Authors: J.T. Ellison
“You don’t think it’s this yahoo’s first rodeo?”
“I don’t. The whole thing felt off to me.”
Price sat back in his chair. “How off?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see more. The scene was definitely staged.”
“Great. Just what we need.”
“No kidding. So are you cool with me sending the DNA to Simon Loughley? The tox screen will go to him automatically anyway. This way, he can handle the whole case.”
Partly because of Meredith Robbins’s actions over the past three years in office, the MNPD still didn’t have their own forensics lab. She had suggested that if the department wanted their own lab, they could cut employees to get the necessary budget requirements, and Metro had no intention of cutting their officers. So they were beholden to other official labs for results. They hated sending high-profile DNA to the FBI labs for comparison, because even with a push there could be a wait of a year or so. The TBI, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, was the next best bet, but they too could drag out the final results over several months. Their only choice for fast-track cases was private labs. It wasn’t standard operating procedure, but there were times and cases that necessitated a quick turnaround. Private Match had done work for them in the past. Taylor trusted them, and trusted Sam’s abilities to finagle the work quickly. Plus, Simon Loughley had been a friend for many years. He could be counted on to do the work fast, and get it right.
Price played with one end of his mustache. “No, I think we’ll be able to handle it. If this is going to be as high profile as you think, we can’t afford any bureaucratic funding roadblocks. You heard the mayor. I’ll pin it on her if I can’t make it happen. Surefire way to get it through. This may be a great opportunity to hit her again with the new forensic lab proposal...”
“Good idea. I’ll let you handle that,” Taylor said. “Getting back to reality... Our witnesses aren’t going to be much help. They didn’t see another soul. We’re hoping that will change when they get a chance to calm down.” She gestured toward the ceiling. A huge, dark brown watermark in the corner caught her eye, distracting her for a moment. Her voice trailed off, then she addressed him again.
“Price, there’s something else. There were some sweet-smelling herbs scattered on the body. Sam’s sending samples to a buddy to get a quick ID, but this changes the complexion of this case. They have to be part of the staging, because I doubt some drunk wandered by and threw a posy on her.”
“Herbs? What kind of herbs? What the hell is that about?”
“I have no idea, but we’ll have to keep a tight rein on that little tidbit. It could be a signature, and we really don’t want it getting out.”
“This place is leaking like a sieve, Taylor. You keep that deep, okay? Nobody hears about it outside of your detectives.” He leaned back in his chair. “So how do you want to run this? You’ve got a few open cases on your plate right now, but this should take priority.”
“Yeah, we have several that are on the burner, and two very active. I can offload them on Fitz, let him run them, and if this pops, we can pull him back in. He can manage things out of here for me if anything happens. Plus, I think it would be good to bring Marcus Wade in to back me up on this. He needs the experience.”
“Works for me. Which cases do you want to give Fitz?”
“The Lischey Avenue murder from last week. The one the paper picked up and ran with? Little Man Graft murdered Lashon Hall, Terrence Norton saw the whole thing, but he’s not talking. That one.”
Price groaned and Taylor grinned. Anytime the news got involved in their cases, something was bound to go wrong.
“Mayfield didn’t do us any favors, did she?”
“No.”
“Little Man and Norton are getting to be frequent fliers with Metro.” He shook his head, frowning. “Think you can nail them for this one? I’m getting tired of their antics.”
Taylor barked a laugh. “It’s not me, Price. Blame it on their peers. I made a solid case two months ago on an assault charge against Terrence, and the jury acquitted him in forty-five minutes. Anyway, I haven’t been able to shake anyone loose on Lischey Avenue. There
is
a fourteen-year-old kid who witnessed the murder, but his mom has him in hiding and won’t let him make a statement. I begged and pleaded, but she said no way. I don’t blame her—these guys are absolutely ruthless. There’s a better than even chance he’ll get himself killed if he talks.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I want Fitz to work his magic on Terrence. See if he can scare anything out of him. Lashon was supposedly his best friend, so maybe Fitz can appeal to the kid’s conscience. If not, we don’t have enough to charge Little Man with this murder, but he is on probation. If Terrence will give it up, we can get him on a weapons charge at the very least. And then charge Terrence as an accessory. Like I said, it’s a mess.”
