‘But we know who she was,’ Tayte said. ‘And after she was rejected by the love of her life, Gertrude Jones killed herself in his bathtub so his wife would discover their affair.’
‘It amazes me how you can draw a picture of people’s lives like this,’ Mavro said.
‘It’s all in the records. You just have to find the pieces and put them together to see how our ancestors lived, and in this case, how they died.’
‘And now we not only know how Jones died, but where.’
Tayte picked up on the excitement in Mavro’s voice at knowing they were so close to solving the Genie’s latest clue. He nodded. ‘All that remains is to find out where Mark Knight lived in 1930.’
‘Will that take long?’ Mavro asked. ‘I hate to rush you, but it’s a quarter after ten. We don’t have much time left.’
‘The 1930 census will tell us,’ Tayte said with confidence, knowing that the census enumeration that year began in April, three months after Jones had taken her life. He tapped at his laptop’s keyboard again and brought up an online census search for that year, glad the required seventy-two-year privacy period for this census had passed. ‘We should have this wrapped up in a matter of minutes,’ he added as he began to enter the search details for Mark Alexander Knight.
When the results came back, Tayte froze. Knight’s address was in DC’s Downtown neighbourhood. He had lived right next door to the address Mavro had passed to Reese the night before. Gertrude Jones had been having an affair with her neighbour.
Chapter Fourteen
Tayte and Mavro were driving to meet SAC Reese, and it seemed to Tayte that Mavro couldn’t get to the meeting point fast enough. Her impatience to punch through the lunchtime traffic had Tayte clutching at the grab rail above his window with one hand, and the edge of his seat with the other. Following Mavro’s phone call to Reese, they had spent an uneasy hour in the coffee shop on the Jefferson Building’s cellar level, waiting to hear whether the address they had given Reese this time was right, and if it was, whether they had been in time to save the woman Adam Westlake had chosen as his next victim.
The wait to find out had been torturous. Tayte had felt so useless and frustrated the whole time, and the strong coffee he’d consumed as he and Mavro waited for the call seemed to put him all the more on edge. When Reese’s call eventually came through it was brief. He’d confirmed it was the right address, but so far that was all he’d confirmed, having chosen to save the details for when they met. They were heading west on Independence Avenue. Reese had said he’d meet them at the George Washington University Hospital.
‘She has to be alive,’ Tayte said, with more than a hint of hope in his voice. ‘Why else would Reese want us to meet him at the hospital?’
‘It’s a good sign,’ Mavro said as she turned the car north on to 17th Street, ‘but try not to get your hopes up too high until we know more. We’re almost there.’
Tayte thought back over the research they had conducted over the last twelve hours and he shook his head. ‘I can’t believe how close Reese’s team must have been to Westlake last night. He was probably right next door when they showed up.’
‘We’ll get him, JT. The team would have arrived at the second address we gave them well before the noon deadline. Maybe they already have him.’
‘Wouldn’t that be something.’
It wasn’t long before Tayte had the answers they were so anxious to hear. On their arrival at the George Washington University campus area, Mavro parked up and they met Reese in the hospital foyer. He was sitting with his head in his hands when they arrived, and as he rose to greet them, Tayte immediately noticed that his shirt, which today was light blue, was stained with blood. He wasn’t wearing his jacket.
‘Are you okay?’ Mavro asked him, clearly concerned and as yet uncertain as to whose blood it was.
Reese looked drawn. He sat down again. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘It’s not my blood. It came from Westlake’s latest victim, Tiffany Nelson. I really thought we had him this time, but now . . .’
Tayte sat in the chair beside Reese as Mavro sat to the other side. ‘Were you in time to save her? Is she okay?’
‘It’s too early to say. She was alive when I carried her in here, but she’s lost a lot of blood.’
‘What happened?’ Mavro asked.
From the manner of Gertrude Jones’s suicide, Tayte had a pretty good idea, but he let Reese explain.
