by Brenda Novak
Sam’s thoughts spun. What in the name of hell would a black ex-prostitute have to do with the University Killer? It didn’t make sense. But that was Taylor’s problem. Right now, she had to get positive confirmation that aconite was the cause of death for this poor woman.
“Fox, consider me dazzled. You deserve a raise. Pull all the blood work and get it over to Simon Loughley at Private Match. He’s been handling the rest of this, and he’s the best equipped to get the results ASAP.” She had a thought and almost didn’t voice it because it seemed so outlandish. But she trusted science, and science would give them the answers they were looking for.
“I want you to go back to the burn victims and pull liver samples from them as well. They presented completely different, because of what the fire did to their bodies, so maybe we missed something. Send them over to Simon, and tell him to look for aconite in them as well.”
Dr. Fox was surprised. Sam saw the look and understood perfectly. It didn’t make any sense to her either. “Why poison someone, then go to the trouble to burn them to a crisp?” he asked.
“I know it’s probably unlikely, but if there’s a chance that aconite’s present, that will tie everything together for Taylor’s investigation. And find out what Tim Davis got from St. Catherine’s. He said he was running the tea he found in the priest’s office there. If it’s got trace aconite in it, we at least have our delivery method. Go to it.”
He nodded and went to work. Sam headed back to her office to grab her keys. She wanted to go to the squad room and tell them in person what was happening.
Fifty-Five
The conference room looked like a hurricane warning center—bedlam mixed with excitement and a sense of purpose. Pictures of all the victims had been hung side-by-side on a huge white board with as much information about all of them as they could put together. There was one photo missing from the lineup: the face of the female burn victim from St. Catherine’s. Instead, a shadowy sketch with long hair had been drawn, with a question mark under the distorted outline. Laptops were plugged in and lined the long table. File folders, computer printouts and soda cans littered the room. The piles of paper had been sorted and lined up under corresponding title cards with headings representing “ViCAP” through “School Records.” It was organized chaos, akin to the investigation itself.
Baldwin and Taylor stood in a corner, talking quietly. He ran through his theory with her, and she agreed, between sneezes, that Vanderbilt’s staff held the key. Taylor was getting sicker by the minute and looked like a limp dishrag that had been wrung out too many times and was ready for the trash. She’d refused the repeated admonitions to go home; she at least wanted to get the ball rolling before she cut out.
Lincoln was seated at one of the laptops, blurring through cyberspace. He was running Missing Persons files from Georgia, Kentucky, Florida, North Carolina and Virginia. He had open access to these databases; he was waiting for link-ups to South Carolina, Alabama and Mississippi. Fitz was back, floating in and out of the room; some new information had come in on the Lischey Avenue murder. He had managed to get Terrence Norton into an interview room and was trying to get him to give up his buddy, Little Man Graft. Terrence was consulting with his lawyer at the moment, trying to figure out how to save his own ass. It gave Fitz some time to check in with the University Killer investigation.
Marcus was sitting at the end of the table, trying to be inconspicuous. He was getting impatient to get started but didn’t want to intrude on Taylor and Baldwin’s conversation, so he put up his feet and waited. To his relief, the phone next to him rang.
“Homicide…yes, she is, but we’re in a meeting, can it wait?…Oh. Let me get her.” He signaled to Taylor. She shook her head, but he covered the phone with his hand and said, “It’s Shelby Kincaid’s mother. She called the main number looking for you and said it was important.”
Taylor blew her nose and took the phone. She croaked a hello, then listened intently. “Can you hold on a moment? I need to get to another phone.” She punched the Hold button, told them to start without her and practically ran from the room.
She went into Price’s office and shut the door, then punched the line to connect her back with Mrs. Kincaid.
“Mrs. Kincaid? I’m back, sorry about that. You were saying?” She could tell Mrs. Kincaid had been crying and could hear traffic in the background. She’s not at home, Taylor thought, pulse speeding up.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you before now. I’ve been having a hard time, and the doctor has kept me sedated. I just couldn’t take it, you know, losing my Shelby. But I needed to talk to you, so I made an excuse to go out and I’m at a pay phone. I couldn’t call from the house, there are too many people around.”
