Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 2

by J. T. Ellison

  “That’s for the courts to decide, Ariadne.”

  “Not entirely true, Lieutenant. We are responsible for these children’s actions, just as surely as they are.”

  “Ariadne, really. I appreciate your help so far, but I’ve got to go back to the practical world. I’ll have a patrol get you home safe.”

  The note of finality in her voice was enough, at last. Ariadne bowed her head, stood and said, “As you wish.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Quantico

  June 18, 2004

  Baldwin

  The phone startled Baldwin awake. He saw the number and cursed. Goldman. He put the phone to his ear and pretended to sound alert. It was only 6:00 a.m.

  “This is John Baldwin.”

  “We found her.”

  Three little words. Baldwin felt his heart sink. They’d failed, again. For the sixth time, they’d failed.

  *

  The forest was silent. The rain had made the path sloppy, it was slow going. The birds knew they were coming and after a flurry of wings and warning cries, had clammed up. All Baldwin could hear was the sound of the team’s feet on the gravel path, the soft layer of fallen leaves cushioning each step. The cycle of life was never more apparent to him than when he was surrounded by trees. No matter the season, shedding occurred.

  Charlotte was breathing heavily behind him. They’d been hiking uphill for the better part of an hour now, and she was getting winded. At least she’d worn boots, although he could tell they were brand-new and bet she’d have some seriously impressive blisters by now. He’d never seen her in anything but the highest of heels. And barefoot, of course.

  He glanced back at her, red hair billowing out of a ponytail, a small moue of distaste on her lips, and felt his breath catch when he thought of that hair lying across his thighs. She’d been at his place every night this week, and he was starting to enjoy not waking up alone. She’d become a comfort, in addition to a bedmate, and he knew he was getting in way over his head. The two halves of his brain had been arguing in the background, creating a fuzz of noise like an out-of-range radio station. He’d been trying very hard to ignore the fight, but in the quiet of the forest, he couldn’t tune it out. Now she wanted to transfer out of the BAU so they could be together. The thought frightened him more than anything. He wasn’t ready.

  It’s just sex, for Christ’s sake. What are you so twerped out about?

  I’ve been alone for too long. That’s what. I might get too comfortable with the situation, and you never know where it will lead.

  That’s your hormones talking. She’s worth lusting over. She might even actually like you, dummy. Did you ever think of that?

  He hadn’t. Not really. He just assumed he was a tool, a rung on the career ladder for her. What if he was wrong? What if she had real feelings for him? What if he had real feelings for her?

  Get your head back in the game, damn it. You’re about to see a dead girl. One who died because you were too busy fucking Charlotte to catch the killer.

  He breathed deeply, synchronizing his breath with the breeze cascading through the fragrant pines. Sunlight dappled the thick branches, turning the path gold. Physically, he was fine. He’d been training for the Marine Corps Marathon for the past few months and was in the best shape of his life. Emotionally, though—that was another story.

  He’d never been so sure of his gut instinct before. Harold Arlen was their suspect. He was the Clockwork Killer. Every law enforcement officer, every neighbor, every member of the media, everyone, everyone thought Arlen was responsible. The pictures on his computer, his interactions with Evie Kilmeade, all of his actions led them to that conclusion.

  But there was still absolutely zero physical evidence to prove that. They had no semen, saliva, hair, blood, epithelials, fingerprints. Nothing. He’d violated his probation, but at the arraignment, the judge had unfathomably let him out on bond.

  A decent defense lawyer would make mincemeat of their case, and Arlen knew it. He had covered his tracks too damn well.

  Baldwin felt like he had gotten to know Harold Arlen, better than he’d known most suspects he’d hunted. Kilmeade had been right. On the surface, Arlen was the poster boy for reformed sexual predators. The nicest touch was helping to run the group for reformed molesters who met and worked their way through a specific twelve-step program designed just for them. No one could get inside his head, though—into the tiny, nasty little crevices that housed his innermost desires. Baldwin had caught a glimpse or two during the interviews, when Goldman had struck a nerve and Arlen had reacted. But for the most part, Arlen had taken the accusations in stride, shaking his head and occasionally quoting his “sponsor.”

