“Wow, what happened to you?” the girl asked Taylor. “You’re looking pretty beat up.” She eyed Taylor. “I don’t even know if I could mix the right colors to paint that bruise. Does it hurt?”
Taylor smiled. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, but thanks for asking. We need to know what you saw last night.”
“Yes, ma’am, what did you see?” Baldwin asked, hands clenched in anticipation.
Suddenly the center of attention, the girl stood a little straighter and cleared her throat. “There was a man on the computer last night. I took notice because he was just so damn handsome. I thought about going over and introducing myself, but as soon as I got up the courage, he logged off and left. I was bummed. You don’t often get to see such beauty in a man. I would have loved to have him sit for me.”
Taylor felt her heart quicken, just an extra beat per second. “What did he look like…what’s your name again?” she asked.
“I’m Isabella. I’m in here most every night. Days, too, sometimes. Depends on how the craft is going, if the Muse is with me or not.”
“So, Isabella, what did he look like?” Baldwin wanted to get things back on track.
“He was about six-four, almost as big as you. Muscled, too, he had on this black cashmere T-shirt that looked like it was painted on him. Saw every muscle, and he was cut, too. A regular Adonis. Black hair, wavy, kinda long. And these blue eyes. I’ve never seen such a shade of blue. I would have to mix my own colors to get it just right, it’s not something that comes from a box, you know?” She shook her head, eyebrows knitting. “Well, I’m being stupid, I sketched him.”
She opened a portfolio and riffled through a few pages. “Here, this is him. Amazing, isn’t he?”
Taylor took the page from her eagerly. She and Baldwin each held a corner, staring at the perfect jaw, the chiseled nose, full lips that made the face almost feminine. Taylor was taken aback; surely this angel couldn’t be their killer. Their eyes met and she realized Baldwin was thinking the same thing. He gave her a little nod.
“Isabella, may we hold on to this?” he asked.
The waif looked sad for an instant, then nodded. “Well, of course, of course you can have it. But is there any chance I could get it back once you’re finished with it? It was the best of the lot.” She blushed furiously. “I did a few,” she admitted.
Taylor reached out and shook the girl’s hand. “I promise we’ll get it back to you. You may not want it, but we’ll get it back.” She gave Isabella a card. “Thank you, Isabella. This is going to be a huge help.”
“Can I ask you what he did that has you so interested in him? I mean, was he sending bomb threats or something?” Her eyes went a little dreamy at the thought of a dangerous man in an eye-catching package.
Taylor shook her head. “Just do me a favor. If you see him again, run away. Then call me.”
They left her staring after them, trying to figure out what he could have possibly done that was so awful the police were after him. She gave a shrug and turned back to her coffee.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Taylor and Baldwin pulled up to the gate in front of Quinn Buckley’s house. They’d called to make sure she’d see them, surprised when Jake Buckley answered the phone. He had adamantly refused to let them come to his house until Quinn picked up the phone and told him it was her house and he didn’t have a say anymore. He’d hung up in a huff, and Quinn had told them to come. Taylor reached out the window to press the button, but the gate swung open before her hand reached the box. She glanced at Baldwin. Obviously Quinn had been watching for them.
Taylor drove up to the house where Quinn was waiting on the front step. They got out of the car and mounted the steps, meeting her at the top.
“You said it was important. About Whitney. What is it?” she asked without greeting them. There were black circles under her eyes, her hair was slicked back into a ponytail and her nose was red. She’d been crying recently. Taylor’s heart went out to her, she barely looked like the same put-together woman she’d come to expect.
“It is about Whitney. We have a sketch we’d like to show you. A witness saw this man on a computer at the same time we received a message on Whitney’s e-mail. Can we go inside?”
Quinn looked startled, then shrugged. She turned and led the way into the house.
The activity was obvious. Jake Buckley’s luggage was sitting in the foyer. Buckley himself was standing at the foot of the stairs, defiant. Taylor just nodded to him, Baldwin ignored him completely. He was no longer a person of interest to them.
But Buckley wasn’t going to let them pass without a fight.
