“The Boston Strangler’s car was rented by a Richard Cooper. All of the information for him leads back to a Richard Cooper who works for UPS, so there’s the connection. There’s just one problem with him.”
“What’s that?”
“Richard Cooper who works at UPS is at UPS now, in Florida. He’s been on the job all week, there’s no way it’s the same guy.”
“You’re right, the time doesn’t fit. Probably a case of stolen identity. That’s par for the course with Copeland. He probably just secured the guy new papers so he could work the delivery angle.”
“Maybe. But why wouldn’t he do that for all three?”
“It’s possible that he did, and we just haven’t seen it. Can you explore that further?”
“All right. I’ll go the stolen identity route and see who’s been accessing Richard Cooper’s accounts, plus look at the other two. You know, it’s possible that one of the killers is more sophisticated than the others and is covering his tracks better.”
Just what they needed, another smart killer.
“Make sure, either way.”
“All right. There was a double murder in D.C., in the park just off GW Parkway, just short of Reagan National Airport. You know the one I’m talking about?”
“Oh, the LBJ Memorial Grove? Yeah, I know the one. It’s a mecca for gay men to meet up, right?”
“That’s the one. They’ve cleaned it up, got the drugs out, at least the most visible ones, but the public sex is still a problem. Two men were shot there last night, and it looks just like the New York case.”
“Yeah, I read about it online. So it’s officially been tied in now?” Baldwin asked.
“Yes. Two taps to each forehead with .44 caliber bullets. Ballistics are a match.”
“Great job. Explain this part to me. You said contestant.”
“I did.”
“Like on a game show?”
“Just like it. And there’s a reason.”
“You’re killing me, Kevin. Please.”
Kevin smothered a laugh. “Fine. Take all the fun out of it. I’ve got good news. The Tennessee Highway patrol saw the BOLO for the license plates and spread the word. They grabbed Pylant at a McDonald’s off Interstate 40 just outside of Knoxville, said he was acting twitchy. He’s talking, too.” Bingo.
“What’s he saying?”
“Pylant? Like I said, I think he may be a schizophrenic. But he keeps insisting he’s a part of a larger game, that this is his big chance. He’s a definite spree killer in the making. He was packing more ammunition than the ATF boys take on their training exercises.”
“So he’s in custody in Knoxville?”
“Yeah. Sewn up. I’ll find out what else he’s saying and get that to you as quick as I can. In the meantime, at least we know who was where. And it’s pretty evident where they were all headed.”
“Yeah. Nashville.”
“That’s right.
“You’re the best, Kevin. Let me know if you get anything else.”
“Will do. Everything under control down there?”
“To an extent. Being on the sidelines isn’t exactly easy for me, you know?”
“I do. Hey, Garrett wants to talk to you. He asked that you give him a call.”
“All right. I will. Thanks.”
Baldwin hung up with Kevin and checked his watch. Before he talked to Garrett, he wanted to check in with Taylor.
He speed-dialed her number, relieved when she answered right away.
“Wells just killed the Zodiac copycat in the Forensic Medical parking lot,” she said without preamble. “But now we know what Ewan Copeland looks like. The death investigator Barclay Iles, remember him? He’s our guy. Ewan Copeland has been working at Forensic Medical for almost a year.”
Baldwin mentally flashed to the man’s face. Wrapped his head around the idea. He’d had open access to Taylor for a year, right in her own backyard. Fear turned to rage; he missed what Taylor said next.
“What?”
“He’s been dating Kris. She suggested him to Sam. He’s got a full forensic background, though I couldn’t tell you how much of it was real. I’ve worked with him, Baldwin. Shoulder to shoulder. Shared meals, late nights, laughs. I respected him. Sam’s been working with him for months. He’s been a part of our lives, watching, waiting for the perfect moment.”
There was an edge of panic to her voice, not that he blamed her.
“Calm down. Where are you right now?”
“I just left Sam’s office.”
“Where does Barclay Iles live?”
“With Kris, officially. But you know he has another place somewhere. She’s not seen him for a few days. He told her his mother was sick and he was going to Florida this week. He disabled Sam’s car and took her out of Forensic Medical under the auspices of doing his performance review. The son of a bitch has her, Baldwin. I have all his information, but without Lincoln to track him down, I can’t go any further.”
“Without Lincoln? What?”
He heard her car engine turn over. “I’m heading downtown now. Lincoln’s been involved in a shooting, and Colleen Keck is dead. I don’t have the details, just that she ran outside and was ambushed.”
Everything was falling apart. He needed to get to Taylor.
“I’ll meet you at the CJC. Drive carefully. Don’t worry, okay? The Boston Strangler copycat is still out there, but the Knoxville police caught another one, looks like Son of Sam. He’s singing like a bird. He may know where Sam is. We’ll find her. I promise.”
“I hope so,” she said, then hung up the phone.
