“So where do Mary Margaret and Mona Lisa figure into this? And why kill the priest?”
“The Seven Seals. The Apocalypse. The end of time. When a Messiah will come again and lead those worthy to the kingdom of heaven? The killings are representative of the seals. He’s creating his own version of the Apocalypse. Maybe he got the idea from the lecture Father Xavier gave at the community breakfast. Maybe it had been brewing in his head all along.”
She could hear paper rustling in the background.
“I realize this isn’t perfect, and as far as I can tell he didn’t go through all of the Seven Seals, but this makes sense to me. If he’s trying to create a messiah, doesn’t there have to be an end of the world?”
Taylor gave him an exasperated laugh. “Baldwin, it’s been a long time since I went to Bible study.”
“Me, too, so this may be all wrong. But here goes. Shelby Kincaid was killed at the Parthenon, the figurative lap of Rome. She represents the whore of Babylon, the fall of the seven hills. She is poisoned and purified, ready for the Lamb of God. Jordan Blake was stabbed and thrown in the Cumberland, the blood from her stab wounds turning the rivers to blood. Mona Lisa was poisoned and thrown into Old Hickory Lake. She has AIDS; she poisons the water, and the seas die. Mary Margaret de Rossi gave her life over to the church and was purified by fire; she becomes the Last Martyr. Father Francis Xavier was a physical representation of heaven—by killing him, he silences heaven.”
Taylor was silent. This was quite a theory. Baldwin continued his explanation.
“The tornado was just an added bonus. I would say it represents the winds being unleashed from the four corners of the earth. He certainly didn’t have any control over it, but it fits nicely, don’t you think? It would affirm his path, a true sign from God.”
“I think you’re out of your ever-loving mind, is what I think. I know this guy is a nut, but why in the world would he go to such lengths to create an apocalypse?”
“Because he thinks he is creating our Messiah. He needs the Apocalypse to fulfill the ancient prophecies. He needs the Apocalypse to legitimize his son. He believes his unborn child is the Messiah.”
Taylor started slowing the car. They were getting close to the address, and in the heavy dusk it would be easy to shoot right past the driveway. Most were discreetly hidden in this part of town.
“So by creating life, and putting the proper sacrifices in order, he thinks he’s created all the steps of the Apocalypse, and his son will be the Messiah. He is one seriously screwed-up dude.”
“Yes, he is. And Apocalypse or not, right now, let’s worry about saving Jill Gates’s life. I hope to God she’s still alive. Marcus and I just pulled up to Granny White.”
“Roger that. Fitz and I are almost at the Hillsboro address. Be careful, okay?”
“Right. You be careful, too. Bye.”
Price’s disembodied voice crackled from the radio. “We’re at site three, and we have renters on the property. Repeat, this is a rental, and the checks go to site two. This site is clear. Copy?”
Fitz spoke into the radio. “Fourteen copies. Eighteen, what’s your twenty?”
Marcus logged in to the conversation. “Eighteen at site two. We’re about to go into the house now. We’ll be radio silent for a few minutes while we check this place out.”
“Copy that, eighteen. Fourteen out.” Fitz put the mic back on the hook. “Okay, sunshine, you ready to rock this?”
Taylor looked over at Fitz and gave him a smile. “Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 72
Marcus and Baldwin walked carefully around the perimeter of the small Cape Cod on Granny White Pike. A real estate agent would call it charming; buyers in their right mind would see a fixer-upper. Even in the faltering light, they could see the white paint needed refreshing. Ants foraged in the windowsills. Several unkempt azalea shrubs grew wild around the base of the house; while they would be spectacular when they bloomed in the spring, now they just looked sick and straggly. There were no lights on inside.
Baldwin went carefully up the stairs and onto the front porch. The boards creaked and he froze, signaling to Marcus to take the route leading to the back entrance. He waited until the younger man disappeared around the corner, then stepped as softly as possible to the front door. He took up a sheltered position to the right, where he could stand out of the line of sight, keep his weapon drawn, and still open the door freely. He reached for the doorknob and carefully started to turn it. It moved easily, and he stopped. The front door was unlocked.