“Hey, you two. When do I get my car back? I need some transportation, you know.”
Taylor rounded on him. “You’ll get it back when we’re finished with it, Mr. Buckley. There is a great deal of evidence in that car, and we need to process it. You’ll get a call in a few weeks, I’d assume.”
“A few weeks? Jesus, lady, you don’t have the right—”
Taylor pointed a finger at him. “I have all the right in the world. I’m conducting an investigation, in case you’ve forgotten. A dead girl was found in your car, Mr. Buckley. How about a little respect for her, huh?”
She turned away from him, furious. What a complete asshole, she heard from her shoulder. She stifled a laugh. Baldwin had spoken so only she could hear, but it took all her wherewithal not to giggle. She agreed completely.
They followed Quinn to the library. She ushered them in, gestured to the sofa and shut the doors behind them. They could still hear Buckley blustering in the hallway.
Quinn settled herself on her leather chair and shook her head. “He’s completely come undone over this. I filed for divorce this morning. Kicked his ass out. He just won’t leave.”
Taylor leaned forward. “I can take care of that if you want.”
“We’ll see. Now, what do you want to show me? A picture of someone?”
Baldwin drew the picture out of his briefcase and handed it to Quinn. “Do you recognize this man? We believe he may have been the one sending the poems to your sister.”
Quinn took the picture with a steady hand, but gasped aloud when she looked at it. She dropped the paper as if she’d been burned. Her face drained of color and her hand flew to cover her mouth.
“What is it, Quinn? Do you recognize him?” Taylor retrieved the sketch from the floor at Quinn’s feet. She had begun crying, softly at first, then the emotion building so fast that the words were choked off by her sobs. She was speaking, but neither Taylor nor Baldwin could understand her.
“Quinn, please, you have to calm down. Take a deep breath, good girl, that’s the way.” Baldwin’s voice was low, soothing, and he took Quinn’s hand. “Try again. Tell me who this is.”
She took a few more snuffling breaths, then swallowed hard and looked Baldwin straight in the eye. “It’s Reese.”
Taylor stood. “Wait, you mean that’s Reese Connolly? Your little brother?”
Quinn nodded. The two words she’d spoken had aged her twenty years. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as if she was trying to find the right words. Taylor stood still, not wanting to interrupt. Quinn finally began to speak.
“I don’t understand. What in the world was he thinking? Why would he be sending Whitney poems like that? You don’t think he had anything to do with this? It’s impossible, he’s been out of the country. There’s no way that Reese… Oh my God!”
She stood and looked ready to bolt. Baldwin stood as well, the three of them making a stiff triangle, waiting to see who moved next. Quinn was the first. She crumpled in a graceful heap.
“Shit, she’s fainted. Baldwin, do something.”
Baldwin looked at her, helpless. “What do you want me to do? She fainted dead away.”
“Well, wake her up. You’re a doctor, do what doctors do. We need to get her to tell us where Reese is. Surely she knows, he’s her brother after all.”
“I’m a psychi
atrist, Taylor, not an internist.” He knelt down, but Quinn’s eyes were already fluttering, and her hand raised up limply, looking for support. Baldwin grabbed it, feeling her pulse at the same time. It was just a good old southern belle faint. He helped her back up, onto the sofa.
Taylor went in search of something cool to drink. She came back with a bottle of Evian water she’d found in the cavernous refrigerator. Quinn was looking better but she gave her the water anyway, eyeing her like she was a bomb about to go off. Taylor hated that kind of weakness, the notion of it made her nervous.
Quinn took a few sips of water and leaned back into the cushions of the sofa, looking utterly forlorn. She was mumbling to herself, saying the name over and over. Reese, Reese, Reese.
Taylor stared at Baldwin and he sat down next to Quinn. “Quinn, I need you to tell me where Reese is. Where does he live?”
Quinn rattled off an address. Taylor grabbed her phone and walked to the other side of the room. She dialed in to her office. Fitz picked up the phone.