He was in the parking lot now. He unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel, turned the heat on high. He was so rattled that it was only after he put the car in gear and started to leave the parking lot that he realized how short Taylor had been. She never got off the phone without saying she loved him. Nor did he. It was one of their sacred things. They were in a dangerous profession; Taylor had once told him that she never wanted to die without telling her people she loved them. He felt the same way—his parents, dead when he was just sixteen, had expressed their love for him before they left for the evening…he hadn’t returned their words. The guilt racked him for years. Still got under his skin sometimes.
He dialed her back. She didn’t answer.
What in the hell was going on?
Stress. She was just stressed. Her best friend was missing, bait in an obscenely unfair game. Of course she’d be preoccupied.
He left her a message, told her he loved her, then called Garrett.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Taylor ignored the phone when it rang again.
She hated lying to Baldwin. Even though he’d been lying to her for God knew how long, she didn’t want to be that woman. The one who said she was going shopping with her friends and actually met her lover in the park. The one who calculated a man’s worth before she spoke to him. The one who said I love you and didn’t mean it. She wasn’t that kind of woman, yet here she was openly lying to her fiancé about where she was going. And worse, what she’d be doing.
Greater good, Taylor. You know he’d stop you if he was close. You’re smart to send him away. To send him where he’ll be safe.
And face it, you don’t want him around while you commit murder.
When Kris told her Barclay/Ewan lived with her, her heart sank. A separate address would have been much too easy. Of course he wouldn’t do that. She sat in her car for five minutes, breathing, thinking, deciding. She had a feeling she knew where he was, where he’d taken Sam. If she were Ewan Copeland, it was exactly where she would go to end things in Nashville. He knew her well enough to know she’d figure that out. The stage had been set perfectly.
She placed a quick call to Julia Page, the assistant district attorney she felt most comfortable asking a favor from.
Julia picked up on the first ring. “Taylor, thank goodness you’re okay. I just heard about the shooting.”
“Which one?”
“There’s more than one? I’m talking about Colleen Keck.”
“We also had a suspected copycat in the parking lot of Forensic Medical. He was neutralized.”
“Good God. Did you shoot him? Did he hurt Sam? Have you found her?”
“No, I didn’t. Jesus, Julia. I’m hardly trigger-happy.” Yeah, right. Like she wouldn’t have taken the opportunity herself, and enjoyed it. This was who she’d become. Blindly seeking revenge. “I don’t know anything more about Sam, but I’m working on it. Hey, Julia, do you have a contact number for Joshua Fortnight?”
Silence billowed through the phone. Julia finally cleared her throat.
“I know the name of the home he’s in. He opted for a group living environment when his father was killed. There was no one left to take care of him, and the estate got locked in an escrow fight, and the staff was let go. The estate will be in probate for years. They released enough funds to pay Joshua’s medical expenses. We were able to get him well placed, the best we could do, considering. He’s at the Guardian facility, off Antioch Pike and Old Harding.”
“Awesome, Julia. Thank you.”
“Do I want to know?”
“I just need to ask him some questions later. Nothing to worry about. This whole case ties back to his father, I just need to clarify something.”
“Okay, Taylor. Good luck.”
Taylor knew Julia had worked hard to take care of Joshua. A victim of Treacher Collins syndrome, he was blind, going deaf, his face deformed beyond recognition. The fact that he was leading a relatively normal, healthy life was a miracle in itself. His mother, Carlotta Fortnight, had died in childbirth. His father, Eric Fortnight, Snow White, dead by Taylor’s hand. His sister, Charlotte Douglas, impregnated by Baldwin, slain by Ewan Copeland…
Joshua’s history was a bloody one. It was remarkable that he’d survived unscathed—he’d saved his father from his creation by shooting Copeland in the shoulder moments before Taylor and the SWAT team burst through their doors.
The whole saga was much too incestuous for Taylor’s liking.
She was already past Ellington Parkway. She whipped it around and took the exit for I-24 East, settled into the fast lane. She could make it to Joshua’s group home in less than ten minutes.
Joshua. The innocent, surrounded by tragedy. The lamb staked out for the lions.
He may have the answers she needed.
She was going to find Sam and see her safely away from the bastard. She refused to give up trying to save the innocents around her, to wallow in her failures. There would be plenty of time to mourn the ancillary players once she was finished.
The phone rang again. She might have to just turn the damn thing off so it wouldn’t be such a distraction.
She glanced at the screen—it was an international call. She recognized the number, with its +44 prefix. Memphis.
What the hell? Why would Memphis be calling now? Should she answer? She pressed the button and connected the call.
“How are you, Special Agent Highsmythe?”
His thick British upperclass boys’ school accent flew out of her cellphone speakers tinged with relief. “I’m so glad I reached you. Are you all right?”
He actually did sound relieved, the fool.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Taylor, I saw the case on the news. You’re everywhere. It looks like things have gone to hell. Please tell me you are taking care of yourself.”
“Worry not, Viscount. I’m always careful.”
“I’ve seen you in action, remember. Careful isn’t what I’d deem an appropriate term for you. You’re as dangerous as a courting lion.”
She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. He’d always had that ability, at least. Even when she was infuriated with him, he could turn her mood upside down.
“Seriously, I’m all good. What can I do for you?”
“I was worried,” he said simply.