Marcus appeared silently at the edge of the porch. Baldwin pointed to the knob and nodded. Marcus made his way carefully to Baldwin, then whispered to him.
“The back door is boarded up from the outside. Looks like it’s been that way for a while. I don’t think anyone is here.”
“Okay,” Baldwin whispered back. “The front door is open. Let’s do it.”
Marcus nodded and drew his weapon. Baldwin counted off one, two, three on his fingers, then he and Marcus burst into the open foyer. A stunning antique rolltop desk greeted them, and an Oriental runner led down a close hallway.
Baldwin took the lead and walked silently down the hall. It ended in a large kitchen, white cabinets and counters gleaming in the dark. A combination eat-in kitchen and great room was on their left. They could see the room was empty. Another dark hallway led off the kitchen to the right. Two doors were visible, closed. Another was open. Bedrooms.
Baldwin motioned to Marcus. They moved into the hallway, listening for any noise. They reached the open door. Baldwin stuck his head in and saw a neat bathroom. He pulled back into the hallway as Marcus opened the next door. The room was empty; a shell night-light plugged into the wall illuminated a bed made up with a hand-sewn quilt. It struck Baldwin that this house didn’t look like it belonged to a young college professor; it was the sort of home you’d expect from a retired grandmother.
Baldwin reached the next door and silently turned the knob. The door swung open, and the coppery scent of old blood assailed his nose. This room was a duplicate of the first, but the night-light spun dark shadows on the bed and walls. It smelled of death.
Marcus whispered a quick “We’re clear.” Baldwin nodded, holstered his weapon, and turned on the light with the back of his hand. The bedspread was black with blood, the wall to the right of the bed sprayed with an arc of dark red. Cast off. The knife had swung away from its target, blood flying off of it, creating a Pollock-esque pattern on the wall. An expert would be able to tell them every tiny detail of how the blood got there, every strike into flesh. Baldwin immediately thought of the autopsy photos of Jordan Blake. The gaping stab wounds in her young body must have been the ultimate cause of the stains.
He turned to Marcus and shook his head. They’d definitely found the killing house. He made his way back to the kitchen, snapping on extra lights as he went. When the room was fully illuminated, he started opening cabinets and drawers. In addition to the usual kitchen accoutrements, he found a large white-and-green bottle with a stopper top. The label read Aconite, and had directions for use. It looked as if it came from a store, like any other vitamin or supplements. Baldwin remembered Lincoln mentioning that aconite could be bought over the internet from many different sources. How convenient.
He opened it and took a whiff of the contents. He couldn’t smell anything. Marcus came into the kitchen, looking pale. Baldwin showed him the bottle. “Bastard bought it from somewhere. Man, that’s spooky. People can get anything online these days. The internet isn’t helping our jobs, is it?”
Baldwin gave him a sad smile. “No, it’s not. Time to call this in.”
Leaving all the lights burning, they retreated carefully, out the hallway to the front door, down the creaking porch steps to their car. Their backup was pulling up in their squad car. Marcus waved to them, then slid in the driver’s seat and keyed the microphone.
“This is eighteen at site two. Evidence galore. Bottle of something that
starts with an A.”
They were being as cryptic as possible in case one of the media radios had accidentally been tuned to their frequency.
“Eighteen, is that our COD?” Fitz answered brusquely.
“Yes, fourteen, it is. We have biologicals in a back bedroom, too. Otherwise site two is clear. Nobody home. Copy?”
“Copy, eighteen. Request you call Sam’s team to site two, then meet us at site three, please. Copy?”
“Copy that.” Marcus turned to Baldwin. “Let’s get the Crime Scene techs out here and head on to Hillsboro. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
The Hillsboro address was their last chance. Baldwin sent up a silent prayer Taylor and Fitz would find Jill safe.