“Fitz, I’ve got an address on the Strangler. Name’s Reese Connolly… That’s right, their little brother. Listen, you need to get over there right now. With any luck… Yes, I’ll meet you there. Okay then. Suit up, too, this guy’s dangerous.” She hung up and walked back to Quinn and Baldwin. She raised her eyebrows at him, saying, okay, let’s go, we got an address, it’s time to roll. But he shook her off. Quinn was talking to him, the words coming out in a torrent.
“It makes sense to me now. Reese would know about the poems. Jake, when we first started dating, used to send me little notes. He’d put them in the mailbox, leave them in the refrigerator. He was hopelessly romantic back then. Reese would know all about them, he lived with us until he started college. We married right after he moved into the dorms. You know he was an exceptional child. Brilliant, started college when he was only fifteen. He’s only twenty-one now and into his residency at Vanderbilt. I’m so proud of him. There’s no way he could be killing these girls. Sending the poems, that I can see, not understand, but he’d know. And he could do that with his laptop. But the killings, he’s been in Guatemala. There’s no way.” She was babbling, and Baldwin tried to guide her through it.
“Is there any way to confirm that?”
“Well, certainly. I can just call one of the doctors he was with. Hold on a moment, let me get the number. I couldn’t reach them while they were in the field, that’s why Reese didn’t know about Whitney, but they returned yesterday… You’ll see, Reese wasn’t involved.” She opened the drawer of a writing desk and pulled out a brown leather dayrunner. She flipped to a page, ran her finger down to an entry, then with her other hand dialed the number into the phone. It took a moment to get the connection, then she began speaking.
“Jim Ogelsby, how are you?” The gracious greeting was accompanied by a smile. “Did you have a wonderful mission trip? You did? That’s amazing. I want to hear all about it. No, I just have a quick question for you. How did Reese do? What? He didn’t? He…are you sure? Okay then, thanks, Jim. No, we’ll have to catch up later. See you soon.”
She hung up the phone, eyes wide. “Jim says Reese didn’t accompany them on the trip. He told them he couldn’t get the required shots, that he was allergic to something in them. He lied.” The wonder in her voice was painful. “He lied to me, about everything. How could he do that? Oh dear God, he was here all the time.”
Taylor nodded. “Would Reese know about Jake’s travel? Where he is at any given time?”
“Of course. I always send a copy of Jake’s itinerary to both Whitney and Reese. Jake’s secretary compiles it once a month and I just get in the habit of sending it out to them.” A look of horror dawned on her face. “You think Reese was trying to set Jake up, don’t you?”
Baldwin nodded. “It’s possible. Did Reese know about the problems you and Jake were having?”
Quinn thought hard for a minute. “I always try to keep that private, but I’m sure I’ve let little things slip here and there. Of course, they’re both men, and men sometimes understand each other and what they’re doing outside of the house.”
“Did Reese dislike Jake?” Baldwin asked.
That stopped her for a moment. “Dislike Jake? I honestly don’t know. He always seemed respectful and courteous. They weren’t that close.”
Baldwin nodded, then caught Taylor’s eye. “Quinn, we have to go now. We need to see if we can find Reese. Please, lock your doors behind us. You’ll be perfectly safe here at the house. Just don’t go out until we call, okay?”
Quinn sat, hands in her lap. She was so still, Taylor thought she must be holding her breath. She finally looked up at them. “I’ll do whatever you say. Please, don’t hurt him. He doesn’t know, he couldn’t know. This is all just a huge misunderstanding. Please, when you find him, let me be the first to talk to him.”
“What doesn’t he know, Quinn?” Taylor walked back to the couch and knelt in front of Quinn. She took one of Quinn’s hands in her own. “What doesn’t he know?” she repeated.
Quinn looked at the ceiling, drawing in a breath. She whispered the words. “He doesn’t know that he’s not our brother.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
“There’s no one at his house.” Fitz’s disembodied voice was yelling out of Taylor’s speakerphone as she and Baldwin broke all the traffic laws and speed limits getting to Reese’s house. “We’ve cleared the scene. He got away.”
