Taylor had learned the hard way that fighting with someone you love has rules of engagement. She’d learned never to say the first thing that popped into her mind. Or the second. Or even the third, for that matter.
Finally, she took a breath, calmed herself, then said, “You think Fitz is dead, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that if you fall for this, if you run off after him, you might be. And I can’t lose you, Taylor. Not like that. Not to someone like him.”
“So are you going to forbid me to go? Put your foot down, assert your rights over me?”
“No. I’d never do that. But I can ask, can’t I? I can ask you, beg you, to stay away from this case. To stay in Nashville where I can breathe easier, knowing you’re surrounded by people I trust to help keep you safe. All I can do is ask that you’ll keep me in mind before you do something reckless. Will you, Taylor? Will you please, please think about what you’re doing before you do it?”
Could she do that? The other thing about love, she’d quickly learned, was that you had to think about the other person first, then think about yourself and your own desires. Every bone in her body screamed to get in the car and drive, to get to that campsite, to see what was happening, to make sure they were doing everything right. But Baldwin had a point. The Pretender was trying to draw her out, to get her off balance. She would be no use to Fitz if she were captured or dead.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. I’ll stay here.”
“Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You know I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You’re my own heart, Taylor.”
There was a puddle of water forming at the base of the driveway. A cheap penny saver, delivered to the wrong house by accident, floated in its plastic bag. She drove over it, out of the drive, up the street, wipers on, lights on. Mind completely and utterly off.
Poor Fitz. Being used as a tool in this ridiculous game. Knowing she’d caused him to suffer was overwhelming, and she realized that’s exactly what the Pretender had in mind. The suffering of those she loved was to be her penance until he was ready to face her.
She picked McKenzie up from his house, grateful that he could recognize she had her mind on things. He stayed silent until she finally spoke.
“Where are we on the case?”
He flipped open his notebook. “I think we’re very close. We’ve got all the players. Juri Edvin will be booked for the murder of Brittany Carson. His girlfriend, Susan Norwood, is cognizant of his actions—she was trying to help him run away. We get a confession out of him today about the other seven kills and we can wrap this all up.”
“I still think there’s something else going on.”
“Like what?”
“This is all too sophisticated for a teenage boy to pull off. I think we should look harder at our vampire and our witch. Marcus applied for a warrant to the vampire’s house. I want to see what he had stashed there.”
“Ariadne’s not involved,” McKenzie said, a note of finality in his voice.
“How can you know that? She’s completely out there. How do you know she isn’t leading us down the primrose path?”
“A gut feeling about her, that’s all. I did a little research into her last night while you were at Vanderbilt. She has no history of interjecting herself into cases. She was a very powerful political figure in the Wicca movement, a high priestess who doubled as a judge on a disciplinary committee. But she dropped out several years ago, citing personal conflicts with the direction of the religion.”
“Then she may have a grudge.”
“I don’t think so. I think she’s telling the truth.”
“You think she can read minds and conjure energy?”
“I don’t know about that. I think she believes she can help, though. Just do me a favor and listen to what she has to say. I asked her to come in later this morning.”
Taylor parked the car, and they crossed the street together. As she swiped her key card in the back door, she turned to him.
“Okay. I trust you.”
A small smile gleamed on his face, but he didn’t say a word.
Paula Simari was sitting in the Homicide office, chatting with Marcus Wade when Taylor and McKenzie walked in. She was on a roll, gesticulating wildly to make her point.
“You can always judge a man by how he treats his dog, Wade. All you have to do is watch. Does he jerk its head to keep it in line? Does he yank a little too hard when he’s training, or is it justified? Dogs like to work, you know. They like to have a purpose, a job. Max knows what his job is, and he’s happiest when he’s working. But I’ll be damned if I’ll yank his head like that.”
“Morning, you two,” Taylor said. “What’s up?”