Taylor was leaning forward in the chair, her cold forgotten. Whatever would drive a preacher’s wife out of the house when she was in seclusion and mourning to call her had to be big.
“I understand completely, Mrs. Kincaid. What do you need to talk to me about?”
“It’s about Shelby. She called me the weekend before she was killed. She told me something, swore me to secrecy. Her father wouldn’t understand. He’s a good man, but he just…well, that’s neither here nor there.”
“Go on, ma’am.”
“You have to understand, Shelby was a good girl. She never gave us any trouble. She was such a loving girl, a wonderful daughter. I can’t imagine this happening to her; she’s always so levelheaded.”
Taylor was getting fidgety, but she could tell she needed to let Mrs. Kincaid tell her story her own way. “I’ve been told by many people what a lovely girl Shelby was. I am so sorry this happened, Mrs. Kincaid.”
“I know you are, dear, that’s why I’m calling. I knew you’d know how to handle everything. You have to promise me no one will find out about this. It would kill my husband if he found out.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Kincaid. You have my word that I will keep this limited to the people working on the investigation.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Taylor heard her take a big breath, steeling herself. “When Shelby called me, it was early Sunday morning. She knew her father would have already left for church, he always goes in early on Sunday mornings. She was crying so hard, completely hysterical. I finally got her to calm down, and she told me she had been…” Mrs. Kincaid was sobbing uncontrollably. Taylor made sympathetic noises until the woman calmed down. She finally got herself together and finished the story.
Taylor hung up the phone in shock.
Fifty-Six
Taylor was walking back to the conference room when Sam appeared at the end of the hall.
“T!” she shouted.
Taylor held up, and Sam jogged down the hall to her. Taylor could see this wasn’t going to be good news. Sam’s face was drawn, and she looked tired. Little wonder, they were all burning the candle at both ends. But there was something else in her face that sent a shiver down Taylor’s spine. Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her into Price’s office.
“Have you heard anything about the floater that was pulled from Old Hickory this morning?”
Taylor thought for a moment. “Oh yeah, the prostitute. Lincoln said he’s given you a positive ID. Why?”
“Better sit down, Taylor. You’re not going to believe this.”
“What? You already called off the wedding?” she joked half-heartedly.
“No, I’m serious. We’ve got a big problem.” Taylor sat down and Sam started in with the details.
“The prostitute didn’t drown. She was poisoned. Her liver presented just like Shelby and Jordan. Fox caught it and called me down. She was dead before she went into the lake.”
Taylor’s thoughts were spinning, and her chest tightened. “Aconite again? What the hell? She’s a complete breaking the pattern. Why would he…could she have been a test case? Was he trying out the poison on her to see how it worked?”
“Girl, I don’t know, but this thing is getting really screwy. Whoa there, are you okay?
”
Taylor was having a hard time catching her breath. “He’s been out there doing this for fun. Just to see what would happen. My God, I can’t stop him. None of us can stop him.” She was wheezing and losing her focus on Sam’s face.
“Head between your knees. Good girl, now breathe. C’mon T, give it a shot. There, that’s right.” Sam was smoothing her hand along Taylor’s back. It was comforting, but she couldn’t seem to get a grip on herself. This was the second one today, damn it all.
She started to catch her breath just as Baldwin came into the room.
“Hey there, Sam, have you seen…Jesus, Taylor, are you okay?” He rushed over to her and knelt down beside the chair. “Is it like this morning?”
Taylor gave him a dirty look. She didn’t want anyone to know about this. She hadn’t hidden it from Sam; her best friend knew she was riding on the edge, but now Baldwin was on board, and Marcus and Fitz. And she suspected Fitz might have said something to Price too, damn his eyes.
Sam leaned back against the desk. “Second one today? You had one earlier?”