“Put out a BOLO for him and his car. He’s in the wind again, and we can’t take a chance that he’s going after another girl.” She clicked off the speaker and glanced over at Baldwin, who was talking into his cell phone and making notes as quickly as he could.
“Okay, thanks. That’s what I needed.” He hung up and returned Taylor’s gaze, eyes deadly serious. “Nathan Chase has had one visitor. Only one. It was a male who came to visit him nearly five years ago. Care to guess who that someone is?”
“Reese Connolly.”
“That’s right. Now it all makes sense. If Quinn had just told us in the beginning that Reese wasn’t her and Whitney’s little brother, but a son, that would have made life a little easier.”
“Baldwin, I don’t think she’s told too many people about it. Obviously, she didn’t even think Reese knew. But he figured it out, didn’t he?”
“He must have. Visiting his father in jail. Man, that’s…wait a minute. Head back to the office. I want to check something out.” They arrived at the CJC in five minutes. Taylor parked on the street and they bounded through the back door, right into her office. Whitney Connolly’s laptop was still open on Taylor’s desk, an inanimate object that held all the answers they’d been seeking, if only they’d known where to look.
Baldwin pulled up the e-mail folder, then went to the white board in Taylor’s office, writing the address down.
IM1855195C
He started teasing the letters and numbers apart, the white board quickly filling up with symbols that made no sense to Taylor. Baldwin looked positively blissful, a mad Sam Nash of the profiling world. He finally stood back and let her see the finished product.
I/ M/ 1/8/ 5/ 5/ 1/9/ 5/ C
IM/18/5/5/19/C
I’m 18 5 5 19 5 C
I’m R E E S E C
I’m Reese Connolly
Baldwin’s face was triumphant, as if he’d just solved the most intricate key to the world’s most obscure riddle.
“How’d you do that?” she asked, not exactly stroking his ego but knowing he wanted to show it off.
“At first I thought it was Nathan Chase’s prisoner number, but that didn’t match up. It’s a simple code, correlating to the letters of the alphabet. R is the eighteenth letter, E is the fifth. S the nineteenth. After that it was pretty clear.”
Taylor stared at the board for the longest time, then stood, took the pen from Baldwin and wrote her own answer below his. The words chilled them both.
I AM REESE CHASE.
“His father’s son. That’s wh
at all this is about, isn’t it, Baldwin?”
Baldwin was staring at the board, nodding. “I think it is.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Quinn Buckley was lying on the sofa in her library. She hadn’t moved since the police had left, simply stretched her feet to the right and her arms to the left and had gone horizontal with the minimum amount of effort. She was numb. Her sister was dead. Her husband was gone. And her son was wanted for murder.
For so many years, Whitney and their parents had fought about it. Whitney was willing to take on the responsibility, to call Reese her own. She wasn’t afraid of the scandal. She wasn’t afraid of anything. But their parents had decided.
The word had gone out. Eliza Connolly had been blessed with a late-in-life pregnancy. A wondrous miracle, and weren’t they so deserving, after what the whole family had been through. Why, Peter Connolly had comforted his wife in the only way a man truly knows how to comfort a woman who’s grieving, and look at the result. A son to call their own. Of course, Eliza had the baby a couple of months prematurely, but no one quibbled about that. It just wouldn’t be the right thing to do, now, would it?
Reese Connolly had come into the world the object of wonder and innuendo, but never, never to his face. The child was brilliant, precocious, so beautiful with his Raphael black curls and his cherub mouth. The eyes that took in everything, let nothing slip him by. No, there was nothing Reese didn’t excel at.
Quinn shifted slightly. Her life’s punishment was her inability to be brave at the appropriate times. She should have kicked Jake out the minute he yelled at her when she tried telling him the truth. When he cheated on her the first time. The tenth. The twentieth. She lost count. She should have stood up to her parents like Whitney had. Insisted that Reese get the recognition of his own heritage when he was old enough to understand. No, she’d never had the strength her sister possessed in abundance. It had driven them apart—Quinn, her compatriot, her fellow victim, siding silently with the grown-ups, refusing to admit what had really happened.
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1 Page 58