CHAPTER 73
Taylor slowed and shut off her lights, pulled into the long driveway of the single-story rambler. There were no cars in the drive, and the lights weren’t burning. She looked around for better cover and saw a small road forking off to the right. It was unused and unpaved, overgrown with weeds.
“This place must be worth a fortune.” Fitz was looking at the land greedily. “Even though the house looks small, the land would go for half a million, at the very least. Man, I’d kill for a spread like this.”
Taylor raised an eyebrow and gave him a smile. “You’re probably right. Look at this road. Must be the track to an old barn. Lots of horse country out here before they built it all up. Lucky us, it’s the perfect place to stash the car.”
She pulled down the path and almost rammed the car into a police cruiser. Officer Miller and Officer Wills must have had the same idea. She stopped behind the first car and popped the trunk so they could grab the gear stashed there. She and Fitz stepped out into the cool night air.
The two officers stepped out from the front of their cars. They looked dangerous, dressed head to toe in their black SWAT gear, guns pointing from every angle.
“Good of you to join us,” Miller said. “Didn’t see any cars in the drive when we pulled in, thought we’d just duck in here.” He flashed Taylor a smile, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Heard your transmissions. You guys matched DNA on this one, huh?”
“Close—there’s a blood type match between this guy and semen found at the first scene. Enough to go on. His other two addresses are clear. The West End property is a rental. You heard Marcus’s transmission—looks like he was killing the girls at the Granny White address. Which leaves this spot as his hidey-hole. Marcus and Baldwin will be showing up, so don’t shoot them. You’ve seen the picture of the girl we’re looking for?”
“Yeah, Jill Gates. We also got a shot of this Gabriel Lucas character. How do you want it to go down?”
Taylor was shrugging into her bulletproof vest, and Fitz was checking the shells on a shotgun he’d gotten out of her trunk. “Fitz and I will take the front. You guys get the back. When you hear the door break in, get in the house. We’ll start looking for Jill. You start looking for Lucas. Clear?”
“Clear.” Their combined voices made the word echo in the darkness.
“Good. He’s going to protect Jill and the baby. He’ll probably think we’re trying to hurt her and will do anything to defend her, but he’s sick and may not have the physical power to fend us off. Keep an eye out for weapons.”
After conducting one last press check on their guns, they stole silently into the night.
The house was set back far from the road, on at least a few acres of land. Though there were other houses around, they were far enough apart that nosy neighbors wouldn’t see them sneaking through the grass.
They crept to the house to take up their stations. There was a flicker of light coming through the window on the east side of the house. Taylor reached the window, stuck her head up quickly, and saw it was the kitchen. She couldn’t see anyone inside. She signaled to Miller and Wills to head around the back. She and Fitz made their way to the front of the house, then to the porch. She felt Fitz tug lightly on her shirt. She pulled up short and turned to him, brows raised. He whispered, “Easy, now.” She blew out a deep breath and nodded. They made their way to the front door.
Taylor had a momentary thought of simply ringing the bell, and grinned to herself. Surely a rational man like Gabriel Lucas would invite them in to make their arrest. She sent up a last silent prayer as Fitz stepped in front of her, lifted his fingers in a silent one, two, three, then shouted, “Metro Police,” and kicked in the door.
They were met with no resistance. They saw Miller and Wills come in the back door. It was unlocked; they had simply turned the knob and it opened. Both entrances opened into a dark great room. Two hallways shot off opposite sides of the room. One led to the kitchen; the source of the meager light she’d seen from the window was the backsplash light on the stove. The other hall was dark.
Fitz jerked his head to Miller, who tapped Wills on the shoulder and gestured toward the kitchen. He nodded at Taylor and pointed down the darkened hall. Taylor went first; Fitz followed, guns at the ready.
There were two doors down the hall. The door at the end was open. The one at the beginning of the hall had a slide lock bolted to the door’s exterior.
Taylor figured if Jill were in the house, this would be the best place for her. She stopped and put her ear to the door as Fitz continued down the hall. He swept into the other bedroom, then signaled her it was clear. He came back up the hall.
Quietly, gently, Taylor slid the lock on the door and turned the knob.