Simari turned with a grimace, deep black circles under her eyes. “Animal cruelty case rolled in overnight—I got stuck with it. I hate these bastards who chain their dogs and claim it’s good for their character. Asshole was training his Rottweiler, yanked a slip chain around the dog’s neck so hard that his neck broke. Didn’t kill him, the poor thing, we had to put him down after we got there. I’d like to put his owner down, I’ll tell you that much.”
“God, Simari, sorry. That’s awful.”
“Yes, well. It’s not your problem. I actually came to tag along on your warrant. Wade requested Max and I ride along.”
“Are you up for it? You’ve been on shift all night?”
“I am. It’s all good. We’ll rest after.”
“So Marcus, we have the warrant?” Taylor asked.
“Signed, sealed and delivered. Mr. Johnson was the guest of the county last night.”
“What about Susan Norwood, the girl who calls herself Ember?”
“Released into her parents’ custody at midnight.”
Taylor slammed her hand against the desk. “Shit. I wanted her held. What happened?”
Marcus shook his head. “Nothing to charge her with. Sneaking into a boy’s hospital room wasn’t enough. Miles Rose, slippery bastard, talked her right out of the cuffs.”
Taylor chewed on her lip for a moment. “I want an officer on her at all times. She’s involved in this.”
Marcus waved his hand at a pile of papers, what she assumed were the guardian orders. “Already done. Juri Edvin passed an uneventful night at Vandy. They think he’ll be ready to be released into custody tomorrow. Lincoln’s in, he’s still working with the video-sharing sites.”
“Excellent. Thanks for running all that down for me. McKenzie, what time is Ariadne supposed to be here?”
“The escort is supposed to bring her back at 10:00 a.m.”
“Then let’s get moving. Simari, Marcus, you’re with us.”
They left a few minutes later. Taylor drove, McKenzie rode next to her. Marcus was in the backseat, working his phone. Simari followed in her patrol car, Max sticking his nose out the open window, a channel of crisp, fresh air running straight up his black nostrils.
Rush hour was ending, but the streets were still congested with latecomers and two fender-benders. The ride up to Joelton would normally take thirty minutes; they’d already been gone an hour and Taylor was getting frachetty. She hated traffic.
Lincoln called just as they took the exit off the highway. Marcus spent a few minutes listening, then slapped his phone shut.
“Good news,” Marcus said “One of the video sharing sites found a match to the address. They’re tracking it down now.”
Taylor looked in the rearview at him. “What do you mean, a match to the address?”
“Remember Lincoln said yesterday that there was a ghost in the IP address that showed him the uploads were being rerouted? There were multiple IP addresses for the uploads, but he’s found a pattern.”
“Honestly, no. That one slipped by me.”
“Well, there’ve been other videos posted by the person who posted the original video. They’re tracking the IP addresses now. They think they’ll have something concrete by noon.”
“Big Brother is watching,” McKenzie said wryly.
The morning had become glaring and hot. Taylor slipped on her sunglasses. She looked back at Marcus again, amused by the excessive floppiness of his brown hair this morning. The kid hadn’t slept much, looked like when he did, it was face-first. “Well, thank goodness for Big Brother in this case, because it may be our only credible lead. Nothing showed up on Juri Edvin’s or Susan Norwood’s computers, I take it?”
“Susan’s hasn’t been looked at—her parents are being a bit difficult. But the Edvins were quite forthcoming, dropped Juri’s laptop off with Lincoln late last night. He didn’t find any links, but he’s still looking. The kid was into all kinds of crazy stuff though. His history reads like a who’s who of creeps and illegal stuff—some bondage footage, a guide to bomb making, cyanide poisoning, neck breaking. He’s studying violence, and violent means of death. He fits the profile we have to a T.”
“If we can tie him to Barent we’ll be set. Any correspondence between the two?”
“Not that we’ve found yet. We dumped his texts and are going through them, but that’s going to take a while.”
“Anything off the personal security video cameras at any of the houses?”
“The only one that had a camera was the Norwoods’, but it was turned off. The rest were pointed away from the scenes, so nothing of use.”