‘When we arrived we found the family the home belonged to bound together in the living room—a little boy and his parents. Apart from the shock of the ordeal Westlake had put them through, they were more or less unharmed. The child’s father is being treated for a broken nose, but they got off lightly, all things considered. I wish I could say the same for Tiffany Nelson. We found her upstairs in the bathroom. She was lying naked in a half-full bathtub. Her body was cut in so many places, her life was slowly bleeding away from her. She was unconscious and close to death. I expect by noon she would have been.’ He turned to Tayte. ‘You might have saved her life.’
Tayte was in no mood to celebrate just yet. ‘Was there any sign of Westlake?’
Reese shook his head. ‘Bleeding his victim slowly to death like that meant he only had to remain with her until she lost consciousness. The cuts he’d inflicted on her, some pretty deep, would have taken care of the rest. We know he has to be in DC somewhere. There’s been a full-scale manhunt in progress for the last twenty-four hours. If he stays active in the area, we’ll find him.’
‘Anything useful found at the scene?’ Mavro asked.
‘He left us the knife he used. It’s an old bone-handled carving knife.’ Reese turned to Tayte. ‘There was a short note attached to it that said it was your knife, Mr Tayte, and that we should return it to you.’
Tayte screwed his face up. ‘My knife?’ he said, subconsciously clenching his hands into fists. ‘Why the hell did he do it with one of my knives?’
‘It clearly wasn’t an attempt to frame you, so I can only assume he did it to upset you.’
‘Well, it worked,’ Tayte said, his tone unexpectedly snappy. He drew a deep breath to calm himself. A moment later he said, ‘Someone should let my past clients know what’s going on here. They all need to be extra vigilant. I have all their contact details. It won’t all be up to date, but maybe you could—’
‘It’s already taken care of,’ Reese cut in. ‘An announcement was made to the media this morning.’
‘To the media? That’s kind of impersonal, don’t you think?’
‘We don’t have time to be personal, Mr Tayte. You’ve had too many clients to let them all know individually.’
Tayte sighed. He knew Reese was right. After a pause, he asked, ‘Did Westlake leave another clue?’
‘No, so you can expect him to call.’
Tayte sat back and wondered what it was going to take to catch this man. How many more innocent people had to die before they did? Westlake always seemed to have a way out, long before the intended time of his victim’s death. Tayte knew he was going to have to work much faster if he was to have any chance of stopping this killer.
‘Can we go and see Tiffany Nelson?’ he asked. He wanted to apologise to her for the pain and suffering he felt more than a little responsible for. ‘Or can we at least find out how she’s doing?’
Reese drew a deep breath, summoning his energy. ‘We can go and ask,’ he said as he seemed to haul himself to his feet again. ‘She’ll need rest, though. I’ll be here until she’s able to talk, but I’d suggest the two of you go and unwind somewhere. I want you to be ready when the Genie calls again.’
Having satisfied himself that Tiffany Nelson was in a stable condition, and that the prognosis for her recovery was good, Tayte left the hospital with Mavro, heading for a sports bar Mavro knew on G Street Northwest called the Exchange Saloon, which she’d told him was about half a block from the White House. It wasn’t far from the hospital, so it didn’t take them long to get there. T
he promise of a cold beer, a large plate of buffalo wings and highlights from last Sunday’s Redskins game seemed to Tayte to be just the way to follow Reese’s advice to unwind and get himself ready for the next clue. Tayte obviously had no idea when that call would come, but he doubted it would be so soon. Westlake had to prepare, and the idea that he was somewhere in DC right now, planning to abduct his next victim, to goodness knows what heinous end, turned Tayte’s stomach.
They sat on stools at the bar and ordered two beers from the vast selection on offer. The place was lively with late lunchtime trade, and as Tayte picked up his beer and allowed his shoulders to relax for what felt like the first time all morning, he thought it was good to be surrounded by normality again. It made for a welcome change.
‘Here’s to you,’ Mavro said, raising her glass to him. ‘You saved a woman’s life today.’