  They’d had people on him 24/7, tracking his every move. Yet here they were, hiking deep into a forest to see the body of the latest little girl who’d disappeared, exactly one week ago today. Like clockwork.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Nashville

  6:00 p.m.

  Taylor saw Ariadne safely out of the building, then joined Marcus to talk to the Howells. The Norwoods already had counsel present and were making noise—there was no sense in forcing them to wait too much longer. But Taylor needed to ask Theo Howell a question before she went any further.

  He and his parents were sitting calm and quiet in their interrogation room. Blake Howell was a well-built man, clean shaven, wearing a black suit, white shirt and orange silk tie. His wife was equally decked out, a beautiful spice-colored Turkish pashmina draped across her shoulders. Her blond hair was carefully highlighted and shellacked into place; his was salt-and-pepper, with the salt winning the race. They both stood and introduced themselves when Taylor entered the room.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Howell, it’s good to meet you. Thank you for being so patient with us this afternoon—we have a lot of ground to cover, as you can imagine. I only have a moment, and we’ll be right back to you. But I need to ask Theo a question.”

  Mr. Howell took his seat. “Wait just a second, Lieutenant. Is Theo in any sort of trouble? Do we need a lawyer here?”

  “That’s certainly your right, sir. But we’re not seeking charges against Theo at this time. We just need some information.”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” Theo turned to Taylor. “I’ve already told them everything we discussed last night. I’m grounded.”

  “I’ll bet,” Taylor said. “Okay, I need you to think about something for me. Do you remember Jerrold King and Brandon Scott having a fight last week?”

  Theo creased his brow for a moment, then said, “Oh, yeah. They got into it before practice. I figured they were arguing over Letha.”

  “Letha King, Jerrold’s little sister?”

  “Yeah. She and Brandon had dated earlier in the year. She broke up with him, though, beginning of October. Said some pretty raunchy things about him, too. He went back and called her some names, they had a little war online, saying nasty things back and forth. But it stopped weeks ago.”

  Weeks ago. Ah, how quickly time flies to the young.

  “So why would they be fighting now?”

  “Like I said, Letha said some…things about Brandon.” He glanced at his parents, tips of his ears red. “She called him a faggot.”

  “Was Brandon a homosexual?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. He went with a lot of girls, was really popular, but never seemed that into it, if you know what I mean.”

  “Are there any boys that you know he might have dated?”

  “Well, not really. That’s not the kind of thing we all talk about openly, you know?” He began fidgeting in his chair. Theo Howell wasn’t a very accomplished liar.

  “Is there any chance that Brandon and Jerrold were dating?”

  Theo laughed. “No way. Jerry was very much into girls. He was furious that Brandon was using Letha as his beard.”

  Evelyn Howell touched her son’s arm. “Theo,” she said, the note of warning enough for him to start talking again.

  “Sorry.
Definitely not Jerry. But he might have gotten together with this guy Schuyler a couple of times. That’s what the rumor was, anyway. But Schuyler doesn’t go to Hillsboro anymore. His parents sent him to reform school or something, up in Virginia, a couple of semesters ago, so I have no idea. And it was only gossip.”

  Mrs. Howell’s eyes popped open. “Schuyler Merritt? That’s who you’re talking about? Jackie Merritt’s boy?”

  Theo nodded.

  “Why, I had no idea. The Merritts are friends of ours, Lieutenant. They sponsored some of the events at the bookstore. Or they used to. They split up last year. The divorce was just finalized a few months back. Jackie remarried lickety-split, the ink was hardly dry on the forms, you know. Her new husband is a marine, was shipped off just a few weeks after they got back from their honeymoon. Sky Senior took it all hard, started drinking. He hasn’t been worth much these past few months. Hard on the kids too, they split them up.”