“Well, if little Miss Ember was sneaking out at night to see her boyfriend, Thorn, she may have jury-rigged the camera to cover her tracks.”
“We’ll have to ask the Norwoods to get the whole story. The security firm said the camera was turned off sometime during the first week of September because Mrs. Norwood felt it too intrusive.”
“Too intrusive? I will never understand why people spend oodles of money on these elaborate alarm systems then don’t use them correctly.”
“Maybe Mrs. Norwood was aware of her daughter’s proclivity for running around after hours and approved,” McKenzie said.
“Do any parents approve of their child seeking nocturnal activities?” Marcus asked.
Taylor glanced at him in the rearview. “You’d be surprised. I’ve seen parents do crazy things. If the Edvins were feeling so terrorized by their son, what’s to say the Norwoods weren’t feeling that from their daughter? Maybe it was self-preservation.”
“Do you think she could kill her own brother?”
“I don’t know, Marcus. I just don’t know.”
McKenzie pointed to an ornate mailbox. “Hey, this is it.”
Taylor braked, hard, skidding a little bit on the rough asphalt. There was a gated entrance, harled stone stacked six feet high on either side of a dirt driveway. The black wrought-iron gate was conveniently open.
Taylor backed up a bit, then drove through, dust swirling around the Lumina in choking waves.
The drive was about a mile long, with a hedge running along each side that blocked the view of the land.
“He’s got a decent bit of property out here,” she said, gritting her teeth as she hit a dip in the road unexpectedly, jarring all of them. “Sorry.”
The road curved then, and opened into a beautiful cobblestone parking area. The house beyond sprawled the length of the circular turnaround, a three-storied Gothic Victorian, columned, gray with white trim, complete with a turret. It was a lovely house, double balconies, in good shape, no peeling paint, no cobwebs. If it were run-down, then she could get the sense that the king of the vampires lived there. As it was, it was downright cheery. She snorted to herself at the thought, threw the car into Park and climbed out.
Simari pulled in behind, left Max in the car and joined them.
Marcus stared in admiration at the surroundings. “Used to be a farm, I’d bet. See how the land rolls away? It would make a good vineyard.”
“Lots of good farmland up here. Cotton and corn. Some tobacco, too.”
They jumped at the voice, turned to see a small man in coveralls advancing on them, brandishing a rake.
“You’re trespassing on private property. Can I help you folks?”
Taylor took a step back, tapped her badge on her belt. “Yes, sir. My name is Lieutenant Jackson, Metro Homicide. Detective Wade, Detective McKenzie and Officer Simari. We have a warrant to search the premises.”
Max began barking in the backseat, Taylor shot Simari a glance. No sense getting this guy riled up. Go calm the dog. Simari turned and went to her patrol car. Max’s throaty growls lessened.
The man used the rake like a cane, leaned on it and scratched his freckled, balding head. He had tufts of white hair pouring out of his ears—it made him look like a party favor.
“Now, what in the world? A warrant? For what? Why do you need to search my home?”
“Your home? We were under the impression that it belonged to a Keith Barent Johnson.”
“Ha!” The little old man laughed. “That’s me, and this here’s my house. But I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Sir, we have a man in custody who says his name is Keith Barent Johnson, and lists this address as his residence.”
The man shifted the rake to his other side. Taylor could see him thinking. He finally sighed deeply, mopped his forehead with a red bandanna and waved them to the porch.
“You’re probably talking about my son, Barry. Come on in the house, I need some coffee. We can talk.”
Mr. Johnson poured the coffee, so thick it practically slid into the cups.
“Barry’s a good boy, you mind. Just a wee bit messed up in the head. He was a soldier, don’tcha know. A damn good one, from what I hear.”
“What branch of service was he in?” Taylor asked. She pretended to sip from her cup—coffee wasn’t her favorite thing in the world.