It opened into darkness. Letting her eyes adjust, Taylor saw there was little in the room besides a bed. Fitz touched her on the shoulder and signaled to the light switch. Taylor reached for it, gun pointed into the middle of the gloomy room.
She flicked on the light. There was a woman tied down, spread-eagled, centered perfectly in the middle of the bed. Her stomach was rounded with an advanced pregnancy.
“Jill? Jill Gates?”
The woman didn’t answer immediately and didn’t move. We’re too late, damn it, we’re too late. Before she could move, Taylor heard a small moan. Jill was alive. Relief coursed through her, and she rushed to the girl’s side.
Jill was strapped to the bed, hands handcuffed to the headboard, ankles tied to the foot. She seemed barely conscious, but as Taylor bent over the girl, murmuring soothing nonsensical words, she opened her eyes and looked at Taylor. The tears started down her face.
“Is he gone? Gabriel? Is he gone? Did you kill him?”
“Shhh. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“Are you the police?”
“Yes, honey, we are.” She unlocked the handcuffs and reached down to untie her feet.
Jill cried, “Thank God. Thank God you’re here. He’s going to kill me—he’s insane. Please, get me out of here.”
Fitz moved beside the bed and helped Jill sit up. She was obviously a little woozy, but they needed to get as much information out of her as possible if they were going to find Gabriel.
“Do you know where he is, Jill? Is he in the house?”
“I don’t know. He’s kept me locked in this room the whole time. How long have I been here?”
“We think at least five days, maybe more. But you’re safe now, honey—we’ve got you. Can you stand?” He got her to her feet, eyeing the swelling in her belly. “How far along are you, Jill?” he asked.
“Eight months. Are my parents here? Are they okay? Oh, they must be freaking out.”
Taylor patted her on the shoulder. “They’re here in town, honey. They came as soon as they heard you were missing. They’re gonna be real glad to see you. Can you tell us any more about Gabriel Lucas?”
Jill lost her balance when she got to her feet and toppled against Taylor.
“Oops, here you go, sit back down.”
Jill plopped back on the bed, embarrassed, and gave Taylor a smile. “I’m okay. My feet are just asleep. My parents are going to kill me when they see I’m pregnant.”
“Trust me—your parents are going to be t
hrilled to have you back, you and the baby. Tell me what you can, okay?”
Jill shook her head. “I’m having a hard time remembering a lot. I’ve been trying to think. I know it’s been a while since he was here. I’ve been awake since right before dark. Usually he comes in and gives me a shot of something the minute I wake up and he hears me. He tells me stories while I’m drifting off, nutty stuff I can’t really understand about these women and their ‘representations,’ stuff about the Bible. Whatever is in the shot makes me fall asleep almost immediately, and I kept having all these weird hallucinations. When I was awoke he was talking crazy.” She put a hand protectively over her stomach. “He kept telling me I was carrying the Messiah. He’s out of his mind.”
Taylor nodded and looked at Fitz. “The injectable morphine.” She turned back to Jill. “We think he was giving you morphine. Did he tell you he has cancer?”
“What? No.”
“He has brain cancer. We think it’s affected him to the point where he’s not thinking rationally. He’s hurt a lot of people in the past couple of weeks.”
“Brain cancer? Giving me morphine? My God, what was he planning on doing to me?”
Fitz held out a hand. “We think he was planning on keeping you safe. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you or his baby. Do you think you can stand up now?”
He got her to her feet, and they made their way into the great room. Between the room and the kitchen was a small breakfast bar with stools. He got her seated, checked in with the rest of their force.
“You find anything?”
Wills was keeping watch by the front door. “He’s not here, and there’s nothing much to go on. Doesn’t look like he’s living here—it’s just a safe place for him to hold the girl. We’ll keep looking around.”
“Okay. I want you guys to be ready for anything. He’ll come back for her at some point. When he sees we’ve found her, he’s liable to go nuts, and I can’t predict what he’ll do. I want you to be ready.”
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1 Page 27