Tayte touched his glass to Mavro’s. ‘Right back at you,’ he said, but despite the fact that between them they had, indeed, saved Tiffany Nelson’s life, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling, yet again, that it was he who had ultimately put her life at risk in the first place. It gave his first sip of beer a bittersweet taste.
There were many television screens at the Exchange Saloon. You couldn’t look in many directions without seeing at least one, and that was especially true of the area behind the bar Tayte was facing. He had a clear view of no less than five screens, and while the Exchange Saloon didn’t appear to be showing any highlights from last Sunday’s Washington Redskins game, the screen closest to him was showing a game featuring their biggest rivals, the Dallas Cowboys, whom Tayte also took an interest in, if only to cheer on the other side in true, good-natured sports rivalry fashion.
‘Do you follow the game?’ he asked Mavro.
‘Hell, yeah,’ she said. ‘I hope we have a good season. We’ve had too many duds over the past few years.’
‘Last season wasn’t so bad.’
‘Not too bad,’ Mavro agreed. ‘At least we finished strong.’
‘Did you see the game between—’ Tayte began, but the conversation was interrupted when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Tayte spun around to see who it belonged to and saw a man in a business suit, whose tie was hanging loosely around his neck. He had froth in his beard and a half-full beer glass in his other hand.
‘It is you!’ the man said, his face beaming as though he’d just bumped into an old pal. From his somewhat slurred speech and overfamiliarity, Tayte got the impression that he’d been in the bar for some time.
‘Who?’ Tayte asked him. ‘I don’t think I know you, do I?’
‘No, you don’t know me, but I’ve seen you. You’re the guy I saw on TV before I went to work this morning.’
Tayte’s eyes wandered over to Mavro as he thought about the media announcement Reese had told him about.
‘Man, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes,’ the stranger continued. He came closer, invading the space between Tayte and Mavro. ‘Someone’s bumping off your customers, eh? That’s a real bummer.’
Tayte didn’t know what to say. He wanted his former clients to know what was going on—it was their right to know—but he hadn’t expected his face to go out on local TV.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ the man said. ‘You gotta need it.’
Tayte began to turn away. ‘No thanks. We’d like to be left alone, if you don’t mind.’
The man laughed. ‘Go back to drowning your sorrows, you mean.’
Tayte turned back to him, meaning to ask him a little less politely to leave him alone, but he saw that the man was already leaving.
‘Remind me not to hire you anytime soon,’ the man quipped as he went.
Tayte drained his beer, and as he came up for air it was Mavro’s hand he felt on his shoulder this time.
‘I know it’s not easy, JT, but try not to let it get to you.’
Tayte sighed. ‘I am trying,’ he said. ‘Believe me, I am. It’s just so personal that it’s hard to distance myself from what’s going on.’
‘Will you let me get you another beer?’
‘Sure,’ Tayte said. ‘As it’s you.’
Their buffalo wings arrived and they each had another drink to wash them down. Halfway through eating them, Tayte’s phone started playing its show tune and he looked at Mavro with a degree of alarm as he hurriedly began to wipe his fingers, eager to find out whether the call was from the Genie, yet hoping it wasn’t. As Tayte took his phone out, he relaxed again.
‘It’s Reese,’ he said, and he saw Mavro’s shoulders relax, too. He pressed his phone to his ear and took the call, raising his voice to match the lunchtime hubbub as he spoke. ‘Agent Reese,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Mr Tayte, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong? Did Tiffany Nelson die?’
‘No, she’s doing okay. It’s your apartment. I’m here with the fire department. It doesn’t look good.’
Tayte swallowed hard as he continued to listen. ‘I’ll be right over,’ he said as soon as Reese had finished.
When the call ended, Tayte’s heart sank to what he felt must have been its lowest ebb. He looked solemnly at Mavro, who appeared ready to receive the bad news he’d just been given.
‘My apartment’s on fire.’
‘Someone set fire to it?’
