a trick her therapist had taught her, and it did work. She felt much calmer when she let it out. She thought she had finished the self-flagellation. She had been cleared in David’s death. Been put back to work. She’d dealt with the looks, the whispers. Went on with her life with a small empty spot gnawing quietly at her heart.
“Baldwin seems like a decent man. He could be handsome if he got himself back together. I’m telling you, cat, I may be in the business of saving people, but I really didn’t know what to do when I saw him with that gun. I just reacted, like I would do with anyone I found like that. It seemed to work—I think he may be okay. But it scared me.”
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 honorable 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.”