“Marines. First Gulf War. He’s a chemical engineer by training, but he ended up in the infantry. Boy can handle a weapon—I taught him young, they buffed him up. Parris Island, then SOI at Camp Geiger.”
“SOI?” Taylor asked.
“School of Infantry. He came home in one piece, but the mind wasn’t all there, if you know what I mean. Gulf War syndrome, they call it. He’s on a full disability discharge and gets regular checkups at the VA hospital. They’ve been doing a nice job keeping up with him, actually. Once his momma died, God rest her soul, it’s just been the two of us. He gets lonely, I know that. I try to keep him busy, but he spends a lot of time on his computer or out in his sheds.”
“You weren’t concerned when he didn’t come home last night?” McKenzie asked.
Johnson poured himself another cup of sludge. “Naw. He likes to carouse, sometimes. He’s got himself a widow woman up near Pleasant View. She was the wife of a friend in his old unit. He goes up there to see her at night, once in a while. She’s a nice girl, churchgoing. Bit soft in the head herself, but they manage. When I came home from the grocery yesterday and he wasn’t here, I just assumed he was up with her. Guess y’all had come to take him away though, huh.”
“That’s right.”
“So are you going to tell me what he’s done, or do I need to guess?”
Taylor hated giving bad news to parents, regardless of the age of the child or their misdeeds. “Sir, your son has claimed that he was involved in the murder of seven teenagers in Green Hills on Halloween night.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Wasn’t my boy. He was here with me on Halloween.” The small mouth shut firmly.
“He also claims that he’s the king of the Vampyre Nation,” McKenzie said.
The old man closed his eyes briefly, shook his head. His voice was soft. “That’s just his sickness. He came back from that war all kinds of messed up in the head, talking about vampires sucking the blood out of his body. Started sleeping all day and roaming around at night. Filed his teeth into them stupid fangs. I never saw no harm in it—he doesn’t do anything. He talks to some of his kind on the computer some. They have themselves a fine old time. But he’d never hurt a flea.”
“Sir, you understand that we
will have to execute this warrant regardless. Your son knew details about the crimes that weren’t released to the press. And he was caught on film at several of the crime scenes. So we know he wasn’t home with you.”
“Must’ve left after I went to sleep. I have a scanner in the living room. He likes to listen to it. I’m sure he heard about it from that and decided to go check it out.”
“Sir, I appreciate that, but we’re going to have to search the house anyway. We’d best get on with it.” She stood, plunked her cup in the kitchen sink. “I’ll just go get Simari.”
McKenzie stayed put with the old man. She knew he was going to pump him for more information, left him to it.
Marcus and Simari were ready to get going, both leaning impatiently against Simari’s patrol car. Max was leashed and had his nose to the ground, quivering.
“Marcus, why don’t you start in the house. Mr. Johnson mentioned his son likes to putter in the sheds. I thought Simari and I could take a look at them.”
He nodded and pushed off the car, taking a set of purple nitrile gloves out of his pocket as he left. Taylor watched him go, then turned to Simari.
“So, think Max can do a little snooping for me while we’re here?”
“Of course. Drugs?”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Let’s go look around.”
They took a path that led to the right of the house, curving back toward the hills. The backyard was as tidy as the front—azaleas and hydrangeas and crepe myrtles cut back for the winter, dogwoods and tulip poplars spread across a vast expanse of still-green lawn.
“Man, he must spend hours on this,” Simari said. Max had his nose to the pea-gravel pathway, snuffling.
“I bet it’s beautiful in spring. I love dogwoods.”
“Why, LT. How romantic of you.” They shared a laugh, the gravel crunching beneath their boots as they walked. The sheds were one hundred yards ahead, three of them, low to the ground, painted red with white trim, like the side of a barn.
They passed a small fire pit, the scorched remnants of leaves and twigs gathered at the edges, like someone had stuck a stick into the hole and stirred. Simari held up, let Max smell it. He didn’t hit, so they kept going.
The Immortals Page 22