“Let Fitz go to town. He’ll nail one of them on something, and the rest will topple like dominoes.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. I was gonna pull him in on this anyway.” She got quiet for a minute. “There is one that I wanted to handle myself, but I can turn it over if you want. Suicide last week, seventeen-year-old boy. There’s something way hinky about this one. Rescue got the call that a kid committed suicide. They responded and found the boy shot in the bathroom, but he’d been dead for a few hours. The father made the 911 call. When the officers arrived, he told them he and the boy were sitting side by side on the bed in the father’s bedroom, having an argument. He claims the boy reached over him to the bedside table, pulled the father’s .44 out of the drawer, stood up, walked three feet to the bathroom door, put the gun to his right temple, and pulled the trigger. Sort of an
I’ll show you
gesture.
“When I got on scene, the father had hidden the gun in a basket across the hall from his room. His kid was lying there in a mess of blood and brains, and the dude asked me if he could step out for a bite to eat. I almost shot him myself. I think the father shot the kid, set the whole scene up.”
“Anything to back up your theory?”
“Instinct. Plus the wound didn’t have any contact burns, but it was such a mess that we’re waiting for the autopsy to come back to get the trajectory. The father has a record of domestic assault—the mother disappeared three months ago. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s lying to us. I’d like to find the mother. May be more than one murder there.”
“Are you comfortable handing it over to Fitz?”
“Yeah, he can handle it fine. I just want the bastard nailed.” She stood, swiping her hands down her thighs to smooth out the invisible wrinkles in her jeans. “I’ll pull the files and brief Fitz. He’s already familiar with both of these cases.” She started for the door, but Price held up a hand.
“Hey, sit back down for a minute.”
She did, wary. “What’s up?”
He swiped back another rather invisible strand of hair. “Julia Page called from the DA’s office. The Special Investigative Grand Jury has scheduled your testimony on the remaining charges of the Martin case. You’re on call to appear sometime Wednesday or Thursday, depending on how things are progressing. Julia is pleased with the state of things so far. She wanted me to let you know.”
Taylor was astounded that Price could call it “the Martin case” with such nonchalance. Four CID detectives, three in Vice and one in Homicide, had been complicit in one of the largest and most professionally run methamphetamine labs the state of Tennessee had ever seen, and in the death of a twelve-year-old girl. Not to mention Taylor’s own involvement in the case. She had uncovered the scheme. And ended it with a finality that was unmatched.
Testifying in front of the special grand jury was no big deal, especially now that she’d been cleared. She’d be asked detailed questions, and she’d give detailed answers. It was David Martin who would haunt Taylor for the rest of her life.
Detective
David Martin. He wouldn’t be arrested, indicted, or even charged with running the scheme. Because he was dead, and Taylor had killed him. But that had been self-defense. The grand jury said so.
She smiled at Price. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Taylor, I think—”
“Price, it’s all good. Really. I’m all set to testify against Martin’s partners. I have everything laid out. As for the rest of it—” she sighed “—I’m doing my best to put it all behind me. The shrinks cleared me. Internal Affairs cleared me. The DA’s office and the GJ cleared me. It is past, gone, forgotten.”
That’s it, girl
, she thought to herself.
Keep up a brave front. He doesn’t need to know about the whispers from the other officers, the panic attacks, that you can’t sleep without horrific nightmares
.
Price stared at her for a split second longer, and she wondered if he knew everything she’d been thinking without her saying a word. But the moment passed and he nodded.
“Then go find me a name for our Parthenon girl.”
6
Taylor closed the door quietly behind her. She took two steps and tripped over a ream of paper. She fell into her desk, banging her leg on the corner of a half-opened drawer. She bit back a curse, rubbed at the bruise. Surveyed her kingdom.
The Homicide squad was crammed cheek to jowl into a crappy forty-by-forty-foot bull pen. The close quarters meant no privacy and constant distractions. At least there were fewer bodies to deal with. Six months earlier, the decentralization of Violent Crimes had created several distinct Homicide Units. Each city sector now housed a grouping of general detectives who handled everything from fistfights in bars to aggravated assaults to murders in the projects. In Nashville, Homicide covered the full gamut of physical crimes.