  “The kids?” Taylor asked.

  “Schuyler has a sister. She’s still at Hillsboro, right, Theo? What’s Jackie’s new married name, Blake?”

  “Let me think. At-something.”

  “Sky’s sister’s name is Fane,” Theo said helpfully. “Gorgeous girl, at least she used to be. She and Sky were close. It tore her up when he was sent away. She started hanging with the Goths, wearing all that crazy makeup.”

  “Fane Atilio?” Taylor said. Her voice sounded hollow in her ears.

  “That’s it. Atilio,” Evelyn Howell said, smiling.

  “Son of a bitch,” Taylor said. “I mean, sorry. Excuse me.”

  “Was it something I said?” she heard Mrs. Howell ask her husband, their tones growing lower as they realized something was going on. Taylor let the door shut behind her. McKenzie was waiting for her in the hall.

  “We need to go have another chat with Fane Atilio.”

  *

  Fane smiled winningly at McKenzie, then shot Taylor a hateful glance. Taylor was having none of it. She walked around the table, jerked the back of Fane’s chair, making the metal screech along the linoleum floor, then sat down right next to her.

  “Fane, you have a brother. Schuyler. Where is he?”

  Fane looked down her nose at Taylor, then looked away. “Virginia.”

  “We need his number. Right now.”

  “I don’t know it. It’s at the house.” She managed to look bored. Her makeup was flaking off. She’d obviously been crying at some point since they’d been gone. Black smears ringed her eyes. Her skin, pale as an opal, blanched further.

  “It’s not on your cell?” Taylor asked.

  “No. I wasn’t allowed to call him there.”

  “Is Schuyler really in Virginia? Or is he here in Tennessee?”

  The eyes clouded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen him.”

  “You’re lying, Fane. We called your mother’s work. They said she’d been out sick for a couple of weeks. She wasn’t at your house. Where is your mother? We know your step-father is overseas, but where’s Jackie?”

  Fane bared her fangs at Taylor, then licked her lips.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, then shut down, arms crossed, eyes closed.

  Taylor let her sit that way for a moment. She had a bad feeling about Jackie Atilio.

  Something Ariadne said popped into her mind, about the coven. The bond these children had was strong, no doubt about it. Divide and conquer, that was the way in. Turn them against one another, let them think the others were talking. That was how she was going to reach into their minds and draw out the truth, not through threats or cajoling or promises. She stood up, cleared her throat. Spoke softly.

  “Fine. We’ll just go talk to Thorn again. Between him and Ember, we have most of the story anyway. We know all of you participated in the murders.”

  The effect was immediate, violent. Fane lunged upward, out of the chair, hand raised like she was going to slap Taylor.

  “Liar,” Fane screamed. “They would never betray us. The penalties are too steep.”

  Taylor grabbed her by the arm and twisted, forcing the girl back into the chair. Fane was panting in her fury. Taylor could see her starting to unhinge.

  “I beg to differ, little girl. How about you tell me about the movie you and your boyfriend made. The one of the murders?”

  Fane looked at the floor, breath coming in short gasps. “What movie? I don’t know anything about a movie.”

  Taylor released the girl’s arm. “Look at me.”

  Fane glanced up at her.

  “Stop lying, Fane. It was uploaded from your computer. My tech is going over your laptop now—they found the original.”

  A beat, the girl gathered her thoughts. “Oh, that. That’s all fake. Playacting.”

  “How could you possibly expect me to believe that, when you’ve shot the film at all the crime scenes and you have Brandon Scott’s murder on tape? You want me to believe that it’s a coincidence? Do you think we’re stupid, Fane?”

  Fane had calmed herself, was sitting straight again, composed. “Yes, well. We’ve gotten very good. None of that is real.”

  “Right. And how about the letter you sent to The Tennessean? Was that fake, too?”

  “Isn’t he going to say anything?” Fane turned to McKenzie, eyes pleading. “You can’t let her talk to me like this.”