Taylor had her voice back and was feeling a little more in control. “It was nothing, Sam. I saw Jill’s posters and got upset. I spent two hours with the grand jury this afternoon, and I’m just worn out. I feel like crap. I need some antibiotics and a good night’s sleep, and everything will be just fine. Okay? So back off, both of you. Baldwin, Sam has another poison victim.” Good job girl, she thought. Focus their attention elsewhere.
“What?”
Sam pulled up her legs and sat cross-legged style on Price’s small desk. “We had a floater this morning. Black prostitute named Tammy Boxer, alias Mona Lisa. We thought she had drowned, but the post showed the same necrosis that was present in both Shelby’s and Jordan’s organs. This may have been your first victim.” She held up a hand, anticipating Baldwin’s next question. “And yes, I’m having the tox run on the fire vics. Maybe that’s your commonality, I don’t know.”
Baldwin was shaking his head. “Wow. This guy is getting around. How long had she been in the water?”
“At least a couple of weeks. Taylor said something about her being a test case.”
“That’s an excellent thought, given the timing. This case is so screwed up.” He turned to Taylor, who was enthusiastically blowing her nose. “Better?” She nodded, blew out a breath. “Good. How was your conversation with Shelby’s mom?”
Taylor tested her voice and found it working properly. “She wanted us to know Shelby had been date raped. More than once, according to her mother. She called and told her the weekend before she died. She wouldn’t tell her who had done it; she was scared to death of the guy. But she promised that she was going to go to the campus police and report the rape. That’s probably why her roommate, Vicki, was so evasive when we asked if she was seeing anyone. I got the sense she suspected Shelby was involved with someone. She was involved all right, with some son of a bitch who was forcing her to have sex with him. Bastard!”
“There’s our motive for Shelby’s murder. She tells him she’s going to the police, and he has to kill her to make sure he’s not found out.” His eyes drifted off and he was silent for a moment. His eyes came back into focus, and gave them a huge grin. “That’s it. That explains the herbs you found on Shelby. They were burial herbs.”
Both Sam and Taylor were looking at him blankly.
“You don’t get it? Okay, roll with me for a minute. He left her at the Parthenon. The ancient Greeks, hell, most of the ancient cultures used herbs during a burial to ensure that the spirit of the deceased made it into the spirit world without problem. That’s what he was doing. In his mind, he was giving her a proper burial. I’ll be damned. And I’ll bet he put her at the Parthenon so we would understand, that we would pick up on the connection and know that he was reluctant to kill her but had no choice. That he gave her the most proper and sympathetic burial he possibly could. And the aconite. The aconite!”
Taylor and Sam were staring with their mouths agape. Either he was right on target, or he’d gone round the bend. He shook the hair out of his eyes and launched back in.
“You know Socrates was unjustly sentenced to death and was forced to create his own execution? So in order to maintain his dignity, he drank hemlock, effectively committing suicide?”
They still looked confused, but Taylor motioned with her hand. “Go on, Baldwin.”
“Man, didn’t you guys ever study the Classics? Anyway, there’s always been some debate over whether it was actually hemlock that he drank. It’s been thought that perhaps it wasn’t hemlock because the descriptions of his death weren’t completely consistent with a death caused by hemlock. In some circles, they believe it was aconite.”
“Wait a minute. So you’re saying that the herbs were a burial rite, and the aconite was to symbolize Socrates’s death?” Sam was shaking her head, looking at them like they were crazy. But Taylor took it a step further.
“I see where you’re going, Baldwin. The guy knows the Classics. Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, the fathers of modern logic. The ancient Greeks and their rash of poisonings. This was logical to him. If he gave them the poison, they would be purged, cleansed, right? You said early on that he was sacrificing them. Socrates had to sacrifice himself to save his dignity, to make sure no one thought he was a coward. What better way to sacrifice them than by following the lead of one of the greatest philosophers in the world?” She trailed off.
He took her hand and squeezed it. “In his world, Taylor. In his world. We’ve got him.”