Taylor’s group was unique. She ran an elite squad of detectives nicknamed “The Murder Squad.” They were the most successful shift in the CID. What made Taylor’s team different from Nashville’s other homicide detectives was the element of mystery in their jobs. If a violent crime occurred that resulted in a death, and there was no suspect, they caught the case. If the trail went cold after twenty-four hours, it was theirs. If another shift didn’t want to deal with a case, it fell into their laps.
Taylor was proud of her team of detectives. They had an incredibly high close rate, nearly 86 percent, which had its good and bad points. It got them excellent press and made the department look good, which meant perks all around like interesting cases, less scrutiny, and more freedom for outside work.
But success was always tempered with a desire to see failure. There were the detectives who dumped their loads simply because they wanted to see her fail. She hadn’t made a lot of friends when she’d killed David Martin, even though he was as dirty as they came. There were grudges aplenty among the detectives who’d worked with him. In some minds, if she’d just come forward with what she suspected, Detective Martin could have been charged and tried with his partners instead of killed. No one wanted to see a cop dead, even if he was a bad guy.
Which would have been fine by her, if Martin hadn’t tried to kill her first.
She was on shaky footing. Her once-carefree demeanor had changed. Her actions were tempered with caution. Her words more measured and thought out. She was on edge all the time, though she thought she was doing a pretty good job of hanging in there. At least in public.
The news that she would testify again this week was actually welcome. She just wanted to get it over with so she could put it all behind her. Though she knew as soon as the grand jury handed down the indictments, the plea bargaining would start, then the trials. It wasn’t going to end, not really, for a very long time. And there was nothing she could do to erase the memory of David Martin, dead on her billiards room floor.
None of it mattered. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it.
Fitz came into the squad room, whistling.
“Ahh, Mr. Fitz. Thank you for joining our little party.”
“Don’t mention it. I strive to achieve perfect timing.”
“And so you have.” She sat on the edge of her desk. “Okay guys, let’s get started.”
Marcus Wade, her wet-behind-the-ears rookie, and Lincoln Ross, her seasoned computer expert, faced her expectantly. Fitz took a seat across from her. He was her veteran; they’d been together for years now. Between the four of them, Taylor was pretty certain they could crack any case that came their way.
“What’s happening at Centennial?”
“There’s nothing turning up on the grid search,” Fitz said. “And we haven’t found any witnesses. Even Adidas claims to have been asleep on his personal bus bench, like a good little boy.”
Adidas, so named for his labeled gym bag from the sporting goods company, was one of Nashville’s many homeless citizens and a well-known fixture around the park, but not a threat to anyone but the pigeons. “Was he sober?” Taylor smiled to herself. Fat chance of that.
“Naw, he was reeking like a distillery. He must have lit it up last night. Didn’t even hear the sirens this morning.”
“Too much to ask to have a witness, I guess. Okay, boys. Here’s what’s going to happen. Price and I decided Fitz is going to take over some of my cases so I can focus on our murder this morning. Is that cool with you, Fitz? I’m going to keep you in the loop on everything that happens, and if we need to pull you back in full-time, we’ll do it. I’m hoping we can wrap this up quickly, but if not...”
“Fine by me. You gonna let the kid here run with you?” He pointed at Marcus Wade, who sat up straighter in his chair. This was the highest-profile case he’d ever been tapped to work.
“Yep, that’s the plan. If you would be so kind as to wrap up the park and file your report, I’d appreciate it. Then you can start messing around with my stuff.”
“Sure thing.” He gave her a smile, and Taylor thanked whatever being had sent Fitz her way. Any other detective would have gotten snotty or hurt by the request to stand down, but Fitz knew enough about the politics not to worry. Taylor knew he would never suspect her of cutting him out of a case to take the glory for herself. He had told her from the beginning that her move to lieutenant would cut back some of his responsibilities and allow him the space to prepare for a graceful retirement from the force in a few years. Taylor returned the smile with gratitude.