  McKenzie leaned forward, voice deep and grave. “Fane, I’m very disappointed in you. We talked about this earlier. The more you help us, the less you’ll be punished. That’s how this works. We know you’re involved. You hold the key to this mystery. We want to help you, but you have to help us, too.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. I’m not going to help you. You don’t care. You said you cared, and I know you don’t.” She started to cry again, McKenzie rolled his eyes at Taylor.

  Taylor handed Fane a tissue. “Blow your nose. You’re not going to get any leniency because you’re crying. Tell us what we need to know now.”

  Fane snuffled into the Kleenex. “It wasn’t me. I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I think I’m done answering your questions. I want a lawyer.”

  Shit. They’d pushed her too hard.

  “That’s your right, Fane. Though if you had nothing to do with all of this, you shouldn’t need a lawyer. But we’ll go arrange for that. One little issue—we need to inform your parents. I wasn’t kidding before, I need to know. Where is your mother?”

  “In hell, probably,” she said, then closed her mouth tight and laid her head on the table. They would get nothing more from her.

  They left Fane alone in the room. The hall was bright. Taylor felt like she’d spent half this case standing in the hallways of the CJC, trying to interpret the lies spilled in the interrogation rooms. She itched to get outside, back to the scenes. That’s where the answers were going to come from, not this merry band of misguided Goth children, lying and cheating their way through life.

  “We need to find this mysterious brother. My gut says he’s involved,” McKenzie said.

  Taylor leaned against the wall, one boot propped against the painted cinderblocks. “I want to find her mother. I don’t like any of this.”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  “I think we’re looking at an unhealthy relationship between a brother and sister who were separated when their parents got divorced. Being together was paramount. When they were split, they started doing anything they could to get back together. I think we need to comb through the Atilio’s house, get word to the husband, see if we can find the mother. She’s too conspicuously absent for anything good to be happening.”

  “You may be right. The separation could be a precipitating event. Fane shows definite sociopathic tendencies. If she’s practicing Wicca, she could think she’s got control, that she can change the course of her life according to her will. Happiness would be anathema for her—she’d strike out against anything she saw that reminded her of what she used to have. Yo
u noticed that the families we’ve talked to have all been relatively happy, with two parents. That could have been the impetus for choosing the victims.”

  “So she arranges with her friend Thorn to have the party kids’ drugs tainted, then sneaks into their houses and carves pentacles in their stomachs? That’s as good a theory as any I’ve come up with, except for one thing. How did she know who would take the pills and who wouldn’t? Theo Howell said he sent word to everyone. Would there have been more? And how would Fane have known?”

  “Eight victims. At least three involved. I don’t know, LT. Maybe she was there when they took the drugs.”

  “And Brandon Scott? He didn’t take the drugs and was beaten to death because of it. I think we’re going about this the wrong way. These crimes are all related, but it’s still too much of a fluke that some of the kids with the drugs took them and some didn’t. I think the ones who died were forced to take the drugs.”

  “Which would mean Fane was at each crime scene. Or…”

  Taylor slapped her forehead. “They split them up. Fane and Juri Edvin and Susan Norwood, they split the targets and each handled a few. They must have gotten in under the guise of delivering the drugs. Remember there was no sign of forced entry? So they show, drugs in hand, with some sort of weapon, then force their victim to take the pills. The OD effect would kick in almost immediately, and they’d die quickly. They waited around until the victims were fully unconscious, arranged the bodies, carved the pentacles, shot the film and left.”

  “Three kids, eight victims, including Brittany Carson, would be pushing it in the time frame. But four kids, that would even the odds,” McKenzie said.

  “And Brittany’s murder was last. According to Juri Edvin, she and Susan Norwood have a history. The Carson girl dated Norwood’s ex-boyfriend and it pissed her off. Juri said Susan wanted him to kill Brittany, that it was her idea. Well. That answers that.”