Fifty-Seven
Jill began to wake. She had been dreaming of something, but she couldn’t remember it exactly. But she felt peaceful and happy, so it must have been a good dream.
She started to get out of the bed and realized where she was. Locked in a room by a man she thought cared for her. She started screaming his name as loud as she could, desperate to know what was going on.
“Hello? Hello? Are you here?” There was no response. She yelled louder. “Is anyone there? Help me, please, help me! He’s holding me prisoner. Please, somebody help!”
She heard footsteps running down the hall. The locks turned and the man came into the room. He was disheveled and looked like he was sick. There was sweat dripping off his brow, and his face was gray, like no blood was reaching it. He came over to the bed, breathing heavily. Jill scooted out from under the covers and tried to back away, but he was too quick. He grabbed her and nearly threw her back onto the bed.
“Don’t do that again, Jill. I’m warning you.”
She had never heard that tone from him. It was angry, threatening. His body was tensed, and she feared for a moment that he would hit her. She cowered on the bed.
The man reached in his pocket and drew out a syringe. His entire demeanor changed. He smiled sweetly and transformed back into the man she knew. But she was afraid now, afraid that he was actually going to hurt her.
Jill began to beg. “Oh, God, please, no. Don’t give me any more of that. I swear I’ll be good. Please, just let me go home.”
He shook his head sadly and chucked her under the chin. She flashed to an old memory of her grandfather—he used to ball his fist and gently bump her under the chin just the same way. “Chin up, girl,” he always said.
He grabbed her hand and his touch made her shudder. His hand was cold and clammy, and she tried to yank it back. But he held fast, caressing her fingers one by one.
“Oh, my sweet, darling girl, I wish I could let you go. But there is a bad world out there, a world that is conspiring to hurt you. There are men who want to take you away from me, but I need to keep you with me. I need to know my son is safe. They will take him away from us, away from me. I am his father. I need to show him the way. I’m the only one who can help him, guide him. He has so many things to do to save us, and it is my responsibility to let the world understand his importance. Don’t you understand? I have taken all the steps I know of to keep both of you safe. But it’s bett
er for you not to fight. I hate to see you anxious, and it’s not good for my son. You just need to stay calm and relaxed. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
Jill started crying. She knew he was crazy, and what he was saying made no sense. His son was going to save them? Save them from what?
“Please, I don’t understand. Let me go home. I know my family’s frightened to death. I don’t even know how long it’s been since you brought me here.” She saw she wasn’t getting anywhere and decided to try a different tactic. She was willing to tell him anything to make him let her go. She pitched her voice low, seductive.
“I love you, you know that. I’ll always come back to you. I’d never take your child from you. Why have you changed so much? Please, just let me go, or let me call my parents and let them know I’m okay.”
Her pleading was having no affect on him. He held the syringe up to the light, checking for air bubbles. “Soon, love. Soon, you’ll be able to see them. After my son is born.” He pulled her arm straight and injected the drug into her vein. “In the meantime, I’ll tell you a bedtime story.” He fluffed up her pillows and pulled the blanket up around her chin, stopping briefly to put his hand on her growing belly.
“Do you remember Plato?”
She nodded weakly; whatever drug he was giving her was already taking effect.
“Then you remember the story of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Where all of humanity was kept underground, in the dark, chained to their seats, their heads immobilized? And the only things they were allowed to see were the shadows on the walls. Remember the puppet masters? Those who controlled the images of what humanity was allowed to see? They’d show humanity the shadow of a woman, or a chair, or a mouse, and that was the only representation they would ever know as a woman, or a chair, or a mouse. But one man was strong enough to break the chains, and he snuck out of the cave into the real world. The sunlight was so strong his eyes teared and stung, and when he could finally adjust to the light, he saw what a real woman looked like, and a real chair, and a real mouse. And he ran back into the cave to tell the others, to let humanity know they were being tricked, duped into believing what the puppet masters wanted them to believe.”