He was quiet then, and she felt that strange guilt that always washed over her when Memphis revealed his true feelings about her. Memphis had formed an attachment to Taylor, and when he’d been selected to work at Quantico as the liaison between New Scotland Yard and the FBI on counterterrorism, she’d been terribly worried he wouldn’t let things lie. But Memphis had kept his distance, and behaved himself. For the most part. Baldwin didn’t know that Memphis called her, and that sometimes, when she wanted a laugh, she answered the phone.
God knew she needed something cheerful now, but this wasn’t the time.
“I’m fine, really. But I have to go. I’m tracking down a lead and I’ve just arrived.”
“Be careful then, Taylor. You and your chap need to come over to England sometime. I’ll show you around.”
“I thought you were in Quantico?”
“Back on the Queen’s soil now. The colonies no longer needed my expertise.”
He didn’t sound bitter, but Taylor couldn’t help but wonder if Baldwin had seen to that. He was wildly jealous of Memphis, and having him underfoot in Quantico was probably too much of an annoyance, even for a man with Job-like patience.
“I’m sorry about that. I know you were enjoying yourself.”
“Yes, well. One can’t have everything one wants, isn’t that right?”
And boom, he crossed right on over the line. Typical of him, he could ride the edge for only so long. He was trouble, with a capital T, and Taylor knew it.
“I’ll talk to you later, Memphis. Have a good night.”
She hung up the phone and forced Memphis, and Baldwin, from her mind. She must focus on Nashville.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Baldwin had been using the Nashville field office for his day-to-day needs for a couple of years. Its biggest advantage was its proximity to downtown, and to Taylor. Morning traffic into town from the east side was usually terrible, and today was no exception. He took advantage of the crawl to call Garrett back.
“It’s about time you rang. Don’t your minions give you messages anymore?”
“I have no minions. Just loyal, hardworking souls who would never take the chance of contacting me while I’m on suspension.”
“Yeah, right. Tell Salt I believe that.”
“Things are going to hell, Garrett. Taylor’s bodyguards just killed the Zodiac copycat at Sam’s office. Sam is missing. Our best lead is dead. Everything is falling to pieces.”
“I know that. Which is why I needed to talk to you. I’ve spoken with the director. We’re reactivating you and rescinding your suspension. There’s too much happening out there to have our best player on the bench. Try to stay away from the media, but get a handle on these copycat killers and wrap this case. Where are you with things?”
It was about time.
“I’ve been working the angle with Ewan Copeland, trying to figure out who he is and where he’s from. He’s been working at Forensic Medical as a death investigator named Barclay Iles. We nailed his sister—she’s the shooter from North Carolina. She’s from Raleigh, North Carolina—the SBI are on that part of the case. Her name is Ruth Anderson, and she’s on the run. Copeland can’t be far behind her—he sent Taylor a CD with the license plates of the copycats. He blew their cover on purpose. It was probably just another part of the game, or he got bored. Who the hell knows. And the true-crime blogger is dead.”
“I heard. Salt says they have one of the other copycats in custody. I want you to talk to him face-to-face.”
“He’s in Knoxville, Garrett. I need to stay here. The game in is Nashville.”
“The pawn of the game is in Knoxville. You need to get up there.”
“But—”
“Baldwin, your return is conditional. The director feels the media attention to the case warrants finding out why three men decided to start pretending to be famous serial killers. We have too many dead, all over the country, and two more killers in the wind. This fool has had direct contact with the Pretender. The director wants answers, and results, and
he thinks the key to the case lies in Knoxville. So get up there. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make plans to get to Knoxville right away.”
“Let me know what you find out. And no cameras, you hear me?”
“Got it.”
“Good. One other thing. On a more personal note.”
Baldwin knew exactly what that meant. Garrett had news about the child Charlotte claimed to have aborted.
“He’s overseas. A foreign adoption. That’s all I’ve gotten, but I’m still working on it.”
Baldwin felt the breath whoosh out of him.
“He’s okay though, right?”
“It’s been at least two years since anyone’s seen paper on him. With Charlotte’s death, all sorts of agencies got involved. You know how the government octopus works. That picture is very outdated. I’m doing the best I can.”
“All right, Garrett. Thank you.”
He clicked off. The traffic was finally moving. Once he got past the 440 split, things went smoother. He could see downtown clearly. The clouds had retreated, typical Nashville weather, teasing a storm and delivering sunshine instead. The cold sun glinted off the buildings. It all looked so normal. It felt so right.
The idea of leaving Nashville for Knoxville scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t leave Taylor unprotected. It was bad enough that they’d split to work different angles of the case. He needed to be with her, by her side, helping her track down Copeland and Sam.
But if he defied orders when he was on such precarious ground, everything he’d worked for all these years would go out the window.
A week ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have said to hell with the FBI and attached himself like a limpet to Taylor’s side.
But there was his son to consider now, too. Garrett’s support in finding the boy had been phenomenally helpful. Could he purposefully turn his back on his boss, his friend—his son, maybe—to follow his own path?
He never thought he’d have to choose. He was going to fail this test, he could feel it in his bones.
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 2 Page 92