‘Reese told me he believes so. Maybe saving Tiffany Nelson’s life pissed Westlake off. One way or another he’s systematically destroying my life. Maybe that was his plan all along.’ Tayte looked up at all the spirits behind the bar and thought he could use a double Jack Daniel’s about now, but he resisted. ‘I now have no home, and I’ll have no career left after this, either. I don’t even mind that so much, but if it’s me Westlake wants why doesn’t he just come after me and be done with it? Why does he have to kill all these innocent people?’
‘It’s like you said, he wants to destroy your life. He wants you to feel responsible for the lives he’s taking, but it’s not your fault.’
‘I just want him to stop.’
‘Of course you do, but the only way to make him stop is to be strong and keep going until we catch him.’ She eyed Tayte seriously. ‘And we will catch him.’
By early evening, Tayte was back at the safe house, having turned down Frankie Mavro’s offer of another good meal and some company. In light of everything that had happened that day, she’d told him she thought it might be good for him, but Tayte just wanted to be alone. He was sitting on the bed, waiting for Jean to answer his call, having already tried her number three times in the past hour. Given the time difference, he imagined she was having dinner with the other seminar attendees at the hotel she was staying at. He was about to hang up again when at last she answered. Just hearing her voice instantly lifted him.
‘Jean! I’m so glad you picked up. I’ve been trying you awhile now. How is everything?’
‘Sorry, JT,’ she said. ‘There was a late dinner.’ She yawned. ‘I was just getting ready for bed. I’m shattered.’
‘I won’t keep you up long. I just wanted to hear your voice.’
‘That’s sweet. Has something happened?’
Tayte drew a deep breath, not sure where to begin explaining his day, or even if it was right to burden Jean with it at all, but he figured she should know. ‘Things aren’t going so well over here,’ he said. ‘We’ve still not caught the man who’s doing this, although we were able to save his latest victim this time. She’s in bad shape, but she’s going to live.’
‘That’s great. So why am I sensing something wrong?’
‘I’m worried that I won’t be able to save his next victim, or the one after that. I have to try, and I know it’s probably the only way we’re going to stop him, but it’s eating away at me. On top of that, my apartment was burned out today.’
‘What? How?’
‘The fire department confirmed it was arson,’ Tayte said. ‘Everyone thinks it’s the same
guy, although there’s no proof. A window was smashed and some kind of incendiary was thrown in. It’s all gone. Everything apart from the few things I brought here with me. I still have my briefcase, thank goodness, and a couple of suits, my files, too, not that they’re going to be worth keeping once this is over.’
‘That’s terrible. Look, my seminar finishes the day after tomorrow. Do you want me to get on a plane and come over?’
‘No, definitely not. I don’t want you anywhere near this man. I’d rather not be here either, but I have to be. You don’t, and that’s how I want it to stay.’
‘Okay, in that case I’m going to drop in on my parents for the weekend on the way back. And don’t worry. When all this is over and we’re married, we’ll make a completely fresh start somewhere. How about that?’
‘That sounds good to me. I’ll let you get to bed now. I love you.’
‘Be careful, JT. I love you, too.’
Tayte held on to the phone after the call ended, as if by doing so he was holding on to Jean just a while longer. Then he decided to follow suit and go to bed himself, thinking that if he lay there long enough, he might even get what amounted to a proper night’s sleep. He knew he was going to need it. He imagined that tomorrow was going to be another stressful day.
Chapter Fifteen
When Tayte awoke the following morning, his heart was pounding. He’d been woken early by his phone’s ringtone, and still in a state of half-sleep he could only imagine it was the Genie calling with the next clue to another murder he would soon commit—if Tayte couldn’t stop him in time. The sudden rush of adrenaline caused his hand to shake as he reached for his phone. He hoped it was Jean, but the number he saw on the display told him it wasn’t.
‘Hi,’ he began, coughing to clear his throat. ‘This is Jefferson Tayte.’
A woman answered. She sounded agitated. ‘Mr Tayte, I’m sorry it’s so early, but I’ve been awake half the night. I’m worried sick.’
Dying Games (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 6) Page